His trip back to Camelot was uneventful. There were no bandits, no battles, just the small road that traversed the landscape once Llamrei left the edges of the forest behind. Arthur couldn't help but feel he was leaving a bit of himself behind as well. He knew that no matter what happened now, he was a changed man and he would try to keep the druids safe as best he could. The thought of Emrys, Mordred, or even Hunith being slaughtered for being sorcerers, for being themselves, made him ill to the point of faintness. He wouldn't see them harmed, even if it meant lying. As the road became more well-trodden, signifying his journey back to the citadel, Arthur planned what he would tell his father. There would be no mention of the druids or dragons. He knew he'd be sent out to avenge himself, to show his kidnappers the strength of Camelot and it's prince, so Arthur wove his tale carefully so as to be able to follow the threads of truth to the conclusion he chose for his father to believe. He was without his cape, wearing stolen clothes, and with very little else upon his person. When he was on the outskirts of the lower city, he rubbed himself with dirt and foliage to give the impression he had not been cared for while away. He tore his tunic around the collar and hem, spread mud along the cuffs of his trousers and even spread some on his mare's coat. He cut himself with his sword, gave himself abrasions with tree bark, hit himself with stones to form bruises. He made himself look every bit the mess he felt.

The bells tolled when word reached the inner city of his return, and Arthur was greeted at the front gate by several of his knights. Sir Leon, his most trusted companion, grasped Llamrei's reins as Arthur dismounted.

"Arthur, what happened? You've been gone for almost a fortnight." Leon hid his worry well, but Arthur knew him enough to see the slight furrow of his brow and the slant of his lips. He wondered what his father had put them through in his absence. He knew Leon would have caught the brunt of his father's wrath at Arthur's disappearance and the knight's failure to find him.

He laid a hand on his friend's shoulder to reassure him and felt the taut muscles relax some. "Take Llamrei to the stables, see that she's looked after. I must speak to my father."

Leon nodded. "He's waiting for you in the throne hall." He hesitated before adding, "Arthur… It's good to have you back."

Arthur took one final deep breath, steeling himself before thrusting open the doors to the throne room with all of the arrogance he could muster. He strode purposefully into the hall, stopping just shy of his father's shadow where the man loomed like an oncoming storm above him.

"My Lord," he said, bowing deeply and faking a slight wince of pain as he did so.

"Arthur," his father boomed, standing from his seated position on the cold stone throne. "Where have you been? You were to be gone three days, instead you've been missing for more than twice that! Explain yourself!"

Arthur bowed again, a small stick falling from his hair onto the polished floor. The sound of it was deafening in the anxious silence from the spectators within the hall. "My apologies, my Lord. I was… detained. I was caught unaware by a slave trader who attempted to bring me to market. I escaped but two days ago."

Uther took a step towards him. "Caught unaware? Are you not a knight of Camelot? How could you have let yourself be captured in such a fashion?" Arthur remained silent, averting his eyes from Uther's menacing form until the man spoke again. "Arthur, you will ride out at once to rid my kingdom of this vermin. How dare they attack a knight of Camelot! They shall pay dearly for their lack of judgment and you shall prove to me that you deserve the titles bestowed upon you."

Arthur had expected this, but the shame and hurt that spread through him made him flush. He was about to respond with a 'yes, my lord,' when the clearing of a throat interrupted him. He and his father both looked beside him to where the court physician had stepped forwards.

"My Lord," Gaius started quietly. He spoke in such a hushed voice that only Uther and Arthur were able to hear him. "Might I see to the Prince's wounds before he rides out? I fear some of those lacerations may become infected if not properly treated immediately, and I rather hate to see what else the boy may have endured. Slave traders are not known for handling their goods with care, shall we say."

Uther considered for a moment before saying, "Very well, Gaius, I leave him to your care. Arthur," he said, addressing his son, "you leave at dawn. You are dismissed."

Arthur bowed deeply once more and allowed Gaius to lead him from the hall and down the stairs to his chambers. Once they entered and the door had closed behind them, Gaius gave him a gentle hug. The older man had been more of a father to Arthur throughout the years than Uther had, and Arthur soaked up the comfort his warm embrace provided. He was startled to find himself shaky and weak. Gaius motioned for him to sit on the examination table and Arthur removed his worn tunic to allow the man to work. He knew fooling the older man would be difficult, if not impossible, so when Gaius inspected the cuts and bruises, Arthur tried not to hold his breath.

He wasn't at all surprised when the physician stood back and treated him with his signature skeptical eyebrow. "Arthur, is there any more to your story that you didn't tell Uther?"

"Why would you ask that?" Arthur asked with feigned innocent confusion, but he knew better than to believe Gaius would fall for the act.

"These cuts are only a few hours old at best, your wounds are not scabbed over, and none of your bruises have any fading. All of these signs indicate to me that there's more to your story than you've shared. What have you to hide, Arthur?" He asked the last part gently but Arthur shook his head.

"There is more, you're right, but I cannot say. There are people I need to protect and I cannot do that if my father were to know I haven't been completely honest. Please, Gaius, I beg you to let this pass without mention."

Arthur wasn't blind, he knew what he was asking the man to do. He looked at him pleadingly, begging him to understand without words how much it meant to him. Gaius' brows drew together and the frown he gave made his face look incredibly long and tired.

"Very well, my lord. I shall seek no further." Arthur breathed a sigh of relief and felt himself relax minutely. "But… Arthur," Gaius continued, "Please be careful. Remember that there are many who do not deserve your trust. If you must keep secrets, keep them to yourself. That is the safest way."

Arthur nodded solemnly. There were times that he forgot how much the older man had lived through. He wondered, not for the first time, how many secrets Gaius would take with him to his grave. He let the man work in silence, wincing as he applied salves to the cuts Arthur had made. His eye was swollen slightly from a jagged mark he'd made beneath his eye with a stick, and Gaius placed a compress to it and bound it to his head. He was sure the man was making him appear more injured than he was to keep the king from questioning his story, and once again Arthur was filled with gratitude. He allowed the medicinal scents to invade his senses, to overwhelm his fear with the comfort of familiarity. He was falling into a relaxing daze when the smell of mint sent him abruptly back to reality. The thought of Emrys sent spikes of anger and hurt like daggers through his chest, but the remembrance came with a bittersweet homesickness.

Suddenly, Arthur had an idea. He berated himself for not thinking of it sooner as he asked, "Gaius, have you ever heard of dream walking?"

Above him, Gaius stilled before pulling back to look Arthur in the eye. "I haven't heard that term since the Great Purge. I'm surprised you know it at all, my lord."

"I met someone," Arthur said slowly. He wondered how much he could say without revealing too much about himself or his encounter with the druids. "While I was captured, I met someone in my dreams. He spoke of it. I was wondering if you knew anything more about it, considering you used to practice magic before it was banned."

Gaius considered him for a moment. Arthur began to think he'd gone too far and he opened his mouth to apologize when Gaius turned away and began rummaging through his bookshelves, muttering under his breath while he did. It was several minutes before he returned with a thick tome covered in layers of cobwebs and dust. He fixed Arthur with a stern look.

"This is my most dangerous possession. I kept it only to see it didn't fall into the wrong hands."

Gaius handed him the book. The weight of it took Arthur by surprise and he almost lost his grip, the disturbance causing dust particles to plume in the air in dense clouds. The yellowed pages were bound in soft, worn brown leather which was supple in his hands. There was a gold emblem gracing the cover and two heavy metal buckles which kept the book from exposing its secrets without purpose. It was pleasing in appearance, but there was something about it that Arthur couldn't quite put his finger on. It felt every bit as dangerous as Gaius claimed it was, its energy like a wolf hiding in the shadows waiting to pounce. It also felt ancient and wise in ways Arthur couldn't possibly try to understand, and he had yet to open it. He was overwhelmed and frightened, but immensely intrigued.

"Gaius," Arthur said in a hushed tone, "is this a book of magic?"

He nodded. "The oldest and most powerful magical knowledge is contained in those pages. You must be incredibly careful, Arthur. If it were to be discovered, especially in your possession…"

Gaius let the sentence end in silence, for both of them knew what was at stake.

Sleep didn't come easily to Arthur that night. The book weighed heavily on his mind, as did the desire to see Merlin in his dreams again. Would Merlin be disappointed in him for returning to Camelot? Arthur knew he'd had no other choice, even as expert a tracker as himself wouldn't find the druids if Emrys didn't want them to be found. He would have passed right by their lands had the slave trader not forced their hands. The idea of having continued on his initial journey, full of loathing of returning to find a wife and throwing away the rest of his life to continue the Pendragon lineage, and never having met the druids at all was unsettling. Arthur wondered if he could have found a way to be happy with his stead if he had remained willfully ignorant of the unjust persecution Emrys and his people faced because of his father. Although Arthur had never agreed completely with the king's reasoning and methods, he never saw fit to challenge them. Now, he had lied to protect the very people Uther sought vehemently to destroy. There was no going back for Arthur, especially with the knowledge of his own magical abilities. He wondered briefly if Uther would find it in himself to accept his son if he knew of him being a dream walker, but quickly shook the thought from his mind. Uther would see it as the nothing but utter betrayal, even though Arthur had no control over having his innate magical powers.

He sighed heavily. He'd been tossing and turning in his soft bed for hours, and still rest eluded him. He threw the covers from his body and got up, pacing the well-worn floors of his chamber to rid himself of the excess energy. When that didn't work, he sat at the table with a goblet of water. His leather traveling pack lay unopened beside the pitcher. Suddenly, Arthur remembered the needles and he opened the pack to retrieve them. The stark contrast of the bright ivory against the dark wood made Arthur think of something the dragon said. Light and shadow, the creature had told Emrys. Without each other, the world would turn into chaos. Arthur scoffed. Obviously the winged behemoth was wrong about that, as Emrys had left him with little regard as to their supposed shared destiny. The rejection stung and Arthur found himself clutching the needles to his chest, shaking as tears threatened to spill down his cheeks. He refused to let them.

He was so caught up in his misery that he almost missed one of the needles falling, but he caught it just before it hit the floor. The moment his fingers grasped the bone, the piece began to vibrate violently in his hand. It unfurled itself like a flower blooming, revealing itself to be not bone, but parchment. Arthur set the other needles aside and began to read.

Arthur,

Although Emrys forbade any of us from contacting you after our departure, I could not leave without telling you goodbye. You taught us all a great many things about our own prejudices. You have also given us hope for our future. I know you have made no promises, and I hold you to nothing, but I firmly believe that you will help end the reign of terror against magic. I hope that one day, I shall be able to serve you in your destiny to bring about the land of Albion. I know this is not the end for us. You are, and shall forever remain, my dear friend. If you are ever in need… dream.

M

The tears Arthur had been holding back did fall then, at the thought of his friend disobeying the equivalent of his king to send him a message. He had allowed himself to believe that his presence had no effect on the druids, that his absence would cause him to be forgotten. Mordred, who had always been able to read Arthur like an open book, left him with no doubts as to where they stood even though Arthur had no idea where his friend may be. Mordred was unequivocally kind, and in another life Arthur wondered if they could have been more than friends. Instead he was torn between his desires for a man who hated him and a man he'd never met outside of his dreams. Not for the first time he wished he'd been able to glimpse Emrys' face. The man's presence haunted his waking hours in the most exhilarating way. It was addicting to be the focus of so much raw power, and Arthur craved to fall apart under the immense pressure, to be trodden into the soil and given back to the Earth so that he might finally be what Emrys could love. But Arthur knew some things could never be, and all the dragon's talk of fate be damned. He had been rejected and subsequently abandoned. As far as he was concerned, whatever destiny he shared with the sorcerer had reached its end. He would only spare the man enough thought to keep his people safe.

Arthur allowed himself to grieve what he might have had with the druids. He thought of his friends. Will's uneven freckled smile, Mordred's laugh that sounded as beautiful as church bells, Hunith who had treated him like her own child. Sobs wracked his frame and he curled in on himself, attempting to soothe the ache he felt all the way to his bones. The bitter cold of the polished stone floors seeped through his bed clothes as he inadvertently rocked, trembling apart like a frightened child. He stayed that way until the dawn began to stream through his window and all he had left to give were hiccuping breaths, his tears long since dried up.