Arthur felt his heart sinking as low as the soles of his worn-out leather boots. Uther Pendragon didn't call his son and heir to council with trivial matters, and he had been more serious than ever towards Arthur as of late, so Arthur could only assume the worst. He nodded in greeting towards the guards posted outside the throne room, took a deep breath, and made his entrance, hoping his face was schooled into one of impassivity. The King was seated upon his throne, speaking with the court physician and royal bookkeeper in hushed voices, as though trading the most intimate of secrets. They didn't even notice the crown prince's arrival until Arthur cleared his throat, the sound echoing loudly in the cavernous room.

"Good morning, my lord. You sent for me?"

"Ah, Arthur! I have wonderful news for you. Come."

Arthur swallowed around the lump of anxiety holding his throat hostage and came forwards, perching himself at his father's side. "What is it, father?" he asked, not entirely sure he would be pleased with an answer.

Uther motioned to Geoffrey the book-keeper, who handed him a small stack of opened scrolls. Arthur chanced a glance at the seals and noticed with worry that they each bore the crests of powerful neighboring royal families. "In my hands, I have the acceptance to the finest ball Camelot has seen since your mother's betrothal to me, for at this ball you will choose your queen. I have made sure they are suitable in stature for you, have no fear of that. Whatever union you choose will benefit both kingdoms greatly."

Arthur's heart sunk lower still. "Father, I don't feel I'm ready to take on marriage, can it not wait? There are other ways I serve the kingdom, ways I'm much more adept at than a union. I'm flattered by the responses but -"

"Do not be flattered, Arthur," Uther rounded on him, the happiness turning cold. "You will make a choice. If I say it is time to secure the Pendragon lineage then that is what you shall do. You are the crowned prince of Camelot, I cannot have you wandering around a bachelor simply because you prefer to knock swords with those under your command instead of finding a suitable queen."

Knocking swords, Arthur thought. Oh, father. If only you knew the truth. Under different circumstances, Arthur may have laughed at the unintended implications of his father's choice of words, but as it was, he could barely breathe. "But father, I -"

"Arthur, this matter is not open for discussion! I am commanding you as your King that you will attend the ball, you will find a queen, and you will marry her! And with any luck, you'll rear an heir more obedient than yourself. You will not disobey me in this matter, is that clear?"

Arthur closed his mouth with a snap. Anger flared in him, but not trusting himself to speak, he simply nodded.

"The celebration will be held in a fortnight, and I expect you to be prepared. You may go now."

"Yes, father," he gritted out, turning on his heel and hurrying out of the chamber.

He walked hastily to the far side of the castle, trying to put as much distance between himself and his father as possible. He paced the outside terrace, kicking the small stones in his path to alleviate his frustration with his lot in life. When that didn't work, he snapped at a guard to ready his horse. Riding his horse had always helped relieve his stress. Llamrei was the finest mare in the far kingdoms, and through her, Arthur could glimpse the barest glimpse of freedom in his otherwise strict and controlled royal duties. She provided him the opportunity to slip away, to feel the wind in his hair and the sun on his face, and to simply enjoy existence for a moment. Arthur had always felt caged at Camelot, the burden of duty fell heavy on his brow even as his crown glittered with the illusion of luxury. If this was the last days he was a free man, he would do as he pleased, his father be damned! He handed a note intended for his father about his intentions to take an overnight ride outside the city to the stable hand. As he mounted his steed, he caught sight of his father in the window above the courtyard. Without acknowledging his ever-looming presence, Arthur took the reins and was off.

As the towers of Camelot disappeared in the distance behind him, he felt the weight rise from his shoulders and be blown away with the wind. The countryside met Llamrei's hooves, throwing the smell of moist dirt into the fresh air. It smelled like homecoming and freedom. The scents of dirt and rain were a few of Arthur's favorites because they signified nature's sovereignty over man. Not even his father could control the mighty storms or gentle rains, nor could he change the flowing of the rivers that wound their own way through the forests of his kingdom. A man could take from the soil, could determine people's access to the grain, but it was up to the soil and the seed if it was to be fertile or destitute. The laws of society had no effect on the will of nature. Man had no power here, not in the wilderness away from citadels and kingdom walls. Arthur craved that kind of submission to the elements. Instead of being afraid at the prospect of lose of control, he was relieved by it. His illusion of control had been shattered long ago, and out here in the wild, he could let the pretenses fall away like the roads behind him fell back into the horizon. He didn't know how far he rode, and he didn't care. He had enough provisions for at least a two-day journey, his sword, and his steed. He only hoped his father didn't believe him to be running away, because even though the idea was tempting he knew his duty to his people was to serve them as their King. Arthur understood that burden of the title meant sacrifices, but he simply didn't feel ready to give up the life he had to marriage and an heir. Was there no more to his life than the succession of a lineage?

Lost in thought, Arthur didn't realize the sun had begun to set until the hazy darkness of twilight began to creep towards him. Stopping at a stream just inside the treeline, he tethered Llamrei to an elm tree and splashed some of the water in his face. The near glacial temperature of the liquid brought him back to his senses in time to hear a twig snap in the underbrush behind him. He whirled around to find a burly man in worn plainclothes leering gleefully at him.

"Hello, princess. What is someone as handsome as yourself doing without an escort?" the man said. He fingered his belt, to which was attached a long sword. Arthur was sure he caught a glimpse of metal on the opposite hip from the sword as well.

He quickly calculated several options, but the position of the offending man between himself and his horse cut the chances of a successful escape down to almost nothing. He would have to be incredibly lucky to make it out of the situation against the armed man without his own sword or be lucky enough to make it to his steel. He mentally cursed himself for his lack of foresight. He was a knight of Camelot, he had been trained in combat and survival since he was old enough to lift a training sword, and yet he had allowed himself to become distracted while traveling alone. His father was going to be furious if he found out.

"Not a talker, hmm? That's fine by me, I don't particularly care for chatty ones. You'll be much easier to sell if you're quiet-like."

Arthur's breathing stopped for a moment at the man's words. He knew of the slave trade - his father had ignored it unless the victims were concerned with those of noble families - but he'd never encountered a trader. The idea of people being sold like cattle never appealed to him, even more so when it was he who was to be treated as livestock. Making a split-second decision, he rushed the man, hoping his extra weight made him slower so he could fake him out and get to his horse. Unfortunately, luck was not on his side today and the man saw it coming. As Arthur made to the right of him only to double-back to the left, he stuck out his leg and tripped him. Arthur crashed to the ground, cursing. A heavy boot landed between his shoulder blades, pinning him to the forest floor. No amount of thrashing could dislodge the heavy man, and it only served to make him angry. With the hilt of his sword, he knocked Arthur on the back of the head, hard enough for Arthur's vision to swim and his head to loll. He felt nauseous, both from the blow and the knowledge of what awaited him.

"That's a good lass," the man cooed at him, "just lie there. I would hate to have to mar that pretty face of yours. It would spoil your price."

"N-no!" Arthur stammered out, the words like lead weights in his mouth.

He clawed at the earth beneath him to scramble away, but the man knocked him upside the head once more. His vision blackened for a second and he groaned despite himself. His whole body throbbed with pain, and it sounded like someone was ringing church bells inside his head. The man leaned down over him, close enough for Arthur to smell the staleness of his hot breath, but he was too weak from the blows to fight back. He huffed something into his ear, but Arthur couldn't hear him. He couldn't focus.

Suddenly, a blinding light flashed towards the man, and Arthur felt the weight of him lift from his back. His mind screamed at him to get up and run, but his body was heavy, wobbly as he attempted to lift himself from the ground. A woman appeared in front of him. Her long black hair flowed like a river in Arthur's unfocused eyes, standing out starkly from her pale skin and dusty lilac dress. She took his head in her hands, folding him into her lap. Her fingers brushed the hair from his face, brushing against the back of his head. Arthur was almost overcome by the urge to be sick, and he snarled in warning at her.

"William, he's hurt!"

A man with mousy hair knelt beside her. He began examining Arthur's eyes and then his head. "We need to get him help. Emrys will know what to do. I'll lift him, Freya, you grab the horse."

The girl nodded and before Arthur could attempt to protest, he was hoisted like a sack over the man's - William's - shoulder. He heard Llamrei whinny nervously. Arthur's vision was blackening around the edges, and he knew it wouldn't be long before he passed out completely.

"Will, wait!" The girl called. She rushed over to them, holding Arthur's cloak. She unfolded it to reveal the Pendragon crest before throwing it to the ground in disgust. "He's a knight of Camelot. We should leave him here to die, he would do the same to us!"

Arthur tried to look at her but the anger on her face was getting blurrier by the second. His eyes were unfocused, and he could feel the call of the void, that peaceful blackness of sleep overtaking him.

William shook his head. "No, we take him to Emrys. He'll decide his fate."

And with that, Arthur lost consciousness.