Previously in The Exile

Arthur brought his hand to Gwen's ring stroked the warm metal between his thumb and forefinger. The rage receded, the sea grew calm. He saw the churned muddied earth for what it was, footprints, lots of footprints, rank upon rank of them and then the most brutal pain knifed through his skull. Arthur gasped and his eyes watered, his vision blurred round the edges. He staggered two or three steps while the world did somersaults before collapsing face first in the dirt as his bowels voided themselves...Chapter 18, Two Roads

He had pushed the carved oaken box to the back of the wardrobe but of course it was still there. He pulled it forward now, throat and chest growing tight at the memory of her tricking him into buying his own present. He thought briefly of the little things she'd made for him, filling it and making it far more valuable with gifts of love, a pair of knitted socks, a pair of gloves, a belt and a bottle of woodsy cologne all made by her own hand, strawberry jam his favorite. They were not in there now of course. The jam had long since been eaten and accessories were all safely put away...Chapter 10, In the Mourning

Guinevere opened her eyes. Why did her foot hurt? She looked down and saw her foot in the mouth of a large brown bear with a torn ear. Without thinking, Guinevere screamed and kicked the bear with her free leg. The bear looked up in puzzlement. She screamed again and leapt to her feet. She absolutely had to get away!...Chapter 4, The Bear, The Bird, and The Bandit

The Exile, Part II Jenafere, Chapter XIV: The Right and The Left

The box did not look like something her brother would own. Arthur paid little attention to these types of details. His choices were often plain. This box was not. It was a pale golden wood carved with a sea scene. Neptune rode a chariot on the waves. In his right hand his trident and on his head his crown. He was surrounded by dolphins and mermaids bouying on the waves, the rising or perhaps setting sun behind them. No, not something Arthur would own, but there it had been set in the back of his wardrobe, hidden, perhaps for safekeeping.

Morgana sat at Arthur's worktable, studying the small wooden chest in the mid-morning sunlight. She had taken his room for hers. His wardrobe while plain was of good quality, she would make a gift of it to one of the men in her employ, perhaps Captain Alfwald along with some of his other things. Her own wardrobe was being brought out of storage though she had little interest in the vivid blues, greens, purples and reds. These days she favored mourning black.

For the moment she still wore her fraying black lace dress. Her heavy black robe was in the hands of the palace servants to be laundered. Morgana stroked her hair and revelled a moment in the softness of the strands. For months now the simple idea of washing and styling her own hair had left her exhausted and plus who would see it to care. In truth she did not know much about styling her hair, Gwen had always done that. This morning she'd had servants brought to wash and comb her hair. They'd done nothing fancy, styled it in a simple braid, and tied it with a black ribbon. Her hair was soft now, smooth, free of tangles and knots. She couldn't keep her fingers from it.

Morgana returned her attention to the box. It was the incongruity of it that made her curious. She saw no obvious locking mechanism, but the lid did not open when she tried it. She studied the scene, Neptune in particular. She pressed the crown on his head nothing happened. Now she pushed at the trident and felt it shift under her fingertip. She pushed at it a bit more and felt it slide downward to rest on the beak of one of the dolphins. Morgana smiled and tried the lid, it did not open.

She looked at the scene again. She pushed at the beak of the dolphin the trident now rested on and smiled as it slid downward to point to the fin of one of the meremaids. She slid the fin downward and it tipped to the bottom of the scene. Morgana tried the lid again and lifted it with ease now. The familiar cloying scent of magnolia and vanilla wafted upwards and she frowned.

A keepsake box! The Sentimental fool. Morgana dumped the contents of the box onto Arthur's work table.

Two pathetic shriveled roses, one rough linen token -the kind a poor girl might give her beau in imitation of a lady and her knight, a weather eaten leather thong, a yellowing card and two bracelets. One a gleaming cuff with rubies and the other the round of silver she'd used to ruin Guinevere. She lifted her handiwork with bare fingertips having no fear of how its magic might affect her. Her hatred of her brother flared, Morgana dropped it with a thud. What pathetic, simpering words had Guinevere written Arthur?

Dear Arthur,

I know you are surprised to find this box once again in your possession, but you were always the intended recipient. These items, are just a few small tokens so that you may know you fill my thoughts, on this, the day of your birth.

Love G

She snorted again. Sentimental fools the pair of them. Morgana dropped the card onto the table, and her eyes strayed to the bracelet. If Arthur had that then he must have somehow learnt of the enchantment.

The tale now was that Guinevere had died on the road, slain by a bandit. For just a moment Morgana felt a twinge of feeling akin to what she'd felt when Uther had died. A hard thing killing your own father or causing the death of a former friend. Guinevere never should have stepped out of her place. If the other woman had remained at her side then she might now live. When Guinevere aligned herself and her fate with Arthur and the kings that oppressed magic users, her life became forfeit.

How Arthur must be anguished. With Guinevere gone, perished in her banishment and him now knowing that she had never willfully betrayed him. Her brother would suffer mightily over that. A sudden smile came to her lips. Doubly destroyed by his own foolishness. She would remind him of this before she killed him. Of course, they had to find him first. They'd only taken Camelot the previous evening and she spared no time for rest.

Already patrols were out looking for Arthur. He'd departed on some unknown quest the day before they had arrived, taking only Merlin with him. As yet she'd found none that knew the destination of this mission. He had to be found. As long as Arthur were free, his whereabouts unknown, Camelot would not rest easily under her rule.

Another trouble was the knights. Some had been slain, but others had fled. According to Agravaine, Arthur had given an order that neither knights nor Camelot must come under her control. Knights must flee or fall and Camelot- if it came to it, Camelot must be set aflame. If they had had the opportunity it would have worked too.

A burnt city provided neither food nor shelter to her army. Without spoils the men must starve, desert, or expend time and energy in building their own shelter and securing their own food. Of course Arthur had not anticipated her use of the siege tunnels nor that she had sent men ahead of time to the two hill forts where provisions had been laid to shelter the people or knights fleeing her. If any of Arthur's knights made it to the hill forts they would receive quite a surprise. They had outmaneuvered him at every turn.

Her eyes went again to the bracelet. She had only rumors of Gwen's death, Arthur was absent and many of the knights successfully fled. How many times had she been on the edge of victory only to have it snatched from her grasp? She would take no chances.

She would use her magic to scry Arthur's location and when he was found she would make certain of Guinevere's fate. Merlin must also be disposed of. The manservant was at the center of too many things and knew too much.

There came a knock at the door.

"Yes."

"Your majesty, I have the materials for your coronation gown." The words floated through the wood.
"Enter."

The seamstress, a tall, broad, but well attired matron entered with several maids carrying bolts of black fabric in silk, satin, brocades, and linen. It had been a long time since she'd had a new gown.

"Which would you like your majesty?"

"Use the black brocade and the satin," She said after a moment's consideration. Then she lifted the silver and ruby cuff bracelet from the table. It was beautiful. Morgana settled the bracelet on her left wrist, the right was always adorned by the healing bracelet she'd gotten from her sister.

Then very carefully using the linen token Gwen must have given to Arthur she picked up the other bracelet. Uther had captured and stored many powerful magical artifacts in Camelot's basement. She would take the bracelet to store there herself as well as have a look in Uther's treasure chest. She did not doubt there would be some useful weapon there.

Morgana started for the door eager to have the stolen artifacts in her hands.

"Is there anything else my lady?"

She paused and faced the seamstress and surveyed the collection on the table.

"Yes," her voice was rich with disdain, "have someone dispose of that junk, but leave the box here."

Arthur lifted his head only to have it drop face first back into the dirt. Pain knifed through his skull with a strength that rivaled the agony that had felled him. He coughed, his mouth filled with earth, and he started to choke. He lifted, or tried to lift his head again, but managed only to lift his forehead before dropping it back to the danced in front of his eyes. He wasn't getting enough air, but he didn't have the strength to lift his head. Panic seized him as his heart began to beat a desperate rhythm against his breast. He was going to suffocate and die in pile of dirt.

No!

If he couldn't lift his head, push himself up, maybe he could just turn it. He ignored the dancing stars, the spinning sensations, fought the blistering agony in his head, shifted to the right and gulped a full breath of air the moment he could.

Arthur opened his eyes, whimpered and shut them. The sunlight, normal, beautiful golden-white light, burned white-hot bright, the ache in his head exploded to dominate all that he knew or thought.

Still though -praise all gods- it lessened. Arthur began to note little things, like bird song, the buzzing of flies -he thought there was one on his face- and a beam of sunlight warming his feet. He must have been in the woods, but why? The ache in his head stabbed through his skull with an unexpected agony and Arthur lay whimpering until it passed.

The fly buzzed near his ear and he batted it away with one trembling hand. The pain shot through his head again and Arthur felt his body clench in response as the pain blotted out his awareness of all else.

When the pain receded for the third time he was starting to feel warm, the sun was heating his armor. The sticky foulness in his pants grew fragrant with the afternoon heat. Arthur wanted to open his eyes, see anything, but his earlier experience warned him away from such action. He felt the fly land on his cheek again and thought about batting it away, but the strength lapsed so that he could not lift his arm. As the pain in his head lessened further Arthur slipped into unconsciousness wishing the pest away.

When he came to awareness for the second time, the stabbing pain that had been shooting through his head had lessened to a spot of constant firey heat. With the pain having lessened he wondered, hoped that perhaps his eyes were better. Time had passed. He was warmer and if he could at least see...

Arthur cracked open his right eye and gasped shutting it almost the moment he had opened it. Blinding white spots danced on his lid and his right eye began to smart. Had he some sort of blindness?

No!No! He told himself. To be blind was to be in the dark, this was different, this would pass, it had were other things to attend.

Though he lay motionless Arthur could feel a trembling, weakness in his limbs, and his armor pressed against his abdomen making stirring a slight nausea in his stomach. Arthur wanted to push himself upwards, roll over onto his back, relieve the pressure on his middle. He got as far as getting his hands under him and pushing up onto his palms before passing out and falling forward.

Arthur woke to the sound of buzzing and he was hot or rather his armor was hot . His chest, torso, face, everything was flushed with a nauseating heat, the dryness in his mouth made his tongue stick to his teeth as rank sweat poured from his skin. The metal armor dug into his flesh and everywhere his skin touched the hot metal it burned. His arms ached with numbness under the weight of his body. He didn't know how long he'd been lying on them, but fear made his heart pound a second time as he recalled stories of knights and soldiers who'd lain unconscious or otherwise trapped on some limb. When they were rescued the trapped limb was dead, and had to be amputated.

The fear was enough to make Arthur push himself upward. The buzzing started again, louder than before. He had the presence of mind to fling his limbs outward as he fell forward again, too weak to support his own weight. The torment in his head flared into life when he fell and he let out a little whimper. Something was very, very wrong. He needed help.

"Aaaaaa….," he tried to call for Merlin, but what he heard was a garbled whisper.

Another memory came to him now. Another danger that a wounded knight might be prey to during the long sunny, summer days. The metal armor that protected them from mortal blows became a weapon leveled at the heart as the summer sun heated metal plates and baked the knights trapped therein. He needed help.

He concentrated now, fought the creeping exhaustion. Merlin had to be nearby. No! Merlin had left him! Why would Merlin do that? Merlin had never left him before. He had done- something, he was too tired to remember. Still he should call Merlin, he needed help.

"Merlin!" He had intended the name to be a shout, a summoning, but it came out as nothing more than a rasping muted whisper.

What about Guinevere? Guinevere loved him, but she was gone too, wasn't she? Yes he had sent her away. Why had he done that? He let her think he didn't love her any longer. His strength began to ebb again. The buzzing started again and he knew it was flies drawn by the mess in his trousers and his inert state.

If Merlin did not come, he was going to die here, baked in his own armor, and Guinevere would not know that he had never stopped loving her.

"So this time," Aikat looked very seriously at her little brother. "You have to peak in the windows."

"Easy peasy," Drystan replied and she suspected it was all bravado. "If I peak in the window, you have to rattle her door."

Aikaterine paused, poking her full lips out as she considered this challenge.

"Deal, I'm not afraid of Morgana." She let her hand rest on the hilt of the sword her father had given her for her fifteenth birthday.

Morgana was always doing interesting things. Weird smells, puffs of odd colored smoke, and explosions escaped from her house regularly. Strange people came and went and it gave the two children a laugh to rattle the witch. She came outside face red with anger, shouting about how important she was, and trying to use magic to reveal her harassers. It never worked of course, their parent's magic matched Morgana's with ease. They crossed out of the trees and started down the grass covered slope into the valley.

The two children wore the colors of the forest brown and green out of simple homespun serge, dark pants and tunics that would disappear on the forest floor. Aikat had the indulgence of a green sleeveless linen jerkin that she had embroidered herself with flowers and leaves in varying shades of green and deep blue.

"Do you suppose that old wizard will come back?" Seven year-old Drystan asked eyes wide.

"I dunno."

They had mixed feelings about the wizard. Spying on Morgana they had watched an old man come to her house. Morgana having visitors was nothing unusual, but then they had started a magic duel. They'd watched the old man beat their cousin and wondered at that. When he left her lying unconscious on the ground they had considered going to her. At least getting her into the house, but before they could decide the Nobleman had come and taken care of her.

Their father had warned them to stay away from Morgana and be wary of her; she had done many terrible things. Not because she was a witch, but because she had been corrupted by Uther Pendragon. They had also overheard their parents talking about Morgana and learned that she was their father's niece and so their cousin. Family was supposed to stick together. That was what their mom always said.

Once they had hidden in a thicket and Morgana had looked right at them without seeing them. Aikat had nearly given the entire thing away by gasping when she'd seen the witch's eyes, a startling green near identical to the eyes she shared with her father. Morgana was her father's niece so of course they would look similar in some ways. They hadn't much else in common in their looks. Aikat was blonde where Morgana was dark and at fifteen she had the height of some grown men. Still the similarity had only fueled her curiosity, she'd always wanted cousins.

The afternoon sun was already making its way west. They wouldn't have too much more time before they would need to be home for supper.

The witch's home was a cellar, the only thing that remained of an old mansio or so their father said. They came to the rooftop chicken coop first. Once they had loosed Morgana's chickens and watched from the trees as she chased the hens about the valley cursing with rage while feathers puffed around her. After that she started setting out a saucer of milk for Brownies and they decided no more pranks, for at least a little while. When they arrived that afternoon the coop was empty.

They saw no chickens, eggs, or even feathers, just fading stains of bird droppings.

"I wonder what happened to the chickens," Drystan asked small fingers closing round the bird wire.

Aikaterine shrugged.

"Perhaps she had a feast," the girl said.

"With who?" Drystan asked.

"The noble men that come here. That bald one is really handsome," Aikat smiled.

Drystan made a face.

"No mushy talk."

"Why not, it's how you got here, stupid."

"I'm not stupid!" Drystan frowned up at her.

"Shhh, or she'll hear us."

The children stood a while on the roof waiting to see if their presence had been noticed. When no shouting or swearing came they climbed off the roof to the valley floor, taking care to avoid the windows. Aikaterine went to the door as she had planned and gasped it hung open and- the girl wrinkled her face.

"Yuck! Something stinks." Drystan declared.

"Yeah, but come look, Morgana's house is empty." She covered her nose with one pale hand and motioned her little brother over with the other.

They peaked round the open door and saw that the place was empty of everything, but the furniture and cabinetry.

"Where do you suppose she went?" He looked up at her, his sun browned face framed by messy dark hair.

"Maybe with the Nobleman, or the Handsome Guy."

"Or maybe she is attacking Camelot again. Stupid grubs! We missed everything good. What happened?" Drystan kicked the door.

The vegetable garden that supplied most of the family's food had become infested with vermin. They'd spent the last ten days clearing it out and neither had been able to come to Morgana's house for nearly half a month. Just then the wind blew and both children frowned as a puff of the stink that lingered about the place hit them in the face.

"Ugh!" Aikat waved her hand in front of her face as she looked around trying to determine the source of the odor.

"Look," Drystan pointed at something partially hidden on the valley floor just a few yards from Morgana's door. "It's a body!" He said with wide excited eyes.

Aikat ran to the body her brother had spotted and crouched. The body lay on its stomach, face turned away from her, short blonde hair littered with twigs and leaves. In spite of her brother's insistence that this was a body she thought she saw the gentle rise and fall of someone breathing. He smelled awful, but Aiket attributed that to the mess in his breeches baking in the warmth of the afternoon sun. He wore armor and she thought it had to be roasting him if he'd lain long in this sun.

"He is not dead Drystan stop being dramatic," Aikat said.

Drystan frowned and pinched his nose.

"He sure smells like it."

She looked up at her brother with a sigh.

"Have you ever smelled a body?"

He shook his head.

"Okay, this is not what they smell like," Aikat said her tone firm. "Now I'm going to turn him over."

She reached out to flip him and pulled her hands back. The metal was burning hot to the touch. She considered a moment, her arms were bare and she wore only her jerkin and sleeveless linen tunic underneath. The stranger groaned and Aikat quickly undid her sword belt. She padded her hands with jerkin and flipped the stranger onto his back. The stranger cried out and Aikat winced murmuring an apology at causing him pain. After a moment he seemed to settle and she felt her eyebrows jump into her hairline.

"Does he look like dad to you?"

"You mean like your ugly face?"

Drystan laughed at his own joke and Aikat rolled her eyes.

"Be serious, Drystan," she said. "He's not dead at least."

"Well he still stinks." The boy pinched his nose, and walked towards Morgana's open door. After pausing for all of a moment he went into the witch's house.

Ignoring her little brother Aikaterine did as father had taught her.

"Sir Knight?" Plate Armor and mail were the usual signs of knighthood. Their parents had taught them to be wary of knights, but knights meant battles and quest.

"Sir knight can you hear me?"

She watched his face and smiled when his eyelids fluttered without opening. He could hear them at least.

"Sir Knight," she tucked a strand of blonde that had come loose from her waist length braid behind on ear. "Can you speak?

The knight groaned and muttered something unintelligible before falling silent. A foreigner? This was exciting!

"I am going to look for injuries and then we are going to take care of you."

She didn't have her father's gift for healing, nor the patience for the magical arts. Aikat was, as her father had called her when he gifted her with sword at fifteen, a battle maid and true daughter of Athena. Though it seemed high praise she had not missed the flicker of sadness in his eyes when he said it. Still she had learned enough of the medical arts from her parents to tend battlefield injuries until a physician might be found.

She exercised those skills now. Checking the stranger for any wounds or signs of infection and sat back on her heels baffled when she found nothing. She studied him a moment, his face was gaunt, skin flushed red with heat, his lips cracked and dry as if he'd gone days without water, the underside of his eyes were smudged blue-black and in spite of the gauntness of his face held a bloated look.

She looked at her younger brother. The boy waved his arms about casting a mock spell. He looked like such a blend of both their parents that you could identify neither of them in his face.

"Drystan," Aikat called her brother! "Drystan come here."

She returned her attention to the knight. Something was very wrong with him. They could not leave him here. Still if he were a knight of Camelot-

"Aikat!" Drystan came running out of the house. "I think that he is a knight."

"You just figured that out?" Aikat studied her brother expression critical.

"Well I never saw a knight before."

"Well that's not important anyway. This man needs our help," she explained. "Run home and tell mom we've found a sick knight." She saw Drystan's eyes widen.

"Bu- but what if he is from Camelot? Mom and dad and Ismene are all witches. What if-"

"We don't know that he is from Camelot," Aikat said her tone gentle. "And even if he is, one sick knight is no danger to us."

The boy scrunched up his face, frowning.

"But Aikat, mom and dad said to be wary of Camelot knights."

"They also said we should help those in need, even our enemies, just like the Lord Christ, and we don't know that he is an enemy. Now go home and get mom."

"What are you gonna do?"

"Stay here with him."

"By yourself! At Morgana's house? With him?" Drystan's dark eyes went wide. Aikat swallowed, perhaps she felt a little frightened.

He frowned and opened his mouth to argue.

"I have my sword, Morgana is gone, and this man is ill."

"We should both go back for help."

"No." She said it with the firm voice her father had told her was the voice of command. "He is sick, it's not right to leave him alone. So go." She gave her brother a gentle shove toward home. "Go."

"All right. I'll hurry!" The boy took a few steps backwards and then turned to run, glancing over his shoulder until he was out of the valley.

The knight recalled her attention with a moan and began to babble again. Aikat thought he must be in some pain, perhaps if she got him out of the heat. Keeping the jerkin as cushion between her hands and the heat of the metal, Aikat got her hands under his shoulders and pulled. She was strong, but his was a dead weight. By the time she'd drug him from the sun to the shade of a great oak, the teen was sweating from the exertion. She pillowed her jerkin under his head and retrieved her sword.

Aikat studied the stranger. He looked rather a lot like their father and by extension she supposed they looked equally similar. Same cheekbones, same mouth, same jaws though hers was feminine, and the same blonde hair. Unlike her father, Aikat had green eyes and her mother's wider nose. She wondered what color the stranger's eyes were. If he were another cousin that would be nice, she'd always wanted more cousins.

Her eyes went over his mail again. What if he was a knight of Camelot. Would he be unfriendly to magic users? Very gently Aikat slipped his sword out of his sheath. She tested the weight of the blade, it was heavier than her own, but not more than she could handle. With a sigh she laid the blade on the grass in front of her and settled in to wait. Their parents would decide what to do.

Rhosyn brushed a few stray splinters of wood out of the rune. Oak was good material for runes. Today was a good day for considering runes and quiet contemplation. Her husband Ambrosius had trekked down to the nearby village to trade furs and gather gossip. Her two noisiest children were out playing. Her middle daughter,Ismene -bless her quiet soul- was somewhere reading. Nerys her eight month old daughter cooed in her sleep and snuggled against her midsection.

The woman sat at a round rough finished of dark wood table of near a hearth, candles augmenting the light of the afternoon sun. Her hair fell down her back in long loose chestnut waves sprinkled throughout with strands of gray. Outside of the candle light and the sun's rays the room was dark around her, the plaster walls dressed in dancing shadows, the dimness of early evening hiding old stains on the stone floor.

Rhosyn set the last of the runes into a woven basket with the others. Runes were essential for the casting of certain spells and a good tool for fortune reading, but they didn't last forever. She put the basket under the table and brushed shavings of wood from the skirt of her blue-green dress. Her children would be home soon. They'd have a cold supper tonight, it was too hot and peaceful a day to cook anymore than she had too. There was some roast duck in the cellar and day old bread that they could dress up with preserves and butter. She'd have to cook them some peas, turnips and carrots to go with the meal. They'd have some raw fruit for dessert with cinnamon for dessert, only fools scorned it.

Rhosyn leaned back in her chair putting her bare white feet up on the wooden table in front of her, determined to have the most of her quiet afternoon. Nerys stirred and pushed up on her arms with a smile.

"Hi baby," Rhosyn smiled back. The girl had Ambrosius's green eyes with dark hair. Nerys babbbled at her in a language only she knew and then reached into the neck of her dress and drew forth a pale breast. The girl latched onto the nipple and Rhosyn stroked her daughter's back.

When she had first begun nursing Aikat it had hurt so and there had been no women to share nursing duties or even to offer wisdom and advice. Ambroisus' knowledge had seen her safe through pregnancy and delivery, but his helpfulness ended there. After that first month of motherhood she had been prepared to swear off all martial congress whatsoever. Ambrosius had found and brought a midwife to coach, and she'd learn better ways to nurse her first child.

Rhosyn snuggled her daughter closer and let her eyes drift shut; closing out the plaster walls and thatched roof. Much had changed for them since Aikat's birth. She was no longer slender girl of seventeen, frightened of King Uther and his war against 'd built a home out of the hill fort, a safe place. She hoped that they could maintain it through all the upheaval in Camelot.

"Mom-" Drystan burst into the parlour with that a word, gasped and took a breath. "We found a body." He stood panting one hand resting on his thin chest as he gulped air, trying to catch his breath.

"A body?" Rhosyn looked up with a frown.

"Yes!" He replied.

She studied her only surviving son's face a moment. The boy's skin was a sun-warmed brown from all the time he spent outside, his hair which had been neat and well groomed this morning was now a tousled mess and he was so covered with twigs and bramble that he looked as if he'd run home without a care for what lay in his path.

"Where is your sister?" Rhosyn asked wondering at the absence of her eldest child.

"With the body!"

"What? Drystan are you trying to trick your mother?"

"No, the boy shook his head, "but he's not really a body even though he looks and smells bad. Aikat says he is sick and needs help and," the boy paused and swallowed, "he is really a knight."

Rhosyn sighed and got to her feet holding Nerys close. "Where is this knight?"

Drystan poked out his lips and twisted his fingers rather than reply and Rhosyn knew she wouldn't like the answer.

"Drystan."

The boy mumbled something in the direction of his feet.

"Speak up," she lifted his chin and met her son's eyes determined to get an answer out of him.

"In front of Morgana's house," he grimaced in preparation for her anger.

"What were you children doing by Morgana's house?" She raised a hand forestalling his answer. "Never mind, you can be in trouble later. Go tell your sister Ismene to take a break from reading and get the cart ready while I gather my medical supplies." She placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him from running off.

"Then get me two cushions, fill three water skins and get me two blankets."

"Okay," he started to run off in search of his sister and she stopped him again.

"One more thing was this knight wearing a golden dragon badge?"

"I didn't see one."

Rhosyn sighed. "All right, off you go."

Drystan ran off to find his sister while Rhosyn gathered her medical supplies, so much for her peaceful afternoon.

Merlin crossed the tree line and stepped from the warm bright afternoon into the dim light of the forest. Out of sight of Arthur he stopped to catch his breath. He'd seen hate before, and he'd seen it moments ago in Arthur's eyes. He still did not fully understand the change in Arthur. Understand how the other had gone from thoughtful to enraged in the course of one evening.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't execute you here and now?"

Panic had surged in him and that metallic taste of adrenaline had coated his tongue. In desperation he had wished himself away and he had been, away. Not far, but the adrenaline had shot him up the hill, dissipating only when he was safe behind a screen of trees. He looked back towards the valley floor, and found it hidden from his vantage point. What was he going to do now? Arthur hated him. Merlin sank to the forest floor and leaned his back against the trunk of a tree.

Leaning against the tree, his strength melted out of him as if the soil somehow leached it away. Gwen was dead, Arthur hated him, and the things he'd said to Gaius. With such speed his life, always tense, was now a ruin. Exhaustion crept upon him and his head drooped forward. Merlin slept.

He woke feeling no happier than he had when he'd fallen asleep.

He considered and dismissed the idea of going back to the valley. Morgana was gone and if Arthur were still there who knew what the other man would do. He decided to make for the horses. He'd keep to the trees and well out of sight. If Arthur were there…well he'd just keep out of sight.

Merlin stared and felt the first stirrings of anger. Their horses and supplies were gone. Arthur had abandoned him in the woods. Yes, the king had reason to be angry, to want nothing to do with him, but to leave him stranded, without supplies.

"Very well." Merlin felt his blood run hot and then cold. He'd walk back to Camelot, slip into the city, say good-bye to Gaius and take his leave. If Arthur chose to scorn magic let him see how well he did without it.

With each step Merlin recalled a thousand indignities and his anger grew. He thought of all the humiliations and all the unacknowledged services he'd done for the Arthur. All the times he'd saved his life, all the times he'd protected Uther simply for Arthur's sake, all the late nights scrubbing Arthur's laundry or polishing his armor or rising with the sun to get his breakfast. Arthur had spat upon all of that, turned his back as if it had no meaning, were valued at nothing.

The logical part of him whispered that Arthur did not know of these things. That Arthur had learnt of his magic not in a moment of triumph, but failure. How could he expect the other man to value that? But the king did know of other times that Merlin had saved his life. More than once Arthur had seen it for himself and still this was his choice. The king would never respect him. This of all things proved it. And while he had once contented himself with being a secret savior, Merlin knew that would no longer be enough. The wizard turned and started toward the road.

The road was one of the old roman roads, gravel paving under blocks of stone. Like Uther, Arthur diverted taxes to its maintenance. Unlike Uther he wanted to add more such roads. With solid roads information and goods could move with ease from one part of Camelot to another. Messages about bandits could reach garrisons with ease and speed, food stores could be moved to areas of famine, and citizens could more easily communicate with loved ones.

It was difficult to find the money for such projects though. Disasters, incursions by Morgana, public campaigns like the war on magic siphoned funds from infrastructure, forcing repeated delays on projects.

Still there was this road, one long dark line of from east to west, connecting the citadel and villages, and making rivers accessible. Merlin took to it now. Along the road he would travel much faster, he could if he wished even travel into the night and reach the city by some time in the late afternoon of the next day. Merlin lengthened his stride eager to be done with Camelot.

Here and there the sunlight broke through the trees, flowering shrubs and bushes grew along the roadside, the afternoon under the forest canopy the afternoon was neither hot nor cool. Without the continuous waiting on Arthur, worrying about Arthur, or thinking of how he must hide his magic, Merlin found himself enjoying the walk.

A chickadee sang and he hummed along enjoying the cheerful song- he felt it, a prickling of the hairs on the back of his neck and tingling down the length of his long spine. Merlin whipped around certain that he'd see a figure on the road behind him, Arthur perhaps. The wizard sighed when he saw nothing and started walking again, studying the length of the shadows as he went. It was drawing near to evening, he'd made good time. By this time tomorrow he'd be in Camelot.

He'd apologize to Gaius before taking his leave; the old man deserved that much from him. Then he'd find Gwen and take care of her body, from there home to Ealdor. He didn't see his mother enough, and she was all too often alone.

He was more mature now, had better control of his magic, more experience. He could be a help to his mother and a help to the village that raised him. Yes that was-

-Merlin tensed and felt that tingling down the back of his neck again and then he heard a great, deafening roar from the trees. He swallowed and looked to his right.

You could draw a straight line between he and it, a furry brown shape sitting in the woods mouth open to reveal a jaw full of sharp teeth. The beast turned and looked at him. Merlin jumped, instinctive panic seized him and he ran.

The animal- and Merlin was starting to think that it was a bear- ran too, lumbering along on all fours. He heard twigs snapping beneath its feet, as well as the steady rhythmic thud of it's paws striking the earth. Merlin ran on, striving to keep away from the bear. At any moment it might emerge from the woods to tackle him, and drag him away to his den for a delicious meal.

But the creature didn't do any of that. Merlin's panic began to recede. His pace slowed to a stop. He stood bent in half, hands resting on knees, breathing hard. The bear stopped too. His curiosity began to stir. Merlin straightened and took a step toward the bear. It stood and took a step backward. He took another step forward, the bear took a step back. This went on until Merlin found himself standing in the woods, several yards from the road. The bear was the exact same distance from him as when he'd taken that first step, perhaps even the same distance as when he'd first sighted the beast. The last dregs of his fear fell away and Merlin let himself drop to the forest floor still weary from his earlier sent and the hard work of recent days.

He lay back in the grass and stared up at the pockets of bright blue sky visible through the forest canopy.

"You can't eat me," he said to the beast with a shaky voice. No roar came, no response, nor had he expected one. The bear sat back on his haunches, with none of the tenseness of a beast waiting to spring.

Merlin lay in the grass, glancing time and again toward the bear and always the beast sat in the shade of a tree in the same relaxed stance. When the weariness from his sprint had passed, the wizard got to his feet and looked around. The bear had gone.

It occurred to him then that the animal had been playing with him. They did that sometimes, animals. He shook his head feeling a bit foolish for his initial panic. His magic would defend him easily enough. Merlin surveyed the shadows again, they'd grown long. He started back to the road there were perhaps two hours of light left for travel.

"-Your ugly face-" "-Morgana's house!" "I have my sword."

He heard those words and then nothing, but the familiar sounds of the forest. Then something cool and damp was pressed to his lips and he sucked water gratefully.

"-he stinks!" The child's voice, he'd heard it before. He heard the words in bits and pieces, distracted at times by his own pain,discomfort and weariness.

He moved or rather he was moved and the dull pain in his head roared, a fiery beam that blotted out everything else.

The pain lessened and he heard voices.

"Has he said anything?" It was adult feminine and Arthur felt curious enough to consider opening his eyes.

"No, but he had some pain when I moved him to the shade." He recognized the voice of the girl from earlier, Aikat was what the other child called her?

"Where is your pain," the newcomer asked.

He answered or thought he answered, but the question was repeated.

"His words-"

"-I know-" again the adult spoke and her tone was grim. "Try again to tell me where your pain is Sir Knight."

When he tried to answer the second time Arthur heard the words he babbled with great clarity. He opened his eyes. Had they heard him as he heard himself? The sun was no longer a burning torch, but something else was wrong. Instead of faces peering down at him he saw only pale head shaped blobs surrounded by masses of light or dark that must be hair. He shivered, there was something disturbing about the blobs and he closed his eyes rather than look at them.

"I want you to drink this Sir Knight. It will help with the pain." The woman gave that command.

Someone eased his head up and he accepted the bitter liquid that poured down his throat.

"Level and smooth Aikat."

"Yes mother."

Mother? There was someone's mother here?

"Keep his head steady Drystan."

There were hands on his ankles, hooked in his armpits, and under his head. They were going to move him, he would have complained if he'd had the strength.

"1."

"2."

"3."

Arthur cried out again, and heard murmurs of sorry all round. They were moving him and Drystan was failing to keep his head level and smooth.

When the pain lessened he smelled hay and pine and something soft was pillowed under his head. Someone bathed his forehead, head, and neck with cool water; Arthur dared to open his eyes.

Again he saw another blob surrounded by a dark halo.

"I'm sorry, but we can't wait." The blob turned away from him. "Go Aikat."

Arthur felt the lurch of the cart and the pain that had been with him stabbed into his skull with the heat of molten hot metal or a sword fresh from the forge. Whatever the woman had given him it did not help. Then there was a jostle, and another lurch and a thud, and each brought it's own fresh wave agony to be added to the last until he was whimpering and crying and clinging to the strange woman for any comfort he might receive from simple human touch. And even still it just kept going until the agony in his head was the only thing that he knew.

When the agony did at long last recede, the first thing he saw was the color of the sky. And there was a bed and bedding and the mess in his breeches was gone. All around him were the clean smells of sweet basil, myrtle, rose and soothing fragrant, lavender. Everything around him was clean and soft and comfort. He remembered perhaps a cool hand on his forehead and another strange voice, a male one saying the word peace, perhaps? He couldn't be certain. And it didn't matter because he was so tired and the scent of lavender brought Guinevere to his mind's eye. Her warm brown face worried and desperate.

"Live for me Arthur Pendragon."

And then he slept and knew no more.

Merlin surveyed his camp with a satisfied smile. Setting up for just himself had taken almost no time, use of his magic had sped the process along. He had a bed of grass and pine, a cozy fire, and two roasted squirrels for his dinner. He'd used his magic to trap the last and now as the squirrel finished up cooking he set a circle of protection round his camp.

No keeping watching, no waking at every suspicious sound, and no pacing the perimeter of his camp. His magic would protect him like it should have always protected him. He set the last piece of fieldstone in place, muttered the last syllable of the incantment and felt:

nothing.

The wizard sat back on his heels with a frown. A spell or incantation was a gathering of power, on the completion there was a clicking, like a lock opening and a feeling he could only describe as blossoming; of course though sometimes nothing happened at all. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes going over the protection incantation in his mind. It was the end of a long day, even a simple spell could be difficult when one was tired.

Merlin started again, pronouncing each syllable with care, and tapping out the spell's rhythm on his knee. He felt the slow gathering of power and spoke his words with confidence, the picture of a shimmering circle round the camp held firm in his mind. He opened his eyes on the last word, placing the fieldstone as he said it, and felt that inner click as the lock opened and the magic began to blossom taking shape. He saw a shimmer of pale violet light make a circle round his camp just as he willed. For one moment the violet light beamed and then disappeared. The spell was complete.

The wizard grinned with satisfaction and took up his meal. He'd rest without worry tonight.

Merlin woke to a morning silvery-gray and well advanced. He swore. Without the warmth and light of the sun he'd slept late. He dispelled the protections around his camp and went to a nearby stream to drink. He didn't bother with breakfast. He would eat when his things were gathered and his fare-thee wells given.

"Damn that woman and that slimy bastard Agravaine. I knew he meant no good when he showed up court! King Uther sent him away and Arthur had no knowledge of it." Lord Troy planted his sword point first in the turf. A warm, fat drop of rain splashed onto Merlin's cheek and he ground his teeth in consternation as he studied nobleman.

Lord Troy wore a linen tunic and trousers both in deep blue with a jerkin also made of indigo blue linen and embroidered with threads of silver, green and gold, not the kind of thing one wore for traipsing about the woods. His dark hair brown was wild and around his head and littered with twigs and leaves. He looked at the nobleman again; taking in his pale dirt smudged face and rumpled looked as if he'd slept in the woods, on the ground no less.

What was Lord Troy, of all people doing out in the woods, swearing? More of a concern though was that he did it in Merlin's path, standing between the wizard and the bridge he wanted to cross. Merlin sighed. He'd heard Lord Troy's swearing as he came round a bend in the road and ducked into the trees. He did not wish to reveal himself to Lord Troy.

Merlin weighed his options, he could wait for Lord Troy to move on, back track and cross the river elsewhere or deal with the nobleman. Since he'd left with Arthur, Lord Troy would in all likelihood be expecting to see him with the king. That would mean delays and questions.

Merlin fixed his gaze on Lord Troy's back and began reciting a sleep spell under his breath. He felt the magic click and blossom just as he'd expected. Lord Troy tensed -Merlin saw it in every line of his frame- turned and looked square at his hiding spot just in time for the wizard to see Troy's amber broach glow and fade. The man had magic or at least a broach with magic; surely it had absorbed the power of the spell.

The nobleman pulled his sword from the turf and pointed it in Merlin's direction.

"Show yourself!"

Merlin considered. He did not care for Lord Troy, had never really cared for Lord Troy, even before the nobleman had tried to have Gwaine and Elyan's knighthood taken from them. He'd always dismissed the man as Lord Payton's lackey. Merlin wondered if Lord Payton knew Lord Troy was a magic user?

A few more drops of rain fell and Merlin wondered for a moment if it was going to storm. A moment later a distant rumble of thunder gave an 's dark eyes narrowed and the frown on his long thin face deepened.

"I said come forward."

There was a steeliness in Lord Troy's voice that he'd never associated with the man. Merlin studied the gleaming sword point. Perhaps not a magic user, but someone sensitive to it, familiar and comfortable with it. Intrigued Merlin stepped forward.

"It is only Merlin," he said.

"You!" Lord Troy frowned, and lowered his sword point. "Where is the king?"

"He went back to Camelot."

"Camelot!" Troy's voice was incredulous. "When?"

"Yesterday morn-"

"-And he left you here?" Lord Troy lifted the sword again, "You'll have to do better than that traitor!"

"What?"

"Yesss, you-"

-He saw the nobleman's dark brown eyes widen and then something barreled into him from behind knocking him off his feet and into Lord Troy.

Both men tumbled down the slope a mass of flailing arms and legs, scrabbling for purchase on the hillside. By some miracle he had not been impaled on Lord Troy's sword. They splashed into the river and the current pulled them apart. Merlin had just enough time to take a deep breath before the water closed round him. He kicked his legs and surfaced with ease. Merlin looked around and saw the bear sitting up slope as if he were watching some great entertainment. He glared at the bear and heard Lord Troy splash to the surface a moment later face red with anger.

"Why am I involved in this?" The nobleman shouted in the direction of the bear.

Merlin frowned. Lord Troy was looking at the bear as if waiting for a reply.

The bear bellowed.

"Well yes, but he," Lord Troy looked at Merlin with a glare. "He is a clumsy idiot and besides, he left, the king!"

Water dripped off the end of the nobleman's long nose and his lips pressed into in thin line in his pale face. The bear waited before replying as if considering it's answer. Finally the bear bellowed again and then turned and walked toward the forest. Lord Troy snorted and swam toward the opposite bank. No little intrigued by the bizarre exchange Merlin swam after him. Troy reached the bank first, pulling himself up to stand on the grass while glaring down at him dark hair slicked to his skull, fine clothes soaked and clinging.

"I suppose we are going to travel together," Lord Troy said as Merlin climbed onto the grassy riverbank.

"We are?"

"Oh yes," Lord Troy pointed his chin in the bear's direction. "Your friend with the torn ear insist."

"Not my friend. You're the one who spoke to it."

Lord Troy snorted and glared. The rain began to fall faster now though he took little note of it in his soaked state. The sky brightened for a moment and both men looked to the north to catch a flash of lightning. The earth shook a moment later as thunder boomed overhead.

"We need shelter," Lord Troy said.

The wind grew stronger hissing through the leaves of the trees with the sound of the sea. The nobleman started up the riverbank. Merlin looked back across the bridge toward the opposite bank. The bear was cloud cover had thickened and it was too dark to see into the trees on the other side of the river now.

Merlin had never had an experience with Lord Troy that would make him think he wanted to travel with him. But then, perhaps, in truth he did not know anything about Lord Troy. The man had some protection against magic and he would not have guessed that. He talked to bears as if they were humans.

The rainfall began to mingle with the river water running out of his hair to blur his vision. He did not want to travel with anyone, but if the nobleman knew where shelter might be found perhaps he should at least follow him. Besides if Lord Troy were a magic user or knew something about magic then it might important to keep an eye him. Merlin frowned, he wasn't concerning himself with Camelot or it's politics anymore. Still there was no need for him to get wet.

"Well come on."

Merlin squinted up at Lord Troy through rain soaked lashes. The nobleman stood at the edge of the forest now, dark garments black with water. It couldn't have been much past midday, but the cloud cover made the forest look night-dark. He looked toward the dark line of the road, now soaked and gleaming with rainwater, but cutting through the forest, a path he'd chosen for himself. A path just a few feet away.

He slicked his soaked hair back from his face and wiped the water from his eyes. There was another flashing crackle of lightning, followed by thunder. It would be dangerous to travel during a storm. Soaked garments clinging to him Merlin leaned into the steep incline of the riverbank and started upslope after Lord Troy and into the darkness of the forest.

A/N- So I am finally back.

I want to thank you all so much for continuing to read The Exile and hanging in there with me through all my delays and inconsistencies. Those of you who follow my tumblr know that I moved cross-country in mid-february and then that microsoft security update that they released at the beginning of April broke my computer twice. Anyway things are settling into some sort of routine finally. I have a little chromebook to work on and I am not having to run out on errands every day. Hopefully there won't be any more month long delays between updates. Thanks again for hanging in there, thanks for all you patience and comments. I do most of this writing for you guys.