Where Legends Begin

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Merlin is rather pleased by his words and she only gives him a smile in turn and nods, accepting what he says. She can give him a grace period so long as he sincerely tries to keep to their agreement, but she's not above giving him a teasing nickname - not once nearly so harsh as 'prat' - if he slips up, just to remind him. She is sure it will become more of something smile about then be annoyed by in time. Or perhaps she just hopes that, but nothing has been shown to Merlin to suggest otherwise. In fact, it seems the more they anger each other and express that anger...the better they get along. It's strange, but it's working. She no longer wants to commit treason by strangling a Prince.

They get back to the horses in no time and then Arthur takes them along a mountain path when the forest falls away. Merlin smiles as she looks over the breathtaking landscape in the distance and finally she starts to see why this place is so well-loved. It's ethereal, this place and now that she's not around Nobles and expectations, sickness and blood, etiquette and rules, Merlin can truly appreciate Camelot in all its glory.

Her dark gaze is soon drawn elsewhere, though, as she feels something pass over her skin, an electric charge and she knows what they've come to without having to be told. She's never been here, but she knows this place and Merlin dismounts from Cobalt slowly and follows Arthur because she can't help but do so. When he speaks, she hears him as if from a distance and when he kneels, she driven down to her own knees beside him by a force that makes her body ache. Arthur speaks into the wind, soft words she doesn't even catch, but Merlin doesn't have to as she feels the energy inside her crackle with life and it's suddenly more potent, more alive than she's ever felt before. She can't breathe anymore and yet Merlin doesn't feel any panic either as her eyes open and they are drawn to Arthur.

Her entire being is drawn to Arthur. Merlin stands slowly and even if she's not entirely in control of herself, she has a good idea what is happening. It's not like it's the first time she's been in contact with the ancient power this way and there is gold starting to wrap around in her in thin crackling ropes of power as she reaches for the Prince. Her hand settles on his head as if she's giving him a blessing and if he happens to look up, he will see her eyes are molten gold and don't even seem to belong to her anymore. Her voice is certainly not just her own when she speaks and the wind picks up around them, but doesn't push or pull at them like it wants to knock them over the edge. Rather it almost seems to want to protect.

"Arthur Pendragon, Prince of Camelot, the Once and Future King; many times have you come here and long have you been watched, your birth awaited. Your words have been heard, your prayers will be answered. You shall have the strength to protect your people, to be the King Britain needs. You have already been appointed a Protector and your destiny approaches."

Gold pulsed from Merlin's hand then and into Arthur, flooding him with warmth, with an energy he'd been lacking for a while now, taking away the weariness in his limbs, refreshing is mind, calming his turmoil and then it slowly faded and the wind died down. The gold faded from Merlin's eyes, from her body and this time when she went to her knees, it was of her own volition and she breathed heavily, erratically as if she'd just run many leagues, her heart pounding in her chest.
 
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Arthur's eyes squeeze shut for most of the prayer but when those warm and outlandishly familiar fingers touch his temple, he can't help but shiver. A pulse radiates down his spine, his shoulders tensing up. His first thoughts are of a threat, wicked hands wishing to throw him into the depths below this snowless path where the green of the summer diminishes at higher elevation. The Prince does not feel the same energy that Merlin does, only the warmth of her fingertips, his subconscious knowing that she is the only living being up here besides himself. Spirits cannot touch a body, they simply pass through as we do the air daily. But he finds himself leaning in her direction, her words causing his heart to beat faster.

Do her words ring true? Will he truly become the King that Britain requires? But more importantly, he wonders why Merlin is saying such things in a voice that hardly sounds like her own. It's as if someone, or something, is speaking through her. Perhaps it is the very stones that surround them whispering words into the healer's ear. She, after all, has an ancient power within her that Arthur cannot hope to grasp any time soon. Golden light, strands much like hair, wiggling from her fingers in strong beams and healing that which is injured baffles the young Prince. He does not understand and therefore he had tried to rid his thoughts of the whole ordeal completely. But with her hands against his head, Arthur feels more at home than in his own bedroom.

He may not understand the world, he hardly has a grasp on who he is yet in his life, but he can halt and listen to the wind. When Merlin falls to her knees, the warmth residing in his entire being, he tries to catch her as best he can. The sword he had been gripping so delicately falls to the ground with a clatter. Whatever just happened, those words replaying over and over again in his cranium, Arthur can't find the right words to ask. It should be as simple as crossing a shallow stream, yet Arthur sees a roaring river before him. One where he cannot cross and therefore he is motionless, his hands gripping tightly onto Merlin's arms, making sure she doesn't collide with the stones below them.

Instead of questioning her, frying her as he might want to, Arthur simply moves his hand to his canteen and removes it from his belt. It's small, barely enough the two of them, but he insists that she have a drink. "It'll help you," he tells her, uncorking the sheepskin circle so that she may have a drink of the cold mountain water he filled up on the way. Seeing her pale so quickly, blue eyes coming up to meet his own, Arthur comes to a conclusion, "We're heading back to Camelot. You need your rest. We've been out for long enough." He looks to the sun making her way lower and lower to the West. Night will befall them in a handful of hours, plenty of time to reach Camelot safely before the disturbances of the night, bandits and such, start lurking in the shadows of the main roads. Even Camelot has crime. It's unavoidable.
 
Merlin is glad for his steadying grip as she feels drained. She's felt the ancient power that resides in this land, but never to that degree, that potently and she's never had Fate speak through her. It's exhausting, intrusive to someone not used to it and for someone who doesn't have a spark of the ancient power within them, such a thing would drive them mad, even kill them. Merlin has more than just a spark, though, and it's now, as she stares at Arthur, that she begins to understand why.

Once and Future King. It rings in her ears, in her mind and Merlin finds that her eyes are seeping gold again, but this time on their own, a hazy quality to them. She looks into Arthur's brown eyes but she doesn't see him, seeming to look into him and then past him as a vision plays out before her. An odd vision that she doesn't have the first idea how to understand. She sees a bear, but it's not an animal. It's symbolic and as she watches, a bird, a merlin perches on its shoulder. A lion and a swan stand near them. There are other animals, but they fade into the shadows and a dragon flies overhead, breathing fire that doesn't burn the the animals on the ground but seems to protect them. In the distance a wolf and a fox stand, dark clouds that move and ripple behind them as if it's not clouds at all but a mass so big it tries to block out the sky.

Merlin comes back to herself with a sense of dread and she realizes that her hands are gripping Arthur's arm and she's still looking at him, breathing shallow and her face paler than it had been before. She took a deep and careful breath as the last of the gold faded from her dark blue eyes and Merlin loosened her grip on Arthur's arms, apologizing softly, absently before she tried to stand. It didn't work so well as the world swayed and Merlin nearly fell and would have if Arthur hadn't been there.

She looked up at him with a wry smile and glanced back at the shrine. "I think, in the future, this might be a place to avoid with me. These places tend to like me a bit too much." She's chuckling softly, but there is an undertone in her voice that speaks of some trepidation, almost fear even if she doesn't show it and dark blue eyes look back up at Arthur, completely sincere. "I don't know if I can walk properly. I'm sorry."

Merlin feels as if all the energy she's given Arthur has come from herself and yet she knows that can't be completely true because she'd be dead then. Still, she's doubtful that she's even going to be able to stay on Cobalt as it is.
 
Carrying Merlin is no task for the Prince for she isn't wearing layers upon layers like the other women in court. Placing her in the saddle is a different task for the girl is more like a limp sack of grain than anything else. Arthur struggles at first, nearly dropping her but eventually they're both saddled up and his sword is resting at his hip. The ride back doesn't dry their clothes for Arthur has Cobalt walk with the dazed Merlin the whole way back. The clothes won't properly dry until they're safe at home in Camelot to be set out before the fire. Before Merlin knows it, she is helped by a few servants off of Cobalt, Arthur's caped frame moving into the shadowy distance of his own tower. A quiet night sleep is what he needs for he will question Merlin at some point about the shrine. But that time is locked in the back of his mind. He has other worries at the moment.

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The noon sun blazes in Arthur's eyes, his shield lifting up to block the crippling blow from the opponent's Morningstar. Metal scrapes against metal, causing depressions in the white dragon painted there. If such a marvelous sheet of steel hadn't been still in his grasp, Arthur might have been killed before everyone's eyes. His opponent, Sir Civeno, a longtime rival of this young Prince, is a skilled fighter. His movements are quick and Arthur thanks his own limbs for keeping up with Civeno's pace. The hop around the arena together, steel meeting steel and the entertained crowed all around them gasp and cheer. Their helmets have long been discarded along with one of Arthur's damaged shoulderpads that came right off with a vial swing and a late parry. Trying to see through the sweat dripping down his temple and into his eyes, Arthur sees an opening and takes it, lunging towards the knight with his sword.​
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Oh but Sir Civeno is quick and sees Arthur's attack in his eyes, their gazes locked throughout combat. Even though every muscle between the two men are aching in agony, they move onwards to victory. But their fatigue will be their downfall for Arthur slips in the grassy sand of the arena, being force to take a tumble away from the brutal thomping of the morningstar meeting with the earth. Sand now sticks to his face and salts his hair but the Prince is persistent in finding this man's weakness. Dodging is his best option now that his shield has been smacked from his grasp during the second roll and another meeting with the two spiky balls.​
 
It's been a good week since that day out and Merlin is back to her duties, back to full strength and back to herself, though, oddly enough, whenever she manages to catch Arthur's eye, it's an almost teasing smirk that comes to her lips and not a cold frown. They haven't spoken since that day, but she doesn't feel they have to. Some progress has been made and Merlin is grateful for it in a way she doesn't quite understand. She doesn't know when she started desiring the friendship of this Prince, but now when she dreams of him, it's genuine fear that wakes her and not annoyance. It's the longing to know that he's safe that makes her seek his form during the day and she can't explain why she feels so strongly that she should not let him out of her sight.

She feels uncharacteristically protective of him all the sudden and yet, she knows they aren't even really friends yet. It doesn't make sense, but many things in her life don't, haven't. There are only two things that keep repeating in her mind as if they contain the answer to all her questions. The Once and Future King and Protector. She THINKS she knows what half of that means, but....Merlin is unwilling to gamble on it right now.

Though, watching Arthur get knocked down, she has the nearly overwhelming desire to DO something, but she doesn't know what and wouldn't act on it if she did. It's a fight, a dangerous one but she has to trust as so many others do that Arthur is up to the task. Still, it doesn't stop the gold flare at her fingertips and Merlin risks looking away from the fight for a moment to look at the power radiating through her, sparking restlessly. It's changed. She doesn't know how, but it has and she is hesitant to find out what it can now do. It's been a long while since it's changed on her and it makes Merlin wary.

She turns her eyes back to the fight and one hand clenches the bow she holds in a white-knuckled grip. The next part of the tournament is archery and she's going to participate - she already has the King's permission - but Merlin can't think of that right now. She can only watch Arthur like the many hundreds of people around her.
 
Arthur finally gets a few blows in, barely nipping that Sir Civeno's armor but at least it'll look like he is trying. He isn't exactly strolling in the courtyard right now whistling care freely. He is in the mist of a tournament that he knows Uther wishes him to win. Hell, if he has to guess, he figures his whole Kingdom wants to see him beat Sir Civerno, the man who took the glory last season. The stakes are high but Arthur knows that once he is done with this fight, he will have the crowed properly pleased and every and all winnings will stay in his hands. There is nothing more satisfying than having to fight for gold and glory. It's all the Prince could ever want for even though he is putting his head on the line, his adrenaline adores the attention.

With each swing of the enemies Morningstar, Arthur feels a strong surge of raw power pump through his veins and into his muscles. They move without him even thinking now as they round one another again and again. Arthur suffers a few more blows but the majority of his anger, or perhaps far, of losing keeps him boiling over. But he isn't sloppy, his attacks are all precise. He aims for the shoulder, he hits the shoulder. The ping or pang of the contact causing the Prince to smile devilishly. They circle each other like lions but the final blow is dealt and Arthur quickly kicks out Sir Civerno's leg, causing him to collapse to his knees before the Prince. Bringing the gleaming sword up to the man's neck, Sir Civerno's breath raggedly answers in his surrender. The crowed immediately starts stomping their feet and shouting their joys for victory.

Arthur, limping at this point, his left arm curling around his waist from impact after impact even if steel has caused some surface area for the blows to expand on. His squire comes running out to collect his effects such as the helmet, dropped sword, shield, and various armor that had become undone during the battle. Having his taste of excitement for the day, the Prince is escorted to the royal box after being bestowed a laurel as well as a small sack of gold. Uther, accepting his son's victory with a knowing nod, simply claps and announces the next event.

"All archers to their places!" He bellows, clapping his hands once the targets have been properly placed on the far side of the arena where a tall wooden wall stands. That way, no one will get killed if an arrow is wrongly shot. His wife, seeing Merlin take her place among the line of men, taps Uther's wrist and points him in her direction. The King simply scoffs, wondering what the hell she thinks she is doing out there. "The poor girl is just going to make a fool of herself," he whispers, trusting her talent in apothecary work but he simply won't believe she has the necessary skills to draw back a bow, let alone shoot straight.
 
Merlin finds herself clapping along with the others and a laugh of relief spills from her lips as she watches Arthur. Sure, she eyes him critically as a healer, noting that damage she is GOING to see to whether he likes it or not, but she doesn't see anything particularly alarming and so she doesn't draw attention to his wounds - and she wouldn't have had an qualms doing so; she doubts that King Uther wants a dead or crippled Prince - and instead focuses on her own event.

Her limbs tingle, but it's not with power as she keeps a tight reign over that. She doesn't want to win by cheating. No, the excitement she feels is all hers as the archers take their places and Merlin focuses on her target, arrow on the string, but not yet drawing. She lets the world around her fade, the noises disappear into the background and all that is left is the beat of her heart, the breath that fills her lungs and the sound of the wind as it gently caresses her face, trailing a stray strand of hair that has escaped her braid across her cheek. The signal is given for the archers to draw their bows, but Merlin stays still as those around her do just that.

It's not the way she shoots and no one calls her on it because they don't expect anything from her anyway. When the signal is given to shoot, Merlin's bow comes up with a rapid speed and she draws and shoots in one fluid motion. Her arrow hits its target with a satisfying thump, dead center and she smiles, lowering her bow and simply waiting for the next instruction. It's given and the archers move back fifty paces. There are twenty in the line now, the younger and older having gone in the first round. The same process repeats itself; shoot, step back, repeat until there are only three people left, Merlin among them.

Now come more challenges. Moving targets. The three archers are matched in skill for a time, quick in speed and efficient, but eventually one misses and he's taken out of the competition. Merlin and the remaining man look at each other and identical grins come to both their faces. There is no hostility here, only an admiration of skill as the targets move faster, random objects such as apples and even a few released pheasants being let loose as surprise targets until finally Merlin misses one by a hair's breadth. The man has won but the two approach each other as the crowd cheers and clasp arms, giving nods of respect to the other.

Merlin is flushed, but so is the male and she speaks first. "Congratulations. May I inquire as to your name?"

"Sir Gwaine. You must be Lady Merlin."

"Your skill is wonderful." The man laughs. "As is yours. I would love to learn a few of those spin-draws you did."

Merlin laughs. "And I would greatly appreciate a lesson in your speed, Sir Gwaine."

The Knight bows a bit and to Merlin's bemusement, he kisses her hand with a smile. "Until we meet again then, Lady Merlin." He leaves her to collect his winnings and Merlin exists the arena, even happier than when she came in.

Gwaine
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During the events, Arthur feels a very small tingle wrap around his fingers in small strips. Peering at Merlin, not in a diminishing lens but one of simple interest, Arthur's brow raises. He might be looking at the tournament but his mind is far, far, off in the distance. For the life of him, he can't pluck the image of her hands on his head, her words spiraling out of her mouth and saying whatever they damn well please. Was that a prophecy he should be paying attention to very, very, closely? Some sort of warning? No. It did not feel as if it were dark omens about to consume him like hungry beasts but quite the opposite. Merlin helps ease his troubled mind as if she were a hot towel pressing against his face.

When the games are over, Uther feels as though he owes Merlin an apology. King Uther really feels the sourness settling in his gut. Merlin has, after all, been quite helpful around the castle and he knows that until the last breath leaves his body, Merlin will be here to stay. She deserves so much more credit than she is being given but no one, will ever dare say it until King Uther bestows his words upon her. Still, she did obtain second place with an uncommon, and pretty unsettling, accuracy. Uther had been expecting her to either be unable to pull back or hit the back wood of the tall poled wall behind the targets. She combated him and beat him on both theories. For that, he raises his head in acceptance of her hard work even if his attention must be spent on the victor, his speech short but grand as usual.

Arthur leans over to his father once the cheering settles down. Smiling a tiny, tiny, bit, he pats his father's arm, chiding him for underestimating the healer he brought back from Camiliard. Uther's laughter can be heard across the arena, his large hand moving to ruffle Arthur's hair before simply turning his attention back to the fans. Everything is replaced with other challenges such as rock throwing, spear throwing, as well as more jousting. Arthur, being asked to participate in the jousting by his father, considers declining but ultimately knows he has no other option. "One round," he tells his father, "and then I'm done." Uther smiles and agrees, knowing his son is in pain.
 
Merlin is back to the task she's been assigned by Fate as well as a King as she deals with the wounded. Tournaments are not safe things. Swords slip and stab when they should not, maces hit their targets and not the shield, lances cause severe bruising and internal bleeding, broken bones can result from nearly anything and everything....it's no wonder healers hate tournaments. Merlin is on the fence about it, but she's kept too busy to really think on the issue as she sets another arm and then looks up into the distance as she hears Arthur's name announced for the next joust.

No. No, no, no, no, no!

Merlin doesn't know why she feels such panic in the moment, but it spurs her into action. The brunette flies from the tent she's in, giving her next patient to another healer as she weaves through crowd and finally comes to Arthur's side as he's about to mount his horse. A servant moves to intercept her and she pushes past him, surprising the man with the force of her strength. Her fingers grab a part of Arthur's chain-mail and when he turns and sees her, she gives him a glare that is verging on exasperation. "You're injured. Hold still." There is command - not of a young woman, but of a healer - as she touches his head, the only part of him not covered for even his hands are gloved.

Gold glows at her fingertips, in her eyes and Arthur will feel warmth seep from his temple down his body until it meets the bruising in his body and - aha! She knew it - the cracked rib. The warmth, the energy curls around these things and Merlin's power heals them in a matter of moments, the rib being slightly painful but nothing like his broken bones had been when they first met and the brunette steps back, eyes fading back to dark blue and she gives Arthur a smile, bowing her head slightly. "Good luck, your Highness."

She leaves then, simple as that, knowing that her Prince is now better able to handle any challenge afforded him. Wait. HER Prince? When did that happen? Oh, she'd better mean that in a platonic manner. Merlin practically glares at her inner mind and after a moment of thinking about it, she has to admit that yes, somehow she feels that Arthur is hers, but...it's not in THAT way. She doesn't feel love or even a great amount of like for him - though, the like part was coming along. No, it's something else. It's...oddly possessive, but how someone might be about...a possession? No, no that wasn't right. It was...like he was a friend or...not a brother, but....ugh. This was confusing!

Merlin snarled to herself under her breath as she walked, weaving through people without really looking at them and then not noting when she started to head into the beginning of town, leaving the tournament behind. She functioned better with quiet and right now she had a real puzzle on her mind.

Arthur wasn't her brother. He wasn't yet a friend. Definitely NOT a lover. Liking him was only beginning to manifest. Love was nonexistent. And yet...she felt this overwhelming possessiveness and the desire to protect him. It was odd to say the least. It was like...like she was looking out for something that was hers...that was....part of her. She wanted to protect her Prince because...well, because he was hers. It was...simple...and yet completely complex.

Protector. Oh, by the wind and stars. You had got to be-

Merlin inner sentence never completed itself as she felt a hand cover her mouth and suddenly she couldn't breathe without inhaling something that made her vision darken and her struggles weaken. She never even saw the face of the person who'd attacked her as she succumbed to the darkness.
 
Arthur bows his head to Merlin in return, flashing a quick smile. It's not that she doesn't deserve one of his radiant toothy grins but the Prince has a lot on his mind. Even though he is just going to be in the tournament for one round, since all the knights he is up against are far too young to be considered a challenge in Uther's eyes. But once he is healed and in his starting position, Uther changes his mind. Arthur is the defending champion so he must fight until he falls no matter the fatigue or injury. His speech before the clattering hooves dig into the sand is short and announces his thoughts to the world. Arthur groans but knows that he must please his father. Always.

Round after round, the horns blare their tune into the fall skies, announcing victors as well as the beginnings of matches. Lance after lance breaks upon the impact of a sturdy shield above a galloping steed. It's true that Merlin is needed more than ever when the defeated knights start to practically line up outside the healing tents. The men and women on duty don't have her magic. What they do have are the methods of old, not the magic. They splint broken arms and tie them to bodies so that they don't move, mercilessly chop of arms, hands, and legs, that are too damaged to be tended to without the golden magic from the blue eyed woman.

Arthur doesn't notice this turmoil for he battles and battles until he too is nearly skewered and pushed to the ground by the opponent. He collapses and tumbles, the injury to his ribs from previous combat flaring up as intense as an uncontrolled wind. When he falls, Uther turns his head away, his own son being defeated by the knight from Gore, a northern kingdom near the boarder of Scotland. But his anger doesn't last long for one of the bloodied nurses comes and kneels at his side, expressing Merlin's disappearance from the ring and their trouble healing the men. Uther, most of him concerned, keeps his thoughts to himself. He knows that Merlin will take her leave when she is finished and he expresses that thought accordingly. Placing a hand on the woman's shoulder, he tells her to simply 'do her best'.

The thought of Merlin's departure stays in the back of the King's mind, his eyes looking towards Arthur as he is helped off of the field by three other men. His armor wraps around him, dented by his shield and also scraped by the debris from shattering wood. The rest of the jousting is uneventful, the knight from Gore taking his win and not even bothering to shake the hand of his opponents. Let alone acknowledge them at all to be frank. Still, King Uther holds his feast for Bernar, the checkered knight from Gore.

Arthur doesn't attend, feasting on his own lamb in the safety of his own room, his wounds nearly crippling him. He can barely stand, his sides bruised from the fall but it's nothing he hasn't experienced before. Tomorrow he will just be sore and by the next day, he will be walking again. Little does he know, he may have to cut his recouperation short if Merlin doesn't return after noon tomorrow. Search parties will be sent out across Camelot, Uther teeming with anger that his healer, his one brilliant healer, has tricked him and has run when her chance was nigh.
 
Merlin didn't know how long she'd been out when she was suddenly woken by cold water hitting her face. She gasped, almost panicking for a moment as her mind told her she was in water and then she woke up a bit more and realized that, no, she was standing...well, hanging more like, and she was breathing in air. It didn't exactly make her feel much better as she took in her surroundings. She was surrounded by stone, old stone with growing moss and the dank smell of decay, forest, wildlife. It wasn't entirely unpleasant and it told Merlin that wherever she was, it wasn't in town and it wasn't inhabited.

An old ruin, perhaps? It certainly felt old, but not ancient and Merlin could have cursed for that. Ancient things often held residue of the ancient power, something she could draw on. This place wouldn't help her.

"Awake at last, Lady Emrysia? You have kept us waiting. Quite rude of you."

Emrysia. That use of her name made Merlin still, dread creeping over her and she finally focused on the person in the room with her. Black hair, clean-cut features, strong build and with gray eyes as hard and cold as the stone around them. She knew this face and Merlin's expression hardened as she got her feet under her, glancing up at her wrists, tied to the beams above. Her dark blue eyes came back to the male before her. "Sir Jarin, do forgive me for my untimely sleep. How might I serve you? Perhaps a quick death might suite you?"

Merlin completely expects the strike across the face - really, what was it with men and hitting a woman across the face? - but, damn it still hurt and she licked her bleeding lip before flicking her head, getting her hair out of her face as she looked back at the Knight of Northern Britain. Sir Jarin smiles a little. "It's been six years, Lady Emrysia. Do you not think it time you come home?"

"King Lot is still looking for me? Does the King not have anything better to do?" Merlin snapped back and the black-haired Knight chuckled, giving her a look that chilled even Merlin. "For something has valuable as you, Kings will go to war and you very well know it. You should have stayed hidden, Lady Emyrsia. Who knows when we would have found you. Do not worry, you will be back home soon enough." It's a crueler taunt that anyone else would realize as the Knight leaves the room and Merlin immediately pulls on her restraints, teeth gritted as she maneuvers her wrists and tries to get loose to no avail. She swears colorfully under her breath and much as she hates being the 'damsel in distress' she can admit that having some help right about now would be great. Her dark blue eyes look up again, seeing the sky in the holes in the roof and Merlin estimates that a day has gone by. It's nearly high noon and she feels a shaft of anger at herself.

She should have just gone back to the healing tents! Why did she had to go all scatterbrained all the time?! All those people she could have helped... The healer shuts her eyes in guilt, but they fly open again at the sound of a screech. Nyina! The falcon is circling above and Merlin can't help but grin when the bird suddenly starts flying away. She'll bring help, Merlin is sure of it. Hell, she's counting on it because until she's moved, she can't even hope to make an attempt for escape. And judging by the sounds around her, she is pretty sure that Sir Jarin isn't alone either.

--

The search parties have been sent out, scouring the town and nearby countryside first without success. Sir Bors, Sir Galahad and, oddly enough, Sir Gwaine are the three Knights searching the hardest and the three seem to have migrated toward each other. They all have a fond spot for Merlin whether they've known her for some time now like the two former Knights or just by one meeting like Sir Gwaine. Somehow the little spitfire makes friends and allies just as quickly as she makes enemies and people only fall on one side or the other with Merlin.

It's now Sir Bors, the senior Knight of the group, who approaches Prince Arthur's own entourage of Knights, nodding respectfully to Sir Laoniel before he addresses Arthur himself. "Your Highness, we've searched the lowlands and there is no sign of Lady Merlin." he informs and Galahad, behind him, is frowning thoughtfully as he looks back in the direction of the castle.

"She didn't pack."

Bors looks back almost warningly at the younger Knight, not wanting him to speak out of turn and get them in trouble, but Galahad IS young and doesn't seem to notice. He's a bit innocent that way even if his skills are impressive. "She didn't pack anything and the last time anyone saw her, she was at the tournament. Lady Merlin wouldn't have left all those injured people, not of her own free will."

That is something everyone should be able to agree on. Most Knights have been at the end of her healing ability AND her tongue. If there is one thing she's passionate about, it's making sure people are whole and healthy.
 
"I do not like this," Arthur breathes, hearing the news that Merlin did not prepare for such a departure. With that information held high up on his brain, the Prince immediately thinks of the worst case scenario. She didn't win the archery tournament so thus she wouldn't have been captured by the victor. They made their peace but just but Sir Gwaine is right here with them. All the men who Merlin have touched, either with her healing fingers or kind words, all look a bit worried. Arthur normally doesn't allow himself to show emotion for it's considered weak for a commander, a Prince and soon to be King, to show worry or doubt. Digging into his own heart, Arthur nods before bringing his chainmailed hand up to his goatee and stroking the whiskers there.

"We will keep searching until the sun starts to descend quickly down the slopes of the horizon. Until that moment though, we shall ride. This is a very important woman we're trying to find. If we don't succeed, the King himself might fall ill once more. I do not wish that upon my father and I know that neither do you men. I believe that Merlin has been stolen away from Camelot by men who do not hold her. She must be returned safely as soon as possible." He then gives the men their directions but asks promptly for Galahad to stay behind, his eyes showing their usual fire when the young knight approaches the Prince. He stands tall in his saddle even though Arthur can almost swear he sees Galahad's legs shake against his saddle. Tilting his head back, Arthur gets a somewhat cruel joy out of seeing such a depiction upon the young man's face.

"Sir Galahad," Arthur peers down at the kid, the lines of his face growing deep when he turns quite stern with the young man, "You know it's improper to simply speak when addressing me, correct?" An eyebrow rises and he waits for the young knight's answer before continuing his lecture, "That... blunder is for the commonplace," shaking his head, Arthur sighs, knowing he has other issues on his mind besides scolding a worried man, "I'll let you off with a warning this time but belay your tongue before even thinking of what to say, let alone aimlessly talking out of turn. Understand?" Nodding, he turns his horse to the north and digs his heels in, leaving Sir Gwaine to catch up with the rest of his patrol. With any luck, they might, just might, catch Merlin before she has been taken too far.
 
It's Sir Gwaine who notices the circling figure in the sky first and he points such a thing out to the others, encompassing the entire group and not just his Prince. He comments that the bird seems to have been following them for a few miles now and Bors peers at the bird for a long moment before realization comes to him. "That is Lady Merlin's bird!" No sooner has he spoken than Nyina comes swooping down from the sky and her talons snag at Arthur's cape before she lifts off again with another call, circling ahead of them, waiting.

"Your Highness, I think she wants us to follow."

Nyina shrieks again and she comes back again, this time pulling at another Knight's red cloak before flying off again and circling. It's clear she wants them for something and seeing as how she IS Merlin's bird, the chances that she might lead them to the woman are high. And it's the only lead they have at this point.

--

"Oh...come on...." Merlin mumbles the words as she looks up at the sharp-edged rock sawing at the rope that her wrist keeps taunt. Her eyes glow gold, but the rock wavers, pauses, nearly drops and the brunette grits her teeth, thoroughly frustrated with this aspect of her ability. She's never fully mastered it, but even still, to have kept the rock up there this long and little by little cutting through the rope...it's more than she could have done a month ago.

Merlin doesn't really think about that fact right now, though, as she sees nothing but a fiber start to hold her left wrist up. A smile graces her face and then footsteps sound and she has to let the rock drop, her power fade from her eyes as she looks toward Sir Jarin. Merlin doesn't even KNOW why she's struck this time and she bites her tongue, tasting blood and the swelling that comes with bruising.

"What did you do!?"

Dark blue eyes meet gray with a raised brow. "I'm not sure. Care to enlighten me on what you think I've done? Or should I start guessing about what goes on in that pea-sized brain of yours?"

"The Knights approaching! How did you contact them, you little witch?!" The next strike tells Merlin that she probably would have been better off being silent as she tries to breathe and curl around her stomach. She feels the rope on her left wrist snap and the incriminating evidence coils down around her.

The man before her looks livid and Merlin's only comfort is that she knows he can't kill her. He's not been given permission to do that, but he can make her hurt and judging by the look in his cold gray eyes, he plans to. Merlin looks up at the rope holding her right wrist up, but she knows there is no way she's going to get loose from it and Sir Jarin smirks, grabbing her throat, his grip tight enough that it will leave nasty bruising, hard enough that Merlin gasps and sees black spots, feels the panic that makes her claw at his armored arm with her free hand.

"Trying to escape, Lady Emrysia? I think you'll find we're ready for your tricks this time."
 
The band of knights charge across the green hills of Camelot in the direction that Nyina is flying. She swings high into the sky and calls out to them before starting to make her own path. She doesn't gage the difficulties of horse travel so when the band of knights have to meander around a stream bed to shallower waters, as to not drown their horses in the flowing tumbles of fresh mountain water. So when they stop for any reason, she simply circles the red caped men, calling out for them to hurry. Nyina must know that Merlin is the furthest thing from safe in the hands of King Lot's knights. They'll kill her if Arthur doesn't show up in the nick of time. Anger always gets the better of men and before they know it, they have a dead body on their hands.

"Up there!" One knight calls, pointing to an abandoned watch tower, the stone a deep gray with the weathering of time and the elements. Nyina calls are sharp, the sound of galloping hooves moving closer and closer to the broken door of the circular stature. The roof has long caved in, creating a tube of light beaming down upon Merlin and her captor. Releasing his sword from its scabbard, Arthur lifts it in the dying sunlight, causing fire to spark in the mirror of the blade with the setting sun. His men, following close behind him, do the same, wanting to protect their Prince at all costs as well as Merlin when they raid this structure.

Hopping off his horse, Arthur's armor clatters against the uneven cobble of the half submerged pathway that used to ride a step above ground. One of Lot's men charge at him almost immediately and he quickly parries. The rush of adrenaline finds itself happily snuggling against his rampaging heartbeat. She has to be inside. Arthur knows she is. With one kick, the door doesn't budge one bit but it rattles madly on its hinges. Growing frustrated within a blink of an eye, the Prince keeps kicking it down until Sir Boris assists him. The bulky man puts Arthur to shame, not even shoving his hardest and the door quickly collapses to the floor, pushing out the dust in all directions.

With his sword at the ready, Arthur charges into the one floored watch tower. The steps up to the keep have become so rotten, they've collapsed under their own weight, becoming a heap of timbers on the floor around Merlin and this man. Jarin pulls back from Merlin, spitting his distain in a whirlwind of intricate words. All of which Arthur simply tones out. Before he knows it, their swords are against one another, slashing, stabbing, and swooping but they both parry and guard against attacks.

Merlin has seen Arthur fight before, normally very collected, knowing all and every movement that is to come. But this time, he lacks such grace, simply surviving to live another day against a sharpened blade of an enemy. Jarin, realizing Arthur's potential easily within the first few minutes of combat, starts to look around at the fallen stairs around them. They could be weapons or projectiles as easily as snapping a finger.
 
Merlin had never been so glad to see Knights - and a Prince - of Camelot as she was in the moment that Sir Jarin let her drop, knowing he could never get her away, and yet stopped from crippling her completely, too. Merlin gasps and chokes for breath, her arm aching as she's practically hanging from it, her other arm wrapped around her middle. Sir Bors, being the first to come in with Arthur, is quickly at her side, cutting her down and Merlin would have collapsed if not for his strong hands, lifting her into his arms. He makes to leave, but Merlin struggles, looking for Arthur.

He's the only thing that she can think of and when he eyes catch a hold of him, she understands why. Jarin has picked up a jagged piece of wood and hurls it toward the Prince even as another man comes up behind Arthur, rushing into the tower. The Prince will most likely hear that man and his body will instinctively start to turn only to be hit with the wood or even Jarin's sword as the man is a coward and would stab his opponent in the back. He has no honor.

And lucky for Merlin, no power. Her eyes flash gold, hand shooting out and the wood suddenly alters course dramatically and seemingly without explanation, gaining speed as it impales the newcomer in the neck, bypassing Arthur by a good bit when it was heading straight for him before. Sir Jarin knows immediately what she's done and his face morphs into a snarl of rage and Merlin knows that if he could get to her, she'd be regretting badly saving Arthur's life - or at least sparing the Prince a great deal of pain.

"Little witch! If you side with Camelot, your life will be forfeit! You will never be pardoned!"

Merlin only smiles, voice quiet and iced over as she watches Sir Jarin back up. "Then it's forfeit. Do give my regards to King Lot or better yet, why don't you simply die?"

She knows the man will escape, he's like a cockroach that way, but still she feels anger when he grabs a handful of dirt and small debris and throws it into Arthur's face, gaining himself a long cut from the Prince's sword as it swings even as he darts past the Pendragon and out of the tower. Bors curses, wanting to go after the coward, but with Merlin in his arms and his Prince momentarily blinded - and with the ringing steel of fights going on outside - he knows his place is here.

He has further incentive to stay when he suddenly sees that Merlin's side is wet...no, no, red. Her fingers are carefully apply pressure to her side and no matter how she's shifted, she doesn't let go. She's been stabbed and noting that Bors has seen this, she smiles a bit ruefully. "Good thing you have a healer with you, yes?"

The Knight doesn't see the humor.
 
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Despite the agonizing sensation of hot blue fire radiating outwards from Arthur's eyes, he looks at the spinning room through teary eyes. His sword has been let go of, his hands immediately going to his eyes and trying to wipe the sand from them. "Aaagh!" He cries, his attempts at soothing the fire only making it grow. Instead, he just blinks, tears pooling and dripping from his eyes as if they were droplets of water on a windowpane. "Where is he?" Arthur shouts, his heart still pounding in his head. Everything slows for the Prince, seeing Merlin in the safe hands of Sir Bore, he simply nods to the knight. She'll be safe. He is certain. Brown eyes turn to the exit and he quickly follows in pursuit.

"Prince Arthur!" Sir Bors shouts after him, quickly trying again with the proper formalities, "Your Highness, quickly!" But by the time his words reach Arthur's ears, the chainmailed Prince is already rocketing after Sir Jarin with ungodly speed. He picks up his sword, one that has been kicked from his grasp, and follows the laughter down the hillside. The man finally notices his enemy is on foot and immediately heads for the tree line. There, the orange and yellow foliage will provide some cover although the snapping of twigs will be prominent along with the crunching of leaves. It's a risk he is willing to take. Perhaps he will find an cave somewhere and hide away until Arthur gives up and turns back to Camelot.

Once the men outside have been defeated, Sir Bors sends three men off after Arthur, their forms both out of sight. The Knight hopes against hope that Arthur will capture him as easily as capturing a crawling bug in a cup. Turning back to Merlin, he keeps pressure on her wound as he literally carries her weight to his own horse. Instead of placing her in the saddle, the knight lays her on the ground, ordering all and every man to remove their capes. He will have to wrap them all around her side, pulling them tight so that the wound, hopefully, stops bleeding. Right now she is not Merlin the great healer, but Merlin the holy crap, she is bleeding!

"I'm just going to keep pressure on your wound, Merlin, stay with me." he informs her gently, ordering a man to clear the area of their horses and take them down the slope of the hill so that they do not bother Merlin. After he pulls the last cape tight and pins it together, Bors can only look down to the healer, his eyes wide with worry of a different caliber than before. Now she could easily die if they're not careful. He knows they should have cleaned the wound first but all the knights don't have canteens of water for they knew they would be back at sunset. Any water they had with them has been used and thus, only bandaging the wound will do. "You'll be fine, Merlin. We're going to take you back to Camelot now."

He knows it's the only option for her. As much as he wishes to be here with the return of his Prince and the prisoner, such matters will be dealt with. Sending two more knights after Arthur, Sir Bors takes a second to listen to Merlin and what she has to say.
 
Merlin grimaces at the amount of pressure keeping her from bleeding out, but she doesn't complain about it because it's going to keep her alive. She's not entirely sure how bad the wound actually is and maybe she's not in threat of dying at all, but Merlin would rather error on the side of caution and she gives Bors a slight smile that seems to puzzle the large Knight as she touches his hand. "You did fine. Don't worry. I've had a lot worse."

"That is not reassuring, Merlin." he rumbles back at her and she laughs softly, holding back a gasp as the motion hurts her side, but the Knight sees it and gently lifts her. "Come, little spitfire, we'll get you taken care of. No dying now, you hear me?"

Merlin smirks. "Wasn't planning on it." she answers, but her eyes go back to the forest where Jarin and Arthur - and three other Knights - had disappeared to. She feels a nagging worry, an almost tangible force inside her that won't let her ease up and relax as her dark blue hues flicker along the treeline, her ears straining to hear something, anything. She doesn't like the thought of leaving Arthur out there, but she really doesn't have a leg to stand on at the moment. She is perhaps trying to bleed out. She's not sure yet.

The brunette doesn't protest when Bors hands her to another Knight, mounts and then gets her back, seated carefully before him in the saddle. Seeing as Sir Laoniel has gone with Arthur, he's the senior Knight and with three following him - Galahad and Gwaine included - they take off for Camelot. By the time they get back, Merlin pale and the very last layer of the cape-layers is starting to show flecks of blood soaking through. Merlin eyes it grimly. Her body never did like to do things the easy way. She's always wondered if that was a backlash of her power to heal others.

Merlin is unaware of when she ended up in a bed, people hovering over her and realizes she must have blacked out. Lovely. The capes are being unwrapped and for the first time Merlin gets a brief glimpse of the injury itself. Oh. Well, that explains the bleeding. The knife had been razor edged and now the brunette understands why it had hurt like hell coming back out of her body. Jarin really is a bas****. The flesh is torn and the wound deep and Merlin is rather glad she doesn't have to try and staunch her own blood by herself. She's done that before. It's not pleasant. Now, though, all she has to do is lay still and let the healers around her work, tuning out their words while at the same time forcing herself to stay awake. It's not an easy task, just that alone, and it doesn't help that her mind is still on Arthur and what kind of danger he might be in. Odd thing to be thinking about right now when she can't even make herself move, but Merlin never professed to making sense even to herself.

Merlin is unaware when her eyes close and Galahad looks to the healers, worry in his young eyes. "Is she going to live?" It's the question they all want to ask but somehow when Galahad voices the words, they don't seem so harsh and blunt. An older healer looks up from his work briefly and shakes his head. "It's too early to tell." he answers truthfully and when the Knights are told they can leave...not one moves from their observation spots.
 
Hours later, the clatter of hooves can be heard from Merlin's window. The knights who trailed after Arthur must be returning, hopefully, with the Prince. The sun has long dipped underneath the horizon, a starry night sky settling over Camelot with a large protective moon shining onwards through the night. Arthur, being with the group, is the first to leap from the saddle. Despite the burning pain in his legs, he sprints up the steps to where Merlin's room is, asking frequent and quite frantic questions along the way. After a night of running and riding, he nearly collapses when he reaches her door. Taking a moment, he rests his hand on the stone, inhaling deeply before adjusting his ripped cape covered in thorns and burrs. His face has been lightly scratched, his tabard completing the dose with dirt showered across every inch.

He turns the door handle and pushes the wood away from him to find the sour smell of healing concoctions, his nose crinkling upon entering. Looking towards Merlin's bed, he finds her sleeping soundly, thick white wrapping covering her chest. A nurse is sitting in a wooden chair by her side, observing her sleep and making sure she doesn't twist oddly in her sleep or choke on blood. Anything can happen. Arthur nods to the woman, her face covered by cloth so that she doesn't breathe in the sickness coming from Merlin's body. Of course she isn't ill but once a wound is open, their people believe that anything lurking in the corners of the body are exposed to the outside world and can be contracted through breathing them in. She holds up her hand before the Prince comes any further. Her slender fingers tap on her mask and he understands immediately.

With a slice of his caliber, no one is taking any chances. Arthur squints though when he looks to the bandages once more, his mouth now covered with the red cloth from his cape. The nurse moves and exits the room, giving the Prince time to look over Merlin's body. He sits and stares for a long while, thinking to himself why the hell can't Merlin just heal herself. She is, after all, the best healer in the land. Shouldn't that golden magic that lies within her just simply repair what has been damaged? Calling the nurse over, he asks how severe the wounds are. The lady tells him not to worry, all should heal up if her wrappings are changed regularly. Arthur nods, sending her off again.

Sitting back against the chair, he crosses his arms and slowly, but surely, starts to drift off to the sound of Merlin's breathing.
 
Merlin wakes late in the night in her own room and she's reassured by that, but it smells something foul and that's coming from her. She recognizes the herbs in the air and wrinkles her nose as some of the choices. Some of them are hardly needed, used more for superstitious reasons than anything else, but she's alive so she's not going to complain. Yet. The brunette hears the breathing second and she looks over to see - of all people - Arthur Pendragon himself asleep in the chair by her beside. For a moment she can only stare, blinking in pure surprise and then Merlin smiles and chuckles softly to herself as she examines her own state. He looks like hell. Does she?

Well, she's not wearing a shirt, but the wrappings provide enough coverage even if its not her chest that is damaged but her side. Still, they couldn't put a shirt on her and risk infection, so this is a good medium and Merlin is hardly embarrassed by her state as her fingers lift up the bandaging to peek at the wound with the expert hands of a healer. She grimaces at the sight, but is encouraged to see that she doesn't bleed. Though, she's going to have to do something about the gaping quality of the injury...and the other healers are not going to like it, but Merlin hardly cares at the moment. It's her body.

She puts the bandages back in place and slowly pushes herself to a sitting position, pushing the pillows up behind her because she's more than aware that she might very well fall back. She's lost blood and her side instantly protests such movement, but Merlin, while she feels dizzy for a moment, doesn't pass out and after a moment the pain fades to a tolerable throb. Her face is bruised up badly, but he swelling has gone done and she only feels a sore discomfort from the fingerprint bruises on her neck. It could have a been a lot worse she knew. Merlin lets loose a quiet stream of air and then looks toward Arthur again, head tilting, contemplating before a grin creeps over her face and she grabs one of the pillows on the bed. It's with a deadly aim that she throws it, hitting him in the face and her voice is loud and cheerful.

"Rise and shine! Time to wake! If I have to be up at this ungodly hour, so do you!"

In all truth, she's glad to know he's alright and oddly thankful that he's...well, here. It's sweet even if he did it out of duty. Or maybe that is blood loss talking. Merlin's not sure.
 
Whatever peaceful dreams the Prince is having are knocked right out from underneath him. Those brown eyes snap open, his breathing immediately becoming ragged, his heart frightened that he has been stabbed. His long fingers go to his chest, patting at his chainmail but finding no issues with the links of metal. Breathing a sigh of relief, the Prince looks around, his back immediately starting to shout at him. Sleeping in a chair all night, it seems, is not a good idea for his back is really killing him. Groaning, Arthur rubs his eyes, taking another moment through fuzzy vision to remember and realize that it is Merlin's room and her voice ringing in his head. The last thing he remembers is checking up on the healer and shutting his eyes for a moment. He didn't mean to fall asleep here.

"You're an awful woman," Arthur breathes, only half joking, his mind still cleaning itself from his sleepy daze. Eventually, Arthur opens his eyes and keeps them open. Now he is sitting up in the chair, his arms resting on his knees as he looks over to her and her bandages. Her creamy colored skin, normally covered by various articles of clothing, are now bare. He can see the curve of her shoulder instead of the puff of a sleeve, her hips instead of the ruffles down to her waist on various assortments of clothing given to her by King Uther's charity. She, after all, came here with no clothing meant for court. Being King Uther's personal healer, she must make a show often and peasant clothing will not do.

After rubbing his eyes once more, the Prince scoots his chair closer to her bedside, his knees almost touching the sheets. "How are you feeling?" Arthur grumbles, still trying to be polite through his displeasure at being awoken suddenly. Having to be jolted awake is only for emergencies as far as he is concerned, the loud toll bell in the square sounding if there are any approaching raids to Camelot. But, of course, the outer watchtowers will have a signal sent to them before long so the Knights have plenty of time to prepare for an oncoming raid. "I hope you slept well, because I didn't." Arching his back and throwing his arms up to the sky, Arthur yawns, remembering vaguely waking up and falling asleep throughout the night.
 
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