Alone

Arthur could not recall the last time his visit had been feasted with such generosity of the hosting lord or lady. Singers and jugglers had been summoned from the Mountsville, and the songs' rang in the Great Hall as the food was served to the lords, ladies, their heirs and honorable guests of the castle of Nemeton. Arthur saw loaves of brown, white and grey bread, immense cuts of ham, geese roasted with onions and mushrooms, and venison stewed with mead. Of wine there was plenty, and buttery cheese to be served with wine, and blackberry tarts and apple crisps for the sweet.

After the morning council, he had spent most of his time composing letters Owaine were to send from the castle of Gedref, providing his attempt to rouse the local council would bear more fruit than Arthur's adress to the council of Nemeton. After the morning negotiations, Modron, Owaine and Arthur locked themselves in one of the rooms on the second floor, and Modron was shouting at Arthur for disclosing his Nemeth journey to his mother's court.

"I warned you not to bring Nemeth up! Arthur, why are you so eager to make things even more complicated?"

Arthur repsonded with a slam against the wall, telling Modron he was sixteen and not in the position to question the king's judgement. The dark-haired youth face got a little paler.

"If you disagree with my course, you may leave my side anytime. I can free you of your oath," Arthur said in a low voice.

"I never said I would leave your side. If a Gedref boy like Owaine can be of use, I can do far better, right?" Modron replied after a short break. "I just... I guess I have to help mother write a letter to father. And I will stay here and wait for father to arrive."

"Good," Arthur petted the lad on the shoulder. "In the meantime Owaine will travel to Gedref and try to raise the castle. I shall go to Nemeth and try and win King Rodor to our side."

Modron snorted at the sound of Rodor's name. The day had passed in preparations for Arthur's departure and for the feast. Arthur had asked Lady Pellinore to pen a letter to King Rodor, so that the guards at the border with Nemeth would let him in.

And now the feast was on. Lady Pellinore was at the center of the table, with Modron on her left. He was comely, more comely than Arthur expected, now that the heir of Nemeton had been dressed in striped silk cloak with the sigil of his house - a pointed arrow. The look in Modron's eyes was a bit too intelligent for a sixteen year old lad, but it was lively and playful as well, and his curly black locks could be envied by many a girl. The knights from the hunting party that had found them shared most of Modron's jests, and Modron's peers were there, too, sharing his merriment. Young girls were seated at the other table, awaiting first rounds of dances to be announced and eating sparingly.

Arthur glanced at Modron who was bracing himself for first dance. Let him stay in the castle. He's so young. I doubt he sees all the dangers about this adventure, Arthur thought, sipping on his wine. He's seeking glory and honor. He's not in for some prize. What prize can he wish? He's the heir of Nemeton. He has all the riches to dream of.

Wine did something to his senses, the way it always did. Arthur remembered the summer feast and the trick Merlin tried to play with him. When he approachem me and started whispring all those things into my ear, letting me feel the heat of his breath, his lips just a kiss away... Naughty little star. I would've never fucked him in the corridor had I not drunk that much wine. Goddess, what a folly it was! They could've caught us...

Now Camelot was leagues away, and so was Merlin, and wine seemed the only solution to soften the blow from the rattle of terrible thoughts in his mind. Merlin has magic. He can have a solution for these sunstone and moonstone. He has always set things right. I must trust in him.

It was an easy thing to say, but not so easy a thing to convince himself in. To trust Merlin after learning that his servant had preferred to keep certain aspects of his magic tidings secret, even though they were in love... Even though he crowned me. With his magic. He was bold enough to crown me, yet he lacks the strength and courage to look me in the eyes and tell me everything.

The thoughts about Merlin required more and more wine. He knew he'd soon lose sleep because of him. How could he go to bed every night without knowing that Merlin was safe, too, without knowing that Merlin somehow managed to solve the sunstone and moonstone riddle? Fighting battles is easier. In battle, everything is simple. Everything happens now, though time is hard to define, for the notion of common time blurs, slows, and flows so differently... Fighting is only about the present moment, the moment of instant, when your body and mind are both consumed by the will to win, to survive, to triumph, the will so strong it burns the fears away and then there is only your will and your foe, and the next foe, and the next one...

Sitting in the great hall and watching the lads and girls dance to cheers and applause from the elder lords who, too, would invite the ladies... Arthur knew his courtesies too well and kept the smile on his face, but it felt as though worms crept behind his skin and were eating him alive. Merlin was one thing, yet Ryence was another.

Some of Lady Pellinore's council members were right. Ryence holds the Midlands, the castle of Camelot and its territories, the Mercian road, and Ascetir is at his command as well. He is guarding the passes in the White Mountains, which means he fears I'd go west and seek help from my father aunt Vyda. Which, in turn, means not everything is fine between King Ryence and Vyda Gaheris.

Arthur was savoring a blackberry tart, trying to taste the sweetness on his tongue to dispell the bitter memories about Vyda's visits to Camelot. The relationship between Uther and Vyda were the strangest one could observe at court. The crone woudl always verbally abuse Uther for not staying faithful to the traditions of the west, of the land Uther had been born to. Rumour had it that Uther nearly threw his aunt out of the window when she arrived to offer her condolences after Queen Ygraine's death. "You must be happy you've only lost your lady wife. When the King of Daobeth was betrayed by a priestess, Daobeth lost a whole castle to the dragonflames." Arthur was five years old when Vyda brought half her court to assist Uther in his raids against druids. "We must trap them and kill them while we can. We miss our chance, and they will spread through this land like a dicease, I tell you." She stayed at the castle of Camelot again in the summer when the Second Gwynedd war broke out. "You did a foolish thing in Essetir, Uther. Why stop at seizing Ascetir? It's like stopping at one bite of a chicken pie, who does it? I warn you, Uther, so long as you have this cesspool of magic in Essetir right across your border, your kingdom will be ploughed up with magic!" Some say Uther was happy to ride away into war, away from Vyda's annoying company. It's not that hard to believe Ryence is having troubles with the crone. She recognizes no authority except for her own, and now she has two thousand swords at her disposal. Armed and trained and fed, and hungry for glory.

But it matters not. Nothing matter. Merlin. He didn't trust me with truth. Unpleasant truth, but truth of great signficance to me.

He knew this evening could be a farewell. What if Lord Bors returns from Camelot and proclaims the support of my claim an utter folly?

"Should you be drinking that much if you're to ride with first light?" Owaine appeared from behind his back.

"I'm not drinking much. You haven't seen me drinking much. Besides, one still has no idea about light in this strange castle, first light or second light or third light..."

"Arthur, you're drunk," Owaine noticed.

"I am absolutely not."

"I can see that by how you can't take your eyes off the dancing girls."

"Their gowns are shimmering. Or their skin," Arthur said with a content grin.

"Your majesty, nothing is shimmering," Owaine laughed. "Will you please let me escort you to your chambers?"

“You must escort the prince to his chambers,” a memory of Uther said to Merlin in Arthur's mind. “He is feeling unwell.” The summer feast was loud and sinking in merriment. Lord Sagramore was dancing and threatening to tear the walls down with the mass of his fat belly.

"Escort. Good. Chambers," Arthur nodded.

Owaine whispered something to Lady Pellinore and returned to Arthur. Before leaving the great hall, Arthur cast his eye over the feast that looked like it was just beginning. Look at them. So happy and careless. Of course. Their father has not been poisoned. And their Merlin hasn't lied to them.

"You know, Merlin once escorted me to my chambers after a different feast," Arthur boasted when they were walking the windowless tunnels of the castle.

"Well, he's your servant. Despite all his newfound talents, he was supposed to escort you to your chambers, I guess?"

"Oh, blimey, he was. He did an awful job, though. We didn't reach the chambers."

"You didn't?"

"Stopped in the corridor. To play a little game, you know."

"Arthur, you really are drunk. Careful, watch your steps. It's the staircase, the winding one."

"I'll be alone tomorrow, you know? You'll go to Gedref, and Modron will stay here, waiting for his father to arrive from Camelot... And I'll be alone. Without Merlin and my knights."

"Arthur, that's how it's supposed to be. We shall all play our part. By the time you return from Nemeth, the castle of Gedref will be waiting for you. Now careful, the door..."

"You know, I've never realized it. He's just... been around me all the time. Always so close. Always there to shout at... Always there to be called insolent and useless... He didn't keep his mouth shut, though, I assure you... Came with all sorts of stupid names for me... Dollops, heads, he just... And now he's not around and I can't sleep because now that I know the truth about sunny stones... How can I be sure he'll be around again?"

"He will come to Gedref. He promised," Owaine's tone was filled with unfeigned honesty. "Now careful, the bed... Goodnight, Arthur. You must sleep. Try to gather yourself, we shall talk in the morning."

You are wrong, Arthur thought as Owaine left him in the darkness. He didn't promise. He swore an oath to me. He swore an oath.

The wind rose out of nowhere, and it seemed to Arthur the shadow came to dance on the walls. He rubbed his eyes and lifted his head only to come across the horrifying sight that made him want to drop dead the instant. A woman was standing in his room, leaning on a staff, a gravely pale old thing shrouded in layers of dark robes so that her natural shapes were hard to tell.

"Who are you?" Arthur asked, the fear dulling his senses as he was slowly rolling to the edge of his bed. "What do you want from me?"

"I want nothing from you," she spoke in a whispering voice that appeared to come from the depths of the earth, and looked at Arthur with the eyes full of pain. "It's the opposite. I have brought something for you, dear prince."

"And what is it?"

"Peace," she promised, and Arthur had to close his eyes from the flash of white. When he opened them, the old woman was gone, and another figure appeared to take her place.

"Father!" Arthur gasped, and Uther Pendragon nodded in approval.