For those of you that have been asking for an Arthur chapter or a longer chapter this one is a doozy. :) Its good and long and its all Arthur, with a couple little Arwen flashbacks thrown in, enjoy. Beta work by Babykay and Shanel thank you both for all of your hardwork.
Previously in The Exile
Arthur brought his hand to Guinevere'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
"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...Chapter 24 The Right and the Left
The Exile
Part II
Chapter XVIII: As the Fireflies Danced
"You're awake." A woman's voice came out of the blob and Arthur squinted. It was certainly a face. He could identify the hair and sort of see eyes, but squinting made his eyes hurt and the headache got worse, so he relaxed and let the face be a blob again.
"How do you feel? Are you in pain?"
"Head-" Arthur grunted as the ache in his head throbbed and he brought a trembling hand to his forehead. The ache eased and he tried again. He got the word out the second time, but it sounded raspy and strange and the blob leaned closer.
"What?" Her tone told him she didn't understand.
"Head hurts," he grated, emphasizing the words as much as he could.
"What else?"
She must have understood him that time
"Can't see, and," he coughed, "thirsty."
A damp cloth was pressed to his lips and moisture dribbled into his mouth. He sucked without thinking.
"No matter," the blob said at last. "We'll take care of you."
He wanted to ask who they were, but he was so tired. His eyes shut of their own accord and he slept.
He woke briefly perhaps two or three times, each time the room always seemed to be spinning. Once he was fed a few sips of flavorful broth, another time the bed he was in was being changed because he'd messed himself, and a third time he'd thought Guinevere was there, but he'd woken to find it was just a dream. Each time he woke, the pain in his head was there and the weakness in his limbs drug him back into sleep, too drained to have any idea of what was happening around him.
Arthur stared up at the sky blue plaster and timber beams in the ceiling. No wonder he'd been dreaming he was outside. His head was still aching, but the spinning sensation he'd been suffering had past. He also didn't feel that sense of trembling weakness in his limbs. He wondered at that. How one could lie unmoving and feel weak?
He coughed, a weak sputtering sound, and his throat began to ache for dryness.
"Hi!" A child appeared at his bedside from nowhere, smiling with a head of unruly brown curls. "You're awake. I'm Drystan. Are you hungry? Are you thirsty, Sir Knight?"
"Thirsty," his voice came out in a weak croak.
The boy poured water from a pitcher at the bedside into a wooden cup. Arthur lifted his hand for the cup and that trembling weakness returned. His hand shook as he took it from the child and the cup had all the weight of his sword after a day spent training. Arthur pushed himself up on one elbow and he trembled throughout his body as the room spun. Fear bubbled up in his stomach. This was worse than the weakness that had come upon him during his quest to the Fisher King.1
He sat unmoving, gripping the cup so that its wooden surface dug into his hand. He waited for the dizziness to pass. The trembling lessened and he lifted the cup to his lips with two hands. The water was cool and wonderful in his mouth. Arthur sipped at it faster than he knew he should, but he couldn't stop himself, he felt so parched. The water hit his stomach like a stone. He coughed, his hands began to shake, his limited strength gave out and he fell back against the bed, spilling the water across the linens as the cup went rolling.
"Mom!" Drystan ran from the room.
Arthur felt a little whimper in the back of his throat. All he wanted was some water to ease his discomfort, but his thirst remained a torment. The dull headache that seemed to have been with him for as long as he could remember now began to throb and burn again, he trembled in every limb as if he'd fought a full day's battle, and in addition to it all, his stomach cramped as if a great fist were squeezing it.
"Hello, Sir Knight ."
Arthur opened his eyes and slowly turned his head toward the doorway. A girl perhaps ten or eleven-years-old was walking into his room. She had dark eyes that took up most of her face and wore a pale yellow dress. He tried to speak a greeting and coughed.
"You're a knight of Camelot right?" she said, crossing to his bedside with deliberate steps, a large book held under one arm.
"Yes," he managed that word in spite of the dryness of his throat.
"My parents are witches." She stared down at him with angry eyes. "I'm a witch." She glanced over her shoulder. "Normally Camelot knights hunt witches, but if you hurt my parents I'll be the one hunting you." Her dark eyes flared golden for a moment and then she turned and ran from the room.
Arthur stared after the girl, mouth hanging open. He'd just been threatened by an eleven-year-old, whose parents were witches. Who were her parents? Arthur closed his eyes, perhaps if he went back to sleep he'd wake up somewhere else where he wasn't as weak as a kitten or being threatened by eleven year-old witches.
"Oh, my." He heard a familiar sounding woman's voice . Arthur cracked-one eye opened and turned toward the woman's voice. She stood in the doorway, tall, sun-browned, with very dark eyes, gleaming dark hair in a long braid and wearing a blue-green dress.
"I am Rhosyn." She strode into the room and stood over him, hands on her hips as she considered the situation. Was this one of the parent's the little girl had been concerned with? Perhaps the mother the boy Drystan had mentioned?
"You're too large for me to manage on my own."
Her eyes glowed golden and Arthur shrank back into the bedding with fear. She paid him no mind and held a hand over his middle as she muttered some spell. When she took her hand away the bedding was dry.
"Have no fear, Sir Knight." She sat down on the edge of the bed. "My family has been nursing you for some four days. If we wished you ill we simply could have left you lying on the forest floor. You'd have died on your own or perhaps," she smirked at this, "something would have eaten you. Can you tell me your name?"
"Aa –Leon," Arthur said just in case they knew something of his knights.
Her eyes widened and she stared at him a moment. Did they know who he was?
"Very good, Sir Leon."
Arthur felt himself relax. She took his head between her hands and he winced.
"Head still aching?" She peered into his eyes.
"Yes, thirsty also."
"Open your mouth and stick out your tongue." After examining him, she said, "Tongue is a little whiter than it should be, but that is to be expected. Chew on this." She stuck a thick stem of grass in his mouth. The sharp taste of mint filled his mouth.2
"Anything else ailing you besides the head?" She eased his head back down.
"Weak," he whispered it, but she seemed to hear it just fine. "Stomach…" He coughed. "The water-"
"It was probably too cold and too much. You have been without food for some time."
"Mom."
They both looked toward the doorway and Arthur felt his eyes widen. A tall blonde maid stood in the doorway with a tray and she looked as if she could have been a sister to him, far more so than Morgana.
"Here's the tray you asked for." She glanced at him and looked back at her mother. "Can I go practice my forms?"
"Yes, of course. Thank you, darling."
"You're welcome, mom."
The girl sat the tray across his lap and hurried out. A rich flavorful scent hit his nose and Arthur's stomach growled. Rhosyn smiled at that.
"Where is that boy with the cushions? I'm sure we'll need them." Rhosyn got to her feet. "Sit tight, Sir Leon." She left and Arthur laid back down, waiting for her to return, mouth watering at the scent of the food so close, but thinking of the way his stomach cramped with the water, he was more than willing to wait for Rhosyn to return.
Rhosyn was a witch. Merlin was a sorcerer, he was being taken care of by a witch, and something else had happened just before, before...that pain had burst into his skull. His head started to throb and he reached for Gwen's ring. His fingers found the round of metal warm from contact with his flesh and still in its home. Arthur began to relax and his headache eased.
"Still awake?" Rhosyn was there again, two cushions under her arm.
She sat the tray aside and helped him to sit and get the cushions behind his back. Rhosyn resettled the tray across his lap. He wanted to feed himself, he wanted not to be relying on the care of magic users, but neither of these things was going to happen. Though apparently he'd been relying on the aid of a magic user for six years now and according to said magic user he'd be dead several times over if not for magic.
"You need to eat." Rhosyn lifted a spoonful of broth to his lips. "Just a little."
The broth smelled divine, but Arthur's stomach was still unsettled from the water.
"The water-"
"You had too much. Take it one slow sip at a time." Her expression was warm and encouraging.
The fragrance of the broth, her reassurances were more than Arthur could resist, he took a small sip. The warmth of the broth filled his mouth with the rich flavors of chicken and rabbit, and all good things. Its scent filled his nostrils as he swallowed. It warmed and soothed his parched throat as it went down, spreading a languid warmth into his stomach.
"More please," he rasped. Rhosyn fed him another spoonful and he sipped at the broth in earnest. She fed him a bit more before insisting he take a break, reminding him he'd get sick if he ate too fast. She was right of course, but it didn't stop him from thinking about the food or wanting it.
"Where am I?" he asked to distract himself.
"One of the old Roman forts," she explained.
"Oh," Arthur said. "Did you come from Camelot?"
She nodded.
"Oh, you must have fled the purge."
She frowned then and for a moment he saw conflict in her dark eyes.
"You should probably have more soup now."
She fed him the remaining soup with two breaks and Arthur found himself yawning by the time they finished.
She gave him a small smile. "I'll let you get some sleep."
He wanted to stop her. There were so many questions? Where was he? Who were these people? Why were magic-users helping him?
She rose, hands on her hips. "Look here."
He turned his attention to the table at the bedside forcing himself to focus. There was a pitcher of water, a strangely shaped brass pan, and a little bell.
"Water if you thirst, the pan for you to relieve yourself, and ring the bell if you wake and find yourself alone and need help."
"Thank you," Arthur murmured and drifted into sleep without another word or thought.
He woke to darkness and his body's need to relieve itself. He managed to sit up on his own, but the pan Rhosyn had indicated made his arms ache with the strain of lifting it. Remembering the accident with the cup, Arthur gave the little bell a ring.
For all that he was accustomed to having anything that he wished done for him, Arthur felt some embarrassment at the idea of needing help using the privy. Still even if they did magically clean the linens, he didn't want to mess them in that way in the first place. Pissing himself seemed far more embarrassing than needing help taking a piss.
Just as he finished that thought, a tall man, carrying a candle held high, entered. Arthur stared and swallowed.
"Fa-" He must have been dreaming some bizarre dream. He remembered the girl from earlier, the one who looked enough like him to put him in mind of a sister.
"What can I help you with, Sir Leon?"
Arthur twisted his lips before speaking, studying the other man. His father would never address a knight in that way. He studied the other man. In his dreams his father alternated between being comforting and supportive or sneering. He studied the man fronting him. Same green eyes as his father, but narrow chin and jaw, nose a shade longer, and there was something else he could not quite name.
"Sir Leon?'
His bladder twinged. Would he dream of his father helping him with the privy?
"I need the pot," he said at last.
"Ahh, my wife thought you might."
The stranger sat his candle down and lifted the pan from the bedside table, but Arthur held the coverlet fast against him.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The corner of the stranger's mouth quirked upwards, and he took a breath.
"Ambrose." He paused as if he were waiting for something. "You're Sir Leon, right?"
"Yes."
"Very well, Sir Leon. Let's get this business over with."
When that was done, Ambrose got him a damp towel to clean up his hands and another cup of water.
"I have questions," he said to the older man.
"Of course you do, but my wife and I are both practitioners of the medical arts and I think it may be of greater import to talk about your present state."
Arthur frowned.
"My health?"
"Yes, Sir Leon, you are young for elf-stroke." 3
"Elf-stroke?"
"That's the common name, comes from the idea that elves are using some evil magic to strike the unwary from a distance. In reality it is an illness commonly brought on by old age and overwork or stress."
"Old age, but-"
"You're not old. That is evident." Ambrose paused and tilted his head to one side. The shadows in the room hid half of his face and again Arthur thought of his father.
"I will explain, but answer some questions for me. Have you been under much stress recently?"
"Yes."
"And you have been eating and sleeping well or poorly?"
"Poorly," Arthur admitted.
"And your position is stressful."
"Being a knight has its challenges."
"Yes, of course it must be very stressful, though not as stressful as say, your father passing, being crowned king, a new-found sister plotting to overthrow you, and your betrothed betraying you."
Arthur felt his face grow hot under Ambrose's green gaze. It seemed he was perhaps caught in his lie.
"You don't have to lie to us, Arthur. You may be in a den of sorcerers, but you are also with family and we want to help you."
Arthur frowned not at all reassured. Thus far, all of his family was proving to be very treacherous.
"I'm your father's brother. When I was at court I was called Ambrosius Aurelius."4
Arthur felt his eyes grow wide. His father had, once or twice when he was younger, mentioned such a brother. He had not recognized the name until it was put together.
"So you have heard my name?"
"Yes, I have."
"Let me assure you, Arthur, I've no desire to harm you or interfere with you. You are my guest, the son of my brother, and you are ill. Simple human decency demands I treat you well even without the bond of family between us."
Arthur didn't say anything and he thought perhaps he saw regret flicker in the other man's eyes.
"You will recover your strength in full, Arthur, but I want to warn you that if you are not careful, if you do not eat well, rest well, those first effects of the elf-stroke, headache, weakness, poor vision, and your inability to form words, will become permanent. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Get some rest, Arthur."
He wanted to argue with Ambrosius, ask more questions, but the older man was already leaving and taking the light with him. Alone in the dark he could not resist the pull of sleep.
Over the next few days Arthur's period of wakefulness grew from just enough time to eat, and use the privy to full hours where he found himself sitting at loose ends trying to make idle chatter with his cousins and wishing he might hop on a horse and get back to Camelot. There was so much to do.
Where was Guinevere? How was he to find her? Sometimes he pictured her living, happy working as a seamstress in some busy prosperous village. He'd watched her with a needle and thread some quiet evenings in her little home, her fingers nimble and graceful, making careful stitches as she repaired some garment for Morgana. Or later after his father had fallen ill and he'd ordered new dresses for her as a thank you for nursing him, she'd insisted on making them herself and adding pretty embroidery to the fabric.
Sometimes he grew bored watching and he'd disrupt her sewing.
"I'm to spend the entire evening watching you sew?"
She'd raise her head slightly, a coy little smile playing around her lips. Firelight making her warm brown skin glow.
"Did you have something else in mind, Sire?" She'd bat her eyelashes then.
He'd groan and stand over her for a moment. "Guinevere." It would only be her name, but it would tell her everything he wanted her to know.
"Well if you must interrupt my sewing," she'd say, her tone prim and slightly chastising, "then you'll have to make-up for it."
He understood the game perfectly well. "Anything you wish, my lady."
Sometimes she asked for absolutely nothing, other times she asked him to clean something like her dishes or sweep her floors. The first few times she'd done that he'd balked and she'd held his eyes and told him "It's only fair since I have all these things to do and they will still have to be done when you've gone."
He'd offered maids, titles, things of that nature. She'd laughed then and said "I only want you."
He'd given in and done the chores. After a while he found a certain satisfaction in seeing Guinevere's home cleaned as a result of his own labor. In fact after some days when no headway could be made in his own work, he would sneak down to Gwen's home and do some of her chores for her. There was something to be said for doing a task you were certain to complete, and pleasing someone else in the process.
He hoped that she was alive, and well and happy, that Elyan's insistence that she was dead a mistake. He wished he could be like some men and women who insisted that they felt a missing loved one still lived, in spite of their absence, but he could not spend time on wishes. He had far too many things to consider right now and all were of equal importance and urgency. And for the moment he could do nothing about any of them.
Drystan was the first to notice his wakeful periods and took it upon himself to distract Arthur from his worries with tales of his childish adventures until he found himself bored back to sleep. His Aunt Rhosyn did notice eventually, and when he finished a third meal fully alert and awake she produced a basket of yarn and told him to hold out both hands. She needed someone to help her twine the yarn. So for the next few days his hands were put to use as place holders while his aunt rolled her yarn from hanks into balls, or shelling peas, sorting buckets of pebbles, or smoothing down new wooden utensils and tools.
He had done chores for Guinevere, he may as well do them for his family, and when he did help them they had more time to sit and talk with him. Aikat had lots of questions about being a knight and the battles he'd fought in. His aunt talked about her children and their life in the woods. Sometimes she asked him to hold Nerys which was fine, even though the baby drooled all over him. After a while, even Ismene started coming and reading to him.
Four days after their first conversation his Uncle came and sat with him.
"Do you feel up to joining us for meals?"
He considered a moment, "I no longer feel dizzy or tremble when I sit up, so yes, I think so."
"Good. I think you're ready for some exercise as well. Two walks daily, for a start. Aikat prefers being outdoors and Drystan follows Aikat everywhere; they will accompany you. I imagine you will want to keep up with your training?"
"Yes, I would, and the sooner the better." He didn't care for the weakness in his sword arm. "You have a training field?"
"It is a little smaller than the field at the palace, but it serves for Aikat and myself."
"Good even if I am not ready to return to Camelot I should not let my training slip."
"Arthur," Ambrose's tone was one of caution. "Your strength will return, but it will take some time."
He frowned.
"I still don't understand the elf-stroke, or the brain storm. Was it that awful pain in my head that came like a bolt from nowhere? It lasted only a handful of minutes, how can it have such powerful affect?"
"The period leading up to it was months. Surely you noticed some loss of strength and vigor just before?"
He nodded. He'd chalked his ill-feeling up to poor sleep and diet.
"If you were an older man the symptoms of the elf-stroke would most likely be permanent. Surely you've seen someone suffering the illness in Camelot?"
He thought then of Sir Ector. A retired knight nearly his father's age. The man had gone to sleep one evening as well as always and woken the next day with his face twisted, and unable to speak. His family had retired to his country estate not long after.
"Yes, but-" Arthur brought a hand to his face. His headache, the hours after, were akin to what had happened to Sir Ector?
"-You're a young man and so you have been so strongly affected. Right now you must focus on recovering."
"I have a kingdom to run and I am already more than a week absent."
Ambrose pursed his lips.
"Tell me, Arthur, for how long would you like to be king, would you like to live?"
"As a knight I have risked my life over and over; I do not fear death." Arthur returned in prideful resentment.
'I'm certain, but Arthur, those were justified risks; returning in this state would not be justified. Someone will come looking for you and I've got my friends out looking for them. When they come you will not be kept from them, but take this time to rest and grow strong. Camelot needs a strong king with a sound mind and body. You do not have that yet. Right now I doubt you could sit a horse for five minutes, much less mount one. What will you do on a throne?"
Arthur flushed at the truth of these words.
"You told me you left Sir Leon in charge. Do you trust him?"
"He is one of my most loyal men, served under my father."
"Good. And things were peaceful when you left?"
Arthur hesitated a moment. "As peaceful as they can be. Camelot has its enemies, but none threaten us at the moment." He thought of Agravaine and Morgana.
"Then all the more reason for you to stay and rest, so that you can face those who threaten your kingdom with all your strength at your command."
"Your words make sense, uncle, and in truth I have very little choice."
Right now if he returned and was too weak to stand, there would be those who saw him as too weak to lead. His uncle was right, he needed to rest and recover his strength.
"I'll go at your pace for now, uncle."
"Good." Ambrose smiled and there was encouragement in it. "I shall find Ismene and have her read for us a bit."
The dining table was set with wooden plates and several covered stone dishes. Ambrose nudged Arthur toward the chair to the left of the head and Arthur took hold of the arms and slowly lowered himself into the seat. The moment he was at rest the sense of trembling seized his limbs again and Arthur frowned. He'd felt fine a moment ago, but now the trembling in his limbs made the thought of rising and walking back to the sleeping room seem an impossible task.
"That's cause you never play anymore, Ismene." Arthur heard Drystan's complaint just as the boy entered the room.
"I'm very busy, my studies are important." Ismene said firmly.
"Drystan, I'll play with you," Aikat said.
"That's true." The boy pouted and then cheered as his eyes landed on something on the breakfast.
"Come on children, sit down." Rhosyn said coming to the table.
Ambrose took his seat at the head, Rhosyn on his right and then the children filled in—Aikat next to him, Drystan across, and Ismene at the foot.
"Ismene, would you like to say grace?"
The girl smiled and the family bowed their heads for prayer. There was no grace at Uther Pendragon's table. Arthur sat in respectful silence while the girl thanked their heavenly father for the meal they were about to receive, for waking them up this morning and then to his surprise, their guest.
Just one week ago she had threatened him, and today she was thanking God for his presence. He did not understand them. There was nothing evil about them or Merlin for that matter.
"Amen," they said it as one.
Everyone crossed themselves in near perfect unity and Arthur hastily tried to copy them.
"You don't have to be like us Arthur." Rhosyn gave him an encouraging smile as she lifted the lid from a pot of millet porridge. They filled wooden bowls with hot cereal, then passed dishes of thick slices of warm, dark rye bread. There were poached eggs with onions and sprinklings of herbs, and finally the flaky smoked fish his uncle had mentioned. Butter was passed around for the bread, but there was no jam or preserves, and he could detect not a hint of sweetness in the millet.
Arthur studied his plate. Everyone around him was eating with relish. The little one Drystan seemed to love everything and proclaimed it throughout the meal with a great grin.
He could hear Merlin and Guinevere admonishing him now. His uncle didn't set as poor a table as Merlin's mother had, but this food-
Arthur cut that thought off. His cousins had saved his life. They didn't know him, they knew he may well be a danger to him, but they had welcomed him into their home. Even a king had to play the diplomat. Arthur ate a spoonful of the porridge, focusing on the rich taste of the milk; there was some sweetness to it.
He took a bit of the bread and carefully controlled his face. The texture was rough, the flavor a strong one. Rye was not a taste he ever thought he would get used to, but his body needed nourishment and this food was fresh and hearty. If farm-boys could grow big and strong on this type of food, then surely it would hearten him. He ate some of the eggs, which were not bad, though he preferred them baked in a pastry with cheese and onions and perhaps a bit of spinach. The fish he saved for last. The flavor was rich and smokey and he actually liked it.
"Aunt Rhosyn," he said.
She looked up from her plate.
"Everything is really very good, thank you."
"That's good of you to say, Arthur, you're welcome."
He stared a moment. Surely his displeasure had not been obvious.
"It's all very plain stuff, boring peasant food, nothing like what you're used to. Your uncle had a very hard time adjusting. I had a hard time adjusting to some of it. So it's good of you to say, to be polite and considerate."
Ambrose smiled and Arthur felt himself start to relax.
"Well I like everything," Drystan said.
"Me too. All the food is perfect," Ismene said.
"That's right. It's what we grew up with, and I wouldn't have it any other way," Aikat declared.
The following morning Arthur helped Aikat and Drystan clear up after breakfast so they could get to his walk sooner.
Stepping out into the sun for the first time in over a week, Arthur shut his eyes as reflex against the sun's brightness. The old fort was quite dim so it wasn't quite a surprise that the noon-day sun hurt his eyes. He stood a peaceful moment and let his body soak up the warmth and light of the sun. Trapped inside the walls of his aunt and uncle's home, Arthur had missed the out of doors. His earliest success had come in the fields and he'd grown to love the outdoors as part of that. Seeing the outer world through the narrow windows of the fort was no substitute for standing in the warm summer sun while an afternoon breeze caressed one's skin and ruffled the hair.
He wore only his tunic and breeches, both scrubbed clean shortly after his arrival. His uncle had also given him some of his own clothing to wear so he was not daily in and out of the same garments. Arthur drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment noting, the scent of pine, the sweet fragrances of a garden, and the faint smells of livestock not so very far off. The sun's light did reach him through his closed lids, making squiggles dance before his eyes. Arthur ducked his head and cracked his eyes open. The light did not seem too strong now and he opened them fully.
"Are you well? Do you need to go back inside?" Drystan asked him wide-eyed with concern.
"He's been inside too long," Aikat said.
"Oh." The boy smiled. "You should see the garden. We have a bird bath, and the birds sing and play, and sometimes they fight."
"You'll have to show me," he said.
Drystan took his hand and tugged him toward the garden. Thinking of Grigor's sons Enfys and Gerault, Arthur let himself be pulled toward the garden, which like most great homes had flower beds and short flowering trees that ran along the front of the building and around the sides.
His aunt and uncle's home sat in the center of a field. The heavy gray stones of the old fort still stood in the center of the building with the narrow windows and turrets common to an old military building. They had however added extensions not quite large enough to be called wings that had walls of yellow plaster supported with bright blue timber. He smiled at the incongruous combination of colors and materials.
Arthur let Drystan and Aikat show him the pleasure garden and stone birdbath. He then followed them around to the back of the house There was a fenced training yard with a practice dummy and its own shed, a vegetable garden, chicken coop and goat pen. As they made their way around the house Arthur noticed a wall of mostly fir trees on the edge of the field that proved to go all the way around. In fact when they came back to the front he studied the wall and saw no break in it. It seemed a lot for a family of five to care for and he wondered if magic helped them somehow.
"Be careful of the tree wall," Aikat said noticing his interest. "It's keyed to us and you can't cross it without one of us."
Arthur swallowed. Was he a prisoner?
"Anyone of us will take you anytime you like, but we have to be careful. Surely you understand?" Her green eyes narrowed as she watched him.
He thought about it for a moment. He certainly would not give a magic user keys to the palace gates. His aunt and uncle had more reason than he to be cautious. Magic use was still a death sentence in Camelot.
"I understand," he said at last and Drystan, who had been looking up at him with worry, started to smile.
"I can take you across," the boy volunteered. Aikat smiled then and waggled her eyebrows in a way as to suggest this was an experience not to be missed. Drystan took his hand and Arthur followed his cousins to the wall.
"Close your eyes," the boy said. "It won't work if you don't."
"Very well." Arthur shut his eyes and let his cousin pull him forward. There was nothing for a moment, just a brush of needles against his skin and then a sense of something old and wise, but very curious brushing against him even as the pine needles brushed his skin. In the next moment the warmth of the sun disappeared, along with that sense of otherness and he felt the coolness of a dim forest in the afternoon. He opened his eyes and they were standing in the woods.
"What?"
"Tree spirits." Aikat said with a grin that matched her younger brother's.
"Tree spirits?"
They nodded.
"Dad says talking to spirits is not true magic, but knowing how to listen to the world."
Arthur frowned. However one listened to spirits, he had no idea. He looked back at the trees, dense and silent and old. From this side he saw only a copse of pines tightly packed to cross. They were good camouflage.
"Should we continue?"
So far he felt neither trembling nor heaviness, though he had expected to feel one or the other or both by now.
"We should go, Arthur," Drystan said tugging his hand. "I want to show you the old temple."
"Drystan," Aikat said. "I don't think we'll walk that far today."
"Oh," the boy poked out his lips.
"Maybe just a little ways into the woods," Arthur said, not yet ready to return to the house.
"Let us go then."
She asked him questions as they walked. She wanted to know still more about Camelot and the knights. What were tournaments like? How long did the knights train daily? Was it true that Camelot's knights were the best?
He answered her questions as best he could, but soon his mind began to wander. Gwaine, Percival, Merlin, Leon, Bedivere, all of his men…what were they doing?
There was little that compared to a walk or a ride in the woods. Whether alone, or in the company of his men, there were very few other times, or places, that made him feel more confident. But thinking about his men and quests, he began to think of Merlin and Elyan.
Elyan had been gone for nearly as long as Guinevere now. Did he still believe Gwen to be dead or was he searching for her somewhere? And what of Merlin?
His cousins continued chatting with one and other.
Was Merlin waiting for him somewhere near Morgana's abandoned home or searching for him? Or had Merlin left him? He thought of his last angry words to Merlin and could not bring himself to fault the other man if he had left. He had always teased Merlin, even bullied him a bit, but he never pushed the manservant, never threatened him.
He'd been enraged then not because of the magic, but the secrets. Merlin had known Lancelot was a shade, Merlin had known that Morgana hid a mere day's ride from the palace, Merlin had known the truth of his mother's death, had known of Morgana's magic and her accompanying loneliness, long before the rest of them. How many other secrets had the sorcerer kept?
He ground his teeth and swore. His cousins looked at him with wide eyes.
"Perhaps we should start back." Aikat said.
"But I wanna show you the ruins," Drystan complained.
"No, if Arthur needs to head back we'll head back," Aikat insisted.
"There'll be time, Drystan," Arthur said, not so sure of that himself.
On another warm afternoon a few days later they had walked a bit farther than usual and took a short rest beside a placid pond. It was Drystan's favorite spot. The boy stripped and immediately waded into the water. Aikat however crouched at the edge of the pond and toyed with the cattails growing there.
"Aikat, you and I are alike, I think."
She smiled.
"Yes, I always wanted cousins or a brother or sister that enjoyed sword play as much as I did." She sat down, legs extended in front of her, palms flat on the ground behind her.
"Drystan doesn't seem the magic wielding type."
"No, but he plays at it far more than the sword."
Arthur reflected on that.
"Yes, I suppose you're right." Arthur sat down now. "Not having magic—does that make you nervous?"
"No, why would it?" she asked and then frowned. "I trust my family."
"Of course you do, though our family has plenty of traitors in it," Arthur murmured.
"Pardon?"
"Nevermind that. Your family loves you, they are trustworthy, but what about other magic users, friends of your father, people he associates with; they don't concern you at all? How can you be sure they are trustworthy?"
She looked at the pond and he did as well. Drystan was swimming and diving with glee, upsetting its placid surface.
"How can we be sure you're trustworthy?" She looked at him then green eyes so bright and intense, he thought of Morgana. "You could stab us in our sleep."
"But I'm not."
"Of course not. We've taken care of you, fed you, clothed you and looked after you. You've nothing to gain from stabbing us in our sleep."
Arthur felt the beginnings of a smile.
"You're very clever Aikat."
"Thank you." She smiled back. "We'll see how you feel about my cleverness tomorrow morning."
Arthur snorted. "I'm not concerned. I've been trained to kill since I was four-years-old."
"Perhaps, but I am sure I know a thing or two you don't."
"Aikat, look what I can do!" Drystan called for his sister's attention and they both looked in his direction.
The boy dove smoothly and cleanly and resurfaced spitting water like a fountain. Aikat applauded and something else occurred to him. They had fed and clothed Morgana and somehow that had not been enough. Merlin had meant him no harm and yet he had caused plenty of it.
Arthur reached for Gwen's ring. It was not so simple as his sixteen-year-old cousin thought.
He should have been concerned.
Aikat was fit and healthy and eager for a sparring partner. Knowing that Arthur's weakness was his lack of stamina and her strength was her speed, Aikat wore him down. She dodged and feinted and lured him in and charged, but always kept out of reach. It was the same thing he might have done with a much larger opponent. Given that he was still convalescent and she was healthy Arthur decided that he was allowed to fight dirty.
He took a few steps backwards and let himself sway from side to side while shaking his head as if to clear stars from his eyes.
"Are you unwell?' Aikat lowered her guard and approached him.
"I-I-," Arthur muttered, his free hand to his eyes. "I-" she needed to come closer.
"Arthur?"
She walked right into his grasp. In one smooth motion he had his arm locked securely about her waist, her arms pinned to her sides, and the practice blade at her throat.
"Cheater," she pouted.
"Bah! you're nearly ten years younger than me and full of health and vigor. Now yield."
"Yield," the girl said. The sound of defeat in her tone.
Arthur let her go and she glared at him.
"I promise you, cousin, anytime you meet an opponent at least ten years your senior they're going to play on it."
"Your cousin speaks nothing but the truth," Ambrose said. He'd sat silently on the sides while they sparred.
"You don't cheat."
"I'm your father and perhaps I should," Ambrose smiled, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.
Aikat groaned and Arthur laughed.
"How are you feeling, Arthur?"
He took a long deep breath. He'd felt strong at the start of this session, but already that bone-deep weariness was asserting itself.
"I think I am done for the day." Arthur sat down on the bench near the fence.
"Very well then. Aikat, you and I."
Thinking of the days when he and his father had sparred together, Arthur watched the two of them with a smile.
Each day Arthur felt stronger and more rested, and even an occasional moment of real happiness. He and Aikat trained several times a week though not daily as he had once. After training he rested and helped with chores. He tried to help Ambrose with some of the more labor intensive chores around the house like repairing damaged beams, but training with Aikat was still too draining for that work.
In the afternoon lull between chores and supper he watched Drystan try to coax Ismene into playing with him and ignoring her books.
He also enjoyed keeping Rhosyn and baby Nerys company. The baby was just beginning to crawl and when she got over her initial suspicion of him she made eager pursuit of his attention. Nerys demanded, after the way of a babe just eight months old that he play with her, pick her up, carry her about, and when he wasn't doing those thing she would sit on the floor gumming his bare feet. He didn't mind any of it, though he left her diapering to her parents.
His uncle had predicted his strength would return at a good speed. At the end of one week since getting out of bed, he was starting to feel hopeful. At the end of two weeks, all his trembling stopped. At the end of a third week of training with his cousin, Arthur began to feel impatient.
"Perhaps now is a good time for me to start back." Arthur said to Ambrose.
The older man's eyebrows drew together as he studied him. They were sitting on the bench in the main room. Arthur no longer found the hardback to be a great discomfort. Rhosyn and the children were in another area of the house working on some project.
"You want to start back now?"
"Yes. The trembling has stopped, and I'm no longer feeling worn-out after exercising."
"Yes, and you are still spending half of your day asleep. How are your reflexes?"
"Hmm?"
Ambrose tossed a leather ball at him. Arthur got his hands up into to catch it, but the ball fumbled out of his grasp.
"That wouldn't have happened before, would it?"
"No," Arthur admitted.
"Your body needs more time to recover."
"But uncle, I'll take it easy when I return to Camelot. I won't wear myself down."
"Arthur, did you know that there are charms in the room you sleep in?"
He froze.
"No."
"There is magic built into every wooden beam, every stone, and every inch of plaster that Rhosyn and I added to this house. Nothing sinister, but-" his uncle studied him a moment as if choosing the best words to explain. "You were having nightmares, not sleeping, no appetite, all from stress right?"
Arthur nodded.
"And grieving your father intensely?"
"Yes." And Guinevere. He thought of what Merlin had confirmed about his father, he wondered if he would grieve him much in the future.
"Does it paralyze you to think of your father or lost loved ones now?"
Arthur thought about his father, recalled a moment when the other had spoken of him with pride. He summoned to mind the words Guinevere had spoken to him when he'd lay fevered with the questing beast poison or the conversation he'd had with Guinevere before he'd departed Camelot with the knights planning to sacrifice his own life to seal the rift Morgana had opened between the worlds.
"Do you remember the first time that I kissed you?" Remembering that moment always made him smile, surely she felt the same. A moment later she'd smiled in spite of herself.
"Arthur? You seemed to have recalled something pleasant." His uncle smiled a smile of self-satisfaction.
Arthur looked away from his uncle, focused on his thoughts, on his uncle, on the moment, on what he felt...
There was an ache with these happy thoughts, but the crushing well of loneliness that had accompanied them before did not rise.
"Thinking of my father of others I have lost is not paralyzing me now," he replied. "I- I still grieve them, but it is tolerable. I can even enjoy remembering them. I could not do that before."
"It is the combination of magic in the house and having family around you. The magic encourages warmth and wellbeing. Problems cease to be overwhelming and become challenges to be met. As for your family," Ambrose smiled, "you've fit in with us better than I expected; it is easy for you to feel safe with us, in spite of everything."
"So when I leave, I shall be as unhappy as I was before." Arthur felt a sudden prickle of fear.
"Perhaps, perhaps not. Grief is an ache that only time can ease. Living under the pleasant influence of certain types of magic is enough to lessen the sting for some, but not for others."
"I see," Arthur's voice was soft as he spoke. He thought of all those terrible mornings when he woke exhausted, the nights when his dreams were a torment. He had to go back to Camelot, deal with Morgana, find Guinevere, but-
"But uncle, I was- I was-" he couldn't quite bring himself to admit the weakness.
"I know, Arthur." There was sympathy in his uncle's eyes and he gave his arm a gentle squeeze.
"But I can't stay here."
"I know Arthur. That's why you must be fully rested and restored before you leave."
Arthur nodded. When he left he would resume the mantle of kingship, but with it he would also resume the crushing weight of his grief.
Fireflies lit up the late summer evening. Their dance was a thick, shimmering cloud of warm green that hovered just above the calf-height grass. They filled the open field in front the fort, to the point that while sitting Arthur's sight could not penetrate their dance. He had to stand to see the other side of the field.
A mild evening breeze stirred the leaves of the trees and Arthur sat down on the ground. He sat his mug of ale down beside him and leaned back on his elbows. There was more than a shimmering cloud of fireflies to delight the sight tonight. The moon was out in all her glory casting a cool blue-tinged white light over everything.
He had shared a similar night with Guinevere, Merlin and Morgana when they'd returned from Ealdor5 flushed and excited with victory, as well as the fact that they had succeeded in slipping Uther's leash. They'd made a small fire to warm dinner, Merlin and Guinevere waiting on he and Morgana. From time-to-time his eyes would steal swift glances at Gwen. He'd found himself thinking of her often since she'd snuck into his cell to carry the flower that would save Merlin's life to Gaius. 6
More than once he'd compared her to a rabbit or doe in his mind, cute and sweet, but now he found his eyes dropping to her full round rear, so perfectly outlined by her trousers. She should wear pants more often. He hadn't noticed Merlin settling on the log beside him.
"Something got your eye?" Merlin had asked in a soft whisper that did not carry to the other side of the fire.
Caught, Arthur had glared and taken the plate of pheasant and mixed greens from his servant.
"Shut-up, Merlin," he'd said, voice sharp; his interest in Guinevere was his own, was private.
Morgana had looked up just in time to see that Gwen had a plate of food as well.
"Thank you, Gwen," she had said taking the plate before turning her attention back to Arthur. "Still picking on Merlin. I thought victory put you in a good mood, Arthur?" Morgana asked, tone light.
"It does. Merlin's face puts me in a foul one." Morgana had laughed as had Guinevere. Though he suspected now that Gwen's laughter had been feigned, polite, the appropriate thing to do when a master made a joke in the presence of his servant, even if when at the servant's expense.
Later he'd stolen a glance at her and had been a bit surprised to find her watching him, expression thoughtful and perhaps annoyed. In the past few days he'd seen that the doe had the same steel a stag. An untested, uncertain steel, but present nonetheless.
The cheerful mood of victory had returned as they'd eaten and told tales of the battle while fireflies danced in the moonlight.
A thud came from his aunt and uncle's house, startling him out of his memories. He heard laughter and another thud and he smiled, his cousins often rough-housed in the evening. They tried to entice him into joining them when they played, but always he declined. Watching them made him feel old.
Arthur shook his head and his mind wandered to his current worries as his eyes skimmed the fireflies. Was Guinvere alive? What should he do about Merlin? What if he never saw either of them again? What of Morgana? He had determined to kill her, but now he was uncertain.
Morgana had done them harm, damage. If he somehow found Guinevere alive he could not bring her back to danger. He had thought Morgana was lost to them, but after his conversations with Merlin he was no longer sure. Was it possible to reach her? To take away the isolation Merlin claimed drove her to turn against them. Or would she have betrayed them even if magic had not been banished?
"Your thoughts look sour, nephew mine."
Arthur sighed.
"Merlin and I were on a quest to kill someone."
"Who?"
Arthur looked at his uncle. The other man seemed to respect his authority as king.
"Morgana."
"Just the two of you?"
"I had weapons that I believed would work."
"What happened?"
"She was gone," Arthur frowned.
The moments just before the elf-stroke were still hazy. All he could recall was being enraged. Enraged at Morgana, enraged at Merlin.
"You are doubting your quest?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"For a long while I thought we might reach Morgana somehow. At first I thought perhaps Morgause had ensnared her and if we could just find her, bring her home-" Arthur shook his head. "She harmed someone who had been very close to her, manipulated and humiliated and perhaps even caused that person's death. And this was to someone that showed her nothing, but love and kindness. Someone who had done her no harm, was no danger, no threat. If she had targeted me-" Arthur sighed now. "If she could throw away people that she loved and cared for then I thought there would be no reaching her, no bringing her home."
He looked at his uncle now.
"I didn't know she was my sister. I didn't know she'd had magic thrust upon her whether she wanted it or no. I didn't know she felt so hurt, sad, and alone. And-" he paused a moment. When his father had banished magic, he had banished his brother. A brother who seemed to harbor no ill will toward Uther. "How could my father do that to his own brother?"
Arthur saw the faintest curve of sad smile on Ambrose's face.
"How could my brother do so many terrible things? The man your father grew into was not the little boy I thought I knew. Sometimes I think he outlawed magic to spite me after I left."
"Why did you leave?"
Ambrose sighed.
"Do you know how your mother died?"
"Yes my father had to sacrifice a woman of royal blood to ensure the birth of a son."
"I was a friend of the DuBois household. I saved your maternal great-grandfather's life. So when it was time to arrange the marriage, your father asked me to do so." He shook his head. "I did not know what my brother planned. I did not know until after you were born. I did the only thing I could think to do at the time. I withdrew my support of his kingship and retired here."
"Do you-" Arthur meet the other's man's eyes. "Do you think you should have opposed him?"
"Yes." Ambrose answered with such firmness that Arthur knew he'd given this much thought.
"Much suffering, even yours would have been prevented, and I would have spared you. Raised you alongside Aikat and the others."
Arthur let his eyes follow the whirling dance of the fireflies.
"You will set Aikat to oppose me if I continue the persecution of magic, won't you?"
Ambrose didn't say anything, yet he didn't have to.
"Aikat does not yet know of her heritage, she has no greater ambition than knighthood for now. Make magic legal and you'll have my support, Rhosyn's, Aikat's and all of our allies. I've had seventeen years to put this plan together, nephew mine. It was to be Uther we opposed, but if you persecute magic we will oppose you."
"Why-" Arthur swallowed. "Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?"
"I wanted you to know there was another path. Uther raised you to hate and fear blindly. I wanted your eyes open, because you have a choice. It may not seem so when we've been doing things one way for so long, but in life there is always another choice."
In that moment he thought of Gwen saying almost the same thing to him as she pleaded with him to save the lives of Morgana, Merlin, and Gaius. The irony, and yet he could not convince himself to kill someone simply for having magic. He had never believed that the mere knowledge of magic should mean a death sentence.
Ambrose got to his feet and turned to go inside.
"Wait."
The older man stopped, looked down at him.
"Thank you, uncle."
Surprised flitted across the older man's face.
"You are near fully recovered. The road home is that way." Ambrose pointed north. "If you would choose to follow your father's path take it, the trees will part for you. We will not of course be here when you return with your knights. If you come back inside, though, you are choosing a new day for Camelot and we shall be your most fierce and loyal allies."
Ambrose gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.
"I have enjoyed having you as a guest these three weeks Arthur. I hope that they continue."
Arthur did not take his eyes from the road. He heard Ambrose's steps moving away. Heard the door to the house open and shut.
He stared down the road. He had all the facts now. He knew of his father's hypocrisy, knew the dangers, knew the benefits.
If Merlin had served him openly he could have come to him the moment he knew the shade's true nature. Guinevere would have been protected and she might yet be with him now. Magic had destroyed them, but it could have also saved them.
And what of the magic his aunt and uncle had used in his care. How many people suffered needlessly for its want?
He thought of his mother, his beautiful mother standing before him telling him the truth of her death. He remembered the clarity he'd taken from that moment. The truth now was no different than it had been nearly four years ago. His father had not outlawed magic because of its danger; he had outlawed it because of his own hypocrisy, to cover his crimes, to spite his brother even.
Arthur took a breath and got to his feet. Touched Guinevere's ring to his lips and then he walked into the house.
A/N- 1 s3/ep8 The Eye of the Phoenix
2 chewing a blade of mint grass was a bit like brushing with mint toothpaste. the mint provides astrigent affects to kill an overgrowth of bacteria that can occur in the mouth.
3 medieval term for stroke. Arthur is not suffering an actual stroke, he is suffering a mini-stroke, this can happen sometimes to otherwise healthy people who endure prolonged periods of emotional and physical stress
4 I know I've added a lot of OCs to this story, but Ambrosius Aurelias is one of many characters from the legends not included in BBC's Merlin. He is always Uther's brother, sometimes he is a warrior other times he is a sorcerer and known as Merlin Ambrose or the first Merlin. In The Exile he is a bit of both.
5 s1/ep10 The Truth Be Told
6 s1/ep4 The Poisoned Chalice
So I know it seems like the last Arthur chapter was a very long time ago... *sings* "Been a long time, shouldna left you, without a dope beat to step to." Sorry Aliyahh has been on my mind lately. I'm pretty excited for this chapter. Gwen is my favorite, but Arthur deserved so much more from the storyline set-up for him and I'm really enjoying writing a character arc where he actually grows and evolves. :) Hope you guys enjoyed it.
Before we go I have another little story for you. :)
Arthur vs. The Sequester Beast, aka Gwen Breaks the Fourth Wall for a Little Fundraising
"Arthur."
He could not see Guinevere, but her voice came to him clearly.
"The sequester is coming." Wherever he was her voice seemed to echo around him.
"Seque- I already faced the questing beast."
"No sequester. Our stories are in danger of being left unfinished."
"Our stories?" Arthur frowned confused why was Guinevere hiding from him.
"Yes our stories. The sequester threatens god's power (the author's electricity)."
"God's power can't be threatened (but the author's can)."
"You have to stop the sequester at gofundmedotcom/Alias. Hurry Arthur, hurry before its too late." She sounded far away as if her voice were fading.
"But wait Guinevere why can't see you? When will I see you again?"
"I'm sorry Arthur, but I've broken the fourth wall long enough."
Arthur stirred in his sleep, muttering, "Sequester beast."
"Shhh," Ambrose hushed his nephew. " There's no such thing as an equestrian beast its just a bad dream."
doesn't do links so just replace dot with a .' I really do need your help if I'm going to keep publishing The Exile. While I have raised enough funds to pay my rent on time I've got a bit of a tough road ahead for a while. Shanel found a job, but as with a new job it will take some time before any money comes in and I'm still looking for work. In the meanwhile rent,utilities and internet have to be paid. The fundraiser is onging so any amount helps. If you can't donate signal boost whatever ways you can.