"… I hereby sentence you to death."
King Uther's words were sharp and final, without as much as a small hole through which to attempt to change them. Not that Arthur would dare to try, lest his father execute him along with Thomas James Collins for daring to think that sorcerers deserve anything less than death. He learned very quickly that he will never achieve anything by trying to sway his father away from his erroneous belief system.
Arthur clenched his jaw and fisted his hands. A downcast glance was shared between him and his father's ward, Morgana. He could see, in her glazed eyes, how much the words pained her as well. Perhaps even more than they did him. After all, she has always been compassionate towards sorcerers. He, on the other hand, had to be confronted by an extraordinary creature such as Zephyr in order to learn better.
Zephyr …
Oh, how he prays that she is staying out of trouble. He doesn't think he would survive watching her be put in the position that Thomas James Collins is occupying.
He has failed her yet again.
The Lord knows that he tried to stop the arrest of the man currently kneeling in front of his father, but before he could attempt to mislead the investigation, one knight found a poultice under the bed of one of Thomas's daughters, and all hope was cruelly crushed.
The peasant man was promptly dragged away from the courtroom by a pair of knights, and Arthur didn't miss the fear in his widened eyes. Not the eyes of a dangerous, ruthless sorcerer; but the eyes of a desperate father who only wanted to heal his daughter from a grave disease.
Arthur made him a promise – in his mind – that his family will be taken care of. It's the least he can do now.
The court was dismissed, and King Uther stood up from his seat at the throne, straightening up in a proud manner, like a peacock showing off its feathers – its blood-coated feathers – before he sauntered down the aisle and towards the grand doors at the other side of the room.
Arthur fell into step with Morgana, and they shared another sad look.
Uther turned around to address Arthur – "Make sure that the executioner is ready at noon." As soon as the bone-chilling words were out, he turned back around, and exited the courtroom.
Arthur's heart shrank, and the painful feeling forced him to halt in his spot. A wave of ice travelled his veins, and he could feel the colour draining out of his face.
He doesn't want to spectate his father's cruel acts! Much less be involved in making them happen!
So he sped up and quickly caught up with King Uther. "I have a patrol to lead, Sire," he lied. "I cannot take care of the arrangements."
"Very well," Uther grunted. "Find someone else to do it, then."
Arthur nodded. That he can do, he supposes, even if it still makes his guts churn.
He compliantly sought out Sir Leon, a knight whom he knows will not be entirely unkind to Thomas James Collins, and asked him to overlook the arrangements for the execution. Afterwards, he headed towards the stables.
No, he doesn't have a patrol to lead; but he can get away from the castle, away from the execution, and have a leisurely ride in the forest.
He knows that it's unlikely, just as the thirty other times he has done it, but he still harbours hope that he might somehow, by some miracle from heaven, run into Zephyr.
Four months have passed since he last saw her. Since she saved his life, nurtured him back to health, and wriggled her way into his heart to take command of it. Four months since he felt her soft mint-laced lips against his. Her small body pressed against his chest. The sweet caress of her voice …
Arthur asked his most trusted stablehand, Tyr, to saddle his mare, and then he set off westward.
꧁ 𓃗 ꧂
Arthur returned to the castle just past sunset, and he left his mare in the stables before reluctantly starting the journey towards his room. His shoulders were slumped as he dragged his feet, feeling a twisting sensation in his intestines. Each day that passes without a glimpse of his little sorceress makes him lose more and more hope that he might actually see her again. Perhaps it was just an empty promise. Something she said to make parting with him not seem so difficult. He is the King's son, after all. She would be playing with an active volcano if she sought him out again.
He has thought long and hard, at times staying up all night while dwelling on the topic, about finding a way to visit Duskend. But ever since his near-death experience, his father has been keeping him closer to the citadel. He is not allowed to participate in patrolling shifts that take more than a few hours, and he is completely forbidden from going near the Aetherburg border. Especially now that tensions are rising between his father and King Grimaldo again as starved villagers continue to cross into Camelot.
He was snapped out of his thoughts when he reached the top of the staircase to find Morgana standing beside the window, a mournful expression on her features as she gazed down at the courtyard.
"Are you all right?" Arthur asked.
She started with a gasp, her jade-green eyes widening for a second, before she relaxed at the sight of him and sighed.
"I was just thinking about that poor man," she responded, a tinge of bitterness in her tone. "He never caused any harm …"
"I know," Arthur replied in a small voice.
He stopped beside her, and looked out the window to find the execution platform still standing outside, a crimson-stained hatchet lying atop the block.
"You left," Morgana noted.
"I could not watch," he confessed. "I could not be a part of it."
"It was the worst one yet," she claimed.
Arthur swallowed thickly as his intestines twisted further. Upon closer reflection, it is best if Zephyr stays away. Away from him, away from the castle, away from curious eyes. He cannot be selfish in wanting to be close to her. Her safety matters more. Her life matters more. More than his heart's desires.
"His mother was there," Morgana continued, a certain hesitation behind her sentence that caused Arthur to glance at her face for a moment, noticing the trouble brimming in her eyes. "She threatened Uther … She threatened to kill you for revenge. 'A son for a son,' she said."
There was a time when, in an act of foolish pride, Arthur might have gone straight to his father, and offered to track down the woman, and put her to death. Now he couldn't bring himself to be bothered with this threat. He feels that he almost deserves it. For not being able to make Camelot the just place that it pretends to be.
"I'm sure she was just grief-stricken," he offered in a quiet mumble.
"Let us pray so," Morgana replied. "Uther's actions will only create more enemies. I would hate to see you caught in the crossfire."
"I am afraid he will never see reason," Arthur said.
"I fear so, as well."
Silence embraced the pair for a few minutes, and Arthur's mind travelled back to the topic of Zephyr. As it always somehow does. He knows that he should let go of her, and of his ridiculous fantasy that they could be together one day. He has tried to move on. Only once, about a month ago, when Lord Stonedown came to visit and brought his daughter, a fair girl named Enid, with him. He hadn't really intended to, but she wasn't at all discreet with her attraction towards him, and an amicable slow-dance led to a kiss. A momentary kiss. A kiss that instantly caused an icy wall of regret to fall down on him. It felt wrong. Cold. Dare he say disgusting. Nothing against Lady Enid – she was very agreeable, if a bit too eager. But she is not his little sorceress.
"You have changed," Morgana commented, breaking Arthur out of his mental prison again. "Ever since you went missing, you haven't been the same."
"Almost dying will do that to a person," he responded, putting on a stoic mask to disguise the way in which his heart started to race as the memories from the week he spent with Zephyr started to flood his mind.
"How did you survive, again?" Morgana questioned, a sly smile on her lips that made him aware that she suspects there is something more behind the story he told.
His story was a simple one: he managed to escape the attack while the men from Aetherburg had been busy ravaging the corpses of his knights, and he was trapped in the mountains with a bruised ankle for a few days before he recovered and made his way home.
Lucky for him, no one has seen the scar on the bottom left side of his torso – which would be difficult to explain.
"With skill and determination," he responded.
Morgana seemed sceptical, her smirk not fading. "Uh-huh …"
"Arthur." The pair started at the sound of a third voice. None other than King Uther's. "You are to stay within the citadel until that witch is caught and burnt," he commanded in a cold and dry tone.
Arthur sighed heavily. "Yes, father."
"Good. Now leave us."
Arthur gave Morgana a half-hearted look of sympathy when she gazed towards him with a wary look, and he obediently walked away, leaving his father and his friend to talk in private.
꧁ 𓃗 ꧂
As much as Arthur hates being confined to the citadel, he has decided that he prefers that over having to stand for another execution – which will inevitably happen if Thomas James Collins's mother is found. He would rather have to stay inside the protected city for a month, and have the woman escape safely, than be the reason why another sorcerer is put to death.
Because, if he allows it, the bodies will keep piling until, one day, Zephyr might be next in line. And he will not let that happen, even if it costs him his sanity.
So, compliantly, he rearranged his schedule for the upcoming month and made sure that he won't have to leave the citadel. Not unless something urgent comes up, of course.
His eyes were slightly droopy and his shoulders still slumped as he dragged himself down the staircase on his way to the training field for a session with his knights. He was held awake through the night by his spiralling thoughts yet again as they kept swaying between Thomas James Collins and Zephyr. He couldn't help but think of what she would say if she knew what happened. Would she be upset that he wasn't able to stop it? Would she glare at him with those fascinating golden eyes, and call him an 'ass-faced cockroach'? Or would she take his hand, and assure him that he did what he could? That his father's crimes aren't his own?
The scene that greeted him when he reached the training field wasn't a pleasant one at all. He saw a servant, a boy named Morris, with a target strapped to his back. Several of his knights were taunting him with disdainful words.
Rage pooled in Arthur's stomach when Sir Pryce threw a dagger at the target, the impact causing Morris to collapse to his knees, and the target fell off and rolled a few metres before toppling to the grass as well.
Once upon a time, he would've joined in such games. During his teenage years, he was never one to hold back on treating servants poorly, and he regrets that behaviour every single hour. It is not kind, it is not just, and it is not compassionate. He tries to lead by example nowadays. And he will not allow his knights to behave in such a way.
However, someone else interfered before he could.
A skinny boy, perhaps slightly younger than himself, with pale skin, short black hair, and larger-than-average ears.
The boy placed a foot on the target, pinning it to the ground. "Hey," he called out to the knights. His tone was soft and passive as he offered a friendly grin. "Come on, that's enough."
"Who are you to tell us what to do?" Sir Glynn snarled.
"You have had your fun, my friend," the boy continued amicably.
"Friend?!" Sir Hugh spat as he drew his sword and advanced towards him with menacing steps. "You shall be so lucky if–"
"Enough!" Arthur snapped as he moved to stand beside the boy, facing his knight with a clenched jaw and glaring eyes. Sir Hugh swallowed thickly and halted all movement. "Put the sword down."
Sir Hugh complied with a bow of his head. "Sire."
"None of this is appropriate behaviour for a knight of Camelot," Arthur continued as his eyes scanned the group. "If I ever see something like this again, you will lose your titles. Do I make myself clear?"
A chorus of "Yes, Sire," echoed through the field.
Arthur gave a curt nod, and then he offered a hand to Morris, helping him to his feet.
The servant bowed, "Sire," and he scurried away from the scene.
Then Arthur turned towards the boy who had stepped in, and he offered a handshake. "It was brave of you to interfere like you did," he commended. "What is your name?"
The boy promptly took the handshake and responded, "Merlin."
"Thank you for your courage, Merlin," Arthur said. "Do not hesitate to ask if you ever need anything."
Merlin gave a stiff bow of respect, an awkward movement that led Arthur to believe that he is not used to performing the action, and then he offered one more amicable smile before walking away in the direction of the castle. Which struck Arthur as rather strange, considering that he has never seen the boy around before. But he shrugged it off, knowing that workers come and go all the time, and he turned towards his knights, ready to start the training session.
꧁ 𓃗 ꧂
Arthur stood beside his bedroom window, with his shoulder leaning against the wall, as he stared at the vanishing sun in the distance. The spectacle of orange and golden hues that the daily astronomical event created in the sky never failed to remind him of Zephyr's irises. Perhaps the thought is a delusional one, but if he closes his eyes and lets his other senses come alive, he can almost feel a whisper of her presence through the leftover warmth of the faint sun rays.
For a moment, he wondered if she might be staring at the same sunset, at the same moment in time, and thinking of him.
Or maybe she has moved on, and he's nothing but the ghost of a lingering thought in the back of her mind. Just another one of her rescues, on par with a raven or a squirrel.
Maybe she met a farmer boy and fell in love.
Love.
That is too strong a word. A word that has never been uttered to him, and a word that he has never uttered in his life. So why is thinking of Zephyr making the word surface in his mind? He can't love her. He barely knows her. Well, they did spend a whole week together … Is a week enough for love to be born? He wouldn't know what that actually feels like, anyway. All he knows is that he wishes she was standing right beside him, watching the setting sun, perhaps holding his hand, her head resting against his shoulder …
A knock on his bedroom door ended his stream of thoughts.
"Yes?" he called out.
The heavy wooden portal opened to reveal his father's personal servant, a peculiar brunet man, not much older than himself, named George.
"I have been sent to aid you in getting ready for the feast, My Lord," George stated.
Arthur released a disgruntled sigh at the mention of the feast. A feast that will celebrate the twentieth anniversary of the Great Purge. Twenty years since magic was banned from Camelot, twenty years since the merciless persecution of sorcerers of any kind began.
He does not want to celebrate that. Not in the slightest. The Great Purge, and everything it unchained, is the reason why Zephyr has to live in fear. Isolated from her village. Away from him.
"Thank you, George, but I can manage on my own," Arthur responded, making sure not to sound as irritated as he felt.
"Sire," George bowed, and he left the room.
Arthur sighed once more, and he walked towards his wardrobe. He opened the wooden doors, and let his eyes scan the messy pile of clothes inside.
Perhaps he should've allowed George to help him …
It has been two weeks since he was left without a servant. Darius, the man that used to tend to him, had to move back to his native village to tend to his sick mother.
Arthur's father has been pressing him to get a new servant, but he hasn't been in the mood to interview people. He fears he will never find someone with whom he can work as well as he did with Darius.
After making a further mess in his room by scattering everything on the floor, Arthur settled on a red tunic, black trousers, a brown leather jacket, and his red cape that has the Pendragon crest sewn on it with gold thread. He took his sweet time getting dressed, wanting to put off the feast for as long as possible.
When he was done, he gazed out the window once more.
The sun was gone, and the lands were dark again.
With a third sigh, Arthur begrudgingly walked towards the door, and he exited his chambers, starting the short walk towards the grand hall.
Almost as soon as he reached the lavishly decorated room, he was pulled towards a group of knights who were already halfway drunk with wine, and talking loudly, and telling bad jokes that never failed to make the bunch laugh. Arthur played along, knowing what is expected of him as the Prince. An act he knows how to put on well, even if a lot of the time he wishes he could be someone else.
A farmer in Duskend.
Across the room he spotted an acquainted friendly face – Merlin. He was talking with Guinevere, a kind girl who is Morgana's maidservant. They both seemed to be smiling genuinely, and Arthur could swear that he spotted a hint of a blush on the boy's face. He wondered what they might be conversing about. He imagined that it must be a much smarter exchange than the one his knights are having. Anything is smarter than speculating about the sword sizes of nobles around the room. The knights are not currently on duty, however, so Arthur refrained from discouraging the inappropriate topic.
The room fell silent in an instant when the grand doors opened to reveal King Uther. So silent that Arthur could hear his own breath. At least until a trumpet sounded to accompany King Uther's entrance into the hall. The crowd parted to allow him a straight passage towards his seat at the head of the table, and Arthur promptly moved towards his own seat beside that one. To its other side was Morgana, who greeted Arthur with an amicable grin.
No one would dare to deny how beautiful she looked in her maroon dress, and the sight made Arthur wonder what Zephyr might look like if she could attend a feast like this one. Which colours might she choose to wear? How might she choose to style her hair? Would she engage in gossip about sword sizes? Or would she share in his wishes for more substantial conversations?
Uther halted at the head of the table, and addressed the court – "Despite our proximity to Aetherburg, we have enjoyed twenty years of relative peace and prosperity …"
Arthur almost rolled his eyes at his father's constant need to remind the people of Camelot about Aetherburg. Camelot's stark opposite. A fearsome place where dark magic reigns, and where average people are hunted for entertainment. Or so the tales say.
"… It has brought the kingdom and myself many pleasures, but few can compare with the honour of introducing Lady Helen of Mora."
Arthur has heard a lot being spoken of the Lady Helen of Mora during the past few weeks. And his father swears that he has seen her perform once before, when he was a child. But he has no memory of the event, and he isn't particularly excited to learn what all the ruckus is about. Not when this feast is celebrating the very thing that keeps Zephyr away. Still, he politely clapped when the other people in the room did, and then he sat beside his father so that he could comfortably spectate the show.
A dark-haired woman wearing a vibrant yellow dress stepped onto a platform that had been placed at the centre of the room, and a gentle and joyous harp melody began to play.
She smiled as she began to sing, her bright red lipstick amplifying the expression.
Arthur had to admit to himself that she has a beautiful voice. Soft and deep, and completely feminine.
He suddenly wondered if Zephyr can sing, and his thoughts were no longer grounded in real life as he started to think of her again, the tune fading to the background of his mind as he tried to picture the little sorceress's face. Her golden eyes, her long wavy hair, her rosy lips, her freckles, her soft skin …
His eyelids started to grow heavy, his brain lulled by the soft melody vibrating in the environment. He fought to keep his eyes open, knowing that it would be unkind to fall asleep when someone as revered as Lady Helen of Mora is performing. But no matter how much he fought it, the urge to sleep won out, and he finally relented the battle with a long exhale.
꧁ 𓃗 ꧂
Arthur woke up to a ticklish sensation against his face, and he swallowed a sneeze when something bothered his nose. He opened his eyes to find his head covered with something white, and he rapidly shoved it off. Cobwebs, he realised. Glancing around, he noticed that the entire grand hall, including the people in it, was covered in them. At the centre of the room lay Lady Helen of Mora, pinned underneath a fallen chandelier.
His father rose up from his seat to get a better look at the scene, and Arthur promptly copied his actions. His breath hitched at the sight that greeted him.
The figure on the floor wasn't actually that of Helen's, but of an elderly woman.
The woman rose up to reveal a disturbingly decayed face, with yellow teeth and cracked skin. She must have used dark magic to make herself resemble the Lady Helen, Arthur deduced, and then she caused everyone to fall asleep. But why?
He recalled what Morgana warned him about two nights ago. That Thomas James Collins's mother sought revenge on the King, and that she had threatened Arthur's life to balance the scales. A son for a son.
Before Arthur could try to test his hypothesis, she pulled something from underneath her sleeve. A dagger.
He froze when she flung it towards him.
A black blur darted towards the woman at the same time as a hand pulled him backwards by his jacket, making him fall sideways onto the ground.
He sat up to watch the black blur – a raven – circle the room before it flew out the window.
"Mavros?" Arthur whispered to himself.
He turned to his side, and his eyes widened further when he found Merlin. His mouth fell agape. Merlin scrambled to his feet, and helped him up, having to do most of the work as Arthur remained stunned while trying to process everything that just happened.
He saw the dagger lodged on the wall diagonally behind his chair.
The elderly woman tried to kill him.
Merlin pulled him out of the way.
The raven – presumably Mavros – interfered with her aim.
His gaze moved towards the window that the raven had used to fly out. If he's here … could Zephyr be nearby? Did she send her pet – her friend – to save him?
"You saved my boy's life," Uther said in a strained and almost spooked tone as he moved to address Merlin.
Arthur's attention returned to Merlin beside him.
"A debt must be repaid," Uther continued.
Merlin stuttered, "Um … Well …"
"Don't be so modest," Uther pressed. "You shall be rewarded."
"Oh, no, honestly, you don't have to, your highness," Merlin said meekly.
"No, absolutely, this merits something quite special."
Merlin shrugged. "Well–"
"You shall be awarded a position in the royal household," Uther decided, and he clapped Arthur on the shoulder, startling him just a little as he was still stuck halfway in his mind, thinking of how he was almost assassinated. "You shall be Prince Arthur's manservant."
The people in the room instantly began to clap, startling Arthur fully back into his senses, and he regarded Merlin once more. The boy is kind, compassionate, and has an admirable sense of justice. Perhaps he's just the type of person that Arthur should surround himself with, if he wants to honour his promise to Zephyr.
"Thank you, Merlin," Arthur said.
"Y-yeah. No problem."