To Be Lost

Merlyn didn't look back when she rode through the gates for the last time. Beneath her, Sunstrider plodded contentedly, clearly relieved to be free of his stall after so long bound to its space. His neck was free of bandages, stitches removed days ago, and his shorn mane left the raw, red scar vividly apparent on his neck. Still, he was much improved, the shock from blood loss a thing of the past. It would be some time yet before he was at full strength, but he was well enough to carry her home. To her old home.

Gaius had not been present when she collected her things, out tending to the citizens of the city as per his station, and she was both grateful and dismayed at the missed opportunity. Chances were, he would be relieved at the banishment, if only that it meant she was beyond Arthur's reach should he change his mind to spare her life. But she didn't even say goodbye. She couldn't even remember the last words they'd shared, as she'd been so focused on fulfilling her promise to Gwen and finishing the thrice-damned Cuff to interact with him beyond pleasantries.

At the thought of the metal abomination, her fingers twitched towards the purse in which it was stashed, tied to the saddle. She'd thought of leaving it several times while she packed; of shoving it under the floorboards within her room and never thinking of it again. But the risk of it being discovered was too great for her to let it out of sight. She would bury it deep in the forest on her way to Ealdor, somewhere where no one ventured so it remained untouched forever more.

A pang of sadness shot through her belly, disturbing the numbness that had taken root. She hoped the ritual worked on Gwen. She hoped she and Lancelot found everything they sought. She hoped Gaius found an apprentice to pass on his vast knowledge. She hoped Morgana forgave her abandonment and learned to forgive the King. She hoped Arthur learned to see beyond his discrimination.

She hoped Ealdor would not turn their backs on her return. She hoped Arthur changed his mind and let her come home.

The despair she'd been keeping down welled up like a cresting wave and, with nothing to distract her, it broke overhead, driving down upon her shoulders until tears streamed miserably from her eyes. Shuddering breaths filled her lungs, and she placed a warm hand on Sunstrider's whither in the hope that his warmth would ground her.

What was she going to do?

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Merlyn slept the first night within a campsite regularly used by patrols, setting up a mild boundary alarm before eating stale bread and sweaty cheese to save the risk of a fire. She was close to Camelot still, having only left a few short hours before dusk with a steed unable to be pushed for speed, but she was not of a mind to defend herself against bandits or thieves in the night. She just wanted to sleep. And forget for a short while.

Come dawn, she pushed on, mist curling about her feet in the grey as she led Sunstrider onwards through the thinning forest. It would soon open into a pasture and she would mount, but she was in no rush to return to her mother. In no rush to reveal the failures she wrought; to feel the judgement of her neighbours as they hissed once more about the demon spawn bastard.

She dismounted when she entered the next cluster of forest and there, she buried the Cuff as deeply as she could within the roots of an old hardwood, marking the tree discreetly for future reference she hoped never to need. Then she cantered away and never looked back.

If she had, perhaps she would have seen the shadow part from its neighbours and skulk towards the freshly packed earth. Nimble fingers clenched around a short knife that stabbed into the ground mercilessly, overturning dirt in his search to sate curiosity. Soon enough, he uncovered the small pouch and untied the rope binding it together, letting the object fall into his palm, only to hiss and release it when it touched his skin.

The Cuff fell to the leaf-littered ground with little splendour, glinting dully in the dappled, midday sun, and the shadow leant forward to examine it closely.

"Interesting," he murmured to himself before a feral smirk had his teeth flashing from beneath his hood.

He snatched it up with the pouch and tucked it away under his robe. Then he hurried forward to follow the tracks left by his quarry.

He'd had measures in place to deal with her tricks, but it seemed he wouldn't need them with this gift passed into his hands.

Hengist's gold was as sure as his.

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That night, Merlyn set herself up in a familiar space. Ealdor was only a handful of miles away, so she could have pressed on under the light of the moon if she'd wished, but the reluctance in her heart refused to wane. Instead, she settled herself against an old oak she used to climb as a child, tightening her cloak about her shoulders before resting her head against the sturdy trunk. As she closed her eyes and calmed her mind, she let her awareness seep into the roots of the ageless mammoth, using the deep tendrils as a medium to the rest of her surroundings. She felt the worms and ants and beetles and bugs; the rabbits and foxes and mice and squirrels; the deer, the boar, the… sorcerer?

Her eyes shot open a second too late, a hooded figure shoving a cloth to her face, smelling sharply acidic. Her shocked inhale was her undoing, the odour invading her nostrils quickly. She shoved the arm away, scrabbling to her feet only to fall, face-first, into the earth as consciousness fled.

She didn't even hear Sunstrider's furious scream.

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Merlyn awoke sometime later, thoughts fogged and head pounding. Her body was swaying awkwardly, head hanging low as something dug unforgiving into her lowest rib. She groaned pitifully as her stomach rolled threateningly, blinking open aching eyes to see the shoulder of a bay steed in front of her face, a boot in a stirrup not much lower, and the grassy ground below that.

She moaned again as her mouth watered in warning and she panted desperately, "'m b'sick."

There was an irritated sigh and a jerky halt before she was wrenched upright by her shoulders just as her stomach revolted. She was dumped to the ground beside the horse, legs buckling immediately as she pitched forward and vomited into the grass. Her bound hands braced her from falling into the mess.

"Done?" a sharp male voice asked when she stopped, and she responded with a displeased grunt, head throbbing in protest.

She pushed back onto her haunches carefully, squinting up at the cloaked figure in an attempt to identify his features as he dismounted. He didn't look familiar, but she had an idea that it wasn't for personal revenge that he'd abducted her in the night. Blasted Hengist; her bounty must be considerable to incite so many hunters. Still, she had to ask.

"Why have you taken me?"

"I'm sure you know by now," he responded airily, leaving her kneeling on the ground as he led his horse to a low branch and tied the reins. Sunstrider was nowhere to be seen. "There has been more than one attempt on your freedom in the past few days."

"You have been following me," she realised, climbing slowly to her feet and wincing at the renewed throbbing in her skull. Ooh, it was never nice to awaken from an induced sleep.

"For a little while," he said, straight teeth shining as his lips lifted in a grin. "I had to learn your habits; prepare for your talents. Thought the wait would be longer once you were within Camelot, but the gods graced me with good fortune." He reached into a pocket and pulled free a familiar, stained pouch. His grin turned distinctly triumphant. "In more than one way."

Dread had her belly sinking into her toes, her body shifting automatically into a defensive stance, though she felt as weak as a lamb. Physical strength was not her only strength.

"How did you find that?" she demanded angrily, hiding her unease even as her mind scrabbled on how to be rid of the Cuff a second time. She would need to be more thorough, clearly. Find some way to utterly undo what she'd created.

He tilted his head, seeming amused by her shock. "You really should be more careful with objects of such immense power," he said and drew the fabric back so the Cuff was visible to their eyes, yet his fingers were protected. "But I cannot fault how the Fates seem to be with me."

"You are a sorcerer yourself," she snapped, bracing herself to attack. "Why would you threaten me so? Are we not kin?"

"Sorry, sweetplum, but I have no ties to anyone but myself."

She tucked her chin in resolve. "Then I cannot be at fault for defending myself," she warned and thrust out her joined hands, intending to shove him away.

Yet nothing happened.

"What…"

She stared at her hands, shocked at the blockage that greeted her when she reached for her magic. The warm, electric tingle was absent, pushed too deep beneath a dizzying, amorphous mist that befuddled her when she tried to dive through. It was as if she missed a step on a well-known staircase, thrown off by a change in something so familiar, and she jolted back to awareness with her surprise.

"Ah," the man said, completely unaffected by her action. "Yes, I was wondering when you would realise."

"What have you done to me?" she breathed in horror, lifting her arms in search of the Cuff lest the one in his hand be a mere illusion. But no, her skin was unblemished.

In answer, he lifted a small, straw doll. A poppet.

"I have my tricks, just as you do yours."

Merlyn tried desperately to recall information of rituals involving poppets, but they'd never been a focal point in her studies due to the fact they were designed to sway another being to the caster's will. They required a bodily sample – hair, nails, blood – and didn't need the subject's permission to be performed, which, to Merlyn, was an instant negative.

Thus, her defence was feeble now she was faced with it as a threat.

"What is that?" she asked.

He smiled, pleased with himself. "A simple nullifying charm."

"If you have that, why are you so pleased with the Cuff? You have already disabled me."

He looked at her patronisingly and said, "You know as well as I that poppets have a short lifespan. They are designed to decay back into earth, which is why I need something a little… hardier."

He stepped forward and she stepped back, a thrill of anxiety sparking in her belly.

"You will condemn me if you trap me with that," she spat, breath hitching. She reached within herself desperately, trying to push through the barrier keeping her magic at bay, but it was just out of reach, like straining between the bars of a prison cell, fingers nudging at what she sought only to succeed in pushing it further from her grasp.

"And that, sweet, is not my problem."

He took a predatory step forward so Merlyn did the only thing she could: run away.

His laughter followed her into the shrubbery before heavy thumps of his boots sounded in her wake. "Run, little rabbit. Run as fast as you can."

The feeling of being pursued was not one of which she was unfamiliar, but it was entirely different to be completely helpless. She had no magic, no tricks to save her from being cornered, nothing to stop him from overpowering her if he managed to pin her down. And he had the Cuff. Gods, he had the Cuff.

She squealed when fingers tangled in her loose hair, strands ripped clean out as she was thrown off-balance. She somersaulted over twigs and stones like a ragdoll before she managed to get her feet under her and use the momentum to boost upwards once more – only to be immediately slammed back to the ground as another body collided with her own.

"Caught you!" the man said with a breathless laugh, shoving her face into the dirt as he knelt on her back, knee digging into her spine. He shifted so he could roll her over, evading her lifted leg and elbow to his face with a feral grin. The glint of the iron band in his clutches caught her attention.

"No!" she cried as he wrestled her bound hands into submission, pushing them into the ground. "No, no, no!"

She managed to wriggle free enough to drive a knee up into his ribcage, his breath escaping in a grunt before he snapped, "Gestandan, mægeth!"

Her limbs froze, seized within a hold she couldn't see. She gasped, chest barely rising to allow her breath. The man leant over her, triumphant, and grabbed her still hands to untie the ropes binding them together. Once done, he tugged them away to reveal the reddened skin and lifted the Cuff into position.

"Don't," she breathed out, eyes rolling as she fought against the invisible cage holding her still.

This couldn't be happening. Arthur had just changed his mind. Things were finally looking up, even if she was banished. Things were truly progressing – so this couldn't be happening. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

An expression of mild sympathy overtook his features and he said solemnly, "We all have to make a living, little rabbit."

And he pushed the Cuff onto her wrist.

The spell holding her still ended as he leapt away and she shoved herself upright in the same second, stumbling a little as pressure prickled with immediacy under her skin, like a blocked faucet being pumped for water. She gasped as it quickly moved from pressure to pain, staggering as the ground seemed to lurch beneath her feet. Starbursts exploded before her eyes, the flashes sending daggers drilling straight into her skull.

She couldn't believe he just –

The burning started.

"Ah!"

Her legs buckled, and she fell onto her knees, trying to pry the Cuff from her skin but the wards built into the piece denied her that relief. She hunched over the limb, clutching at the skin just above the metal in an attempt to weather the sensation but it grew like the bite of a hot chilli, flaring from a spark to an inferno in seconds.

She whined like a miserable pup, barely able to hear the man as he crouched at her side. Her heartbeat was thumping rapidly in her ears.

"What does it feel like?" he asked curiously.

She wanted to speak, to growl, to beg but the only thing stuck in her throat was the growing urge to scream. She could barely think – barely move. Sweat broke out on her skin and black dots blotted her vision. Gods, it hurt, it hurt so much.

Distantly, a horse squealed with ferocity and the same urge grew within herself like a tumour. Yet, she felt the moment she started, she would be unable to stop, so she clenched her teeth and held the shriek in her throat.

"Damn it!" the man hissed, and she heard him scrabble to his feet. "I thought I was rid of the beast! Time to go."

His hand touched her shoulder, firm, demanding, and she couldn't contain it any longer.

She screamed.

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Nearby, within a refurbished village and revitalised people, a mother leapt into wakefulness, heart galloping in her chest as she staggered from the bed and hastily lit a candle, only to find nothing that should have disturbed her rest.

Northward, within a deep, damp cave fed by a flowing river and melting snow-top, a rugged man jerked from his bedroll, fingers searching for his sword even as his eyes flashed to see through the blackness, finding no threats skulking in the night.

Across the land, upon the shore of an enchanted lake, a lonely griffin shuddered with pain before a mournful screech rent the air; her wings flared in distress before she took to the sky with a few strikes of her mighty limbs. She was needed.

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Sunstrider was a mortal beast, despite the touch of magic upon his heart. He did not have the innate sense of the deeper energies in the world. As such, when his mistress was snatched by a foul predator and taken away through the skies, he could not follow. There was no scent to trace, no track to chase. His mistress was lost, and he was alone, the corpse of the two-legged hunter who would steal her left in a bloody mess upon the ground.

He was exhausted, his neck hurt, and his body ached with fatigue. The effort of destroying the two-legged threat took more out of him than it should have, and he knew he would not survive if he did not take care. The region was drenched with the scents of predators, and without his mistress to guard his back, he was vulnerable.

So Sunstrider removed himself from the area, picking grass along the way to fill his ever-hungry belly. Instinct drove him to keep going into the wild, but the touch of magic upon his heart told him to remain nearby for her return. So he settled himself by a brook, which a scatter of deer also occupied, secure in the knowledge that they, too, would keep a nose out for threats.

And there he waited.

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Merlyn was long gone by the time anyone realised she was missing. The same day she left, Gwen and Lancelot burst into Gaius' chambers, filled with dismay at her banishment. Gaius' own relief soured when they revealed the bounty on the girl, and he wasted no time in sending a missive off to Ealdor to check on her wellbeing. Three days later, the boy returned bearing a short note scribbled in his sister's hand informing him of Merlyn's lack of coming and Hunith's imminent arrival for information. That evening, the mother trotted into the city astride a sturdy mule, expression and bearing as grim as a reaper.

"Where is she, Gaius?" the woman asked as soon as the old physician had opened his door. The man could do naught but shake his head.

"I do not know," he murmured with guilt and worry, closing the door firmly once she was inside.

"Why was she coming home without warning? Tell me what happened."

So, he did.

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"Gaius," Arthur called, striding into the Physician's Chambers briskly, for he only had a short time before he was required to attend other duties. "What is it you wish to tell me?"

He only had a moment to see the shadow of a hand before the slap had his head jerking to the side. Instinctively, his hand moved to his sword and had it half drawn before he saw who, exactly, had attacked him.

"Hunith," he said in surprise, fingers releasing his weapon to move up to his stinging cheek.

Gaius, too, was in a state of shock, horrified that his sister would do such a thing to the Crown Prince. To anyone. "Where is your restraint?"

"It's fine," Arthur waved him away, still staring at the woman who would dare attack him. Just like her daughter. "You have a right to express your anger."

Yet, Hunith's expression was not truly anger. There was a deep groove between her brows, the lines of her eyes pinched in anxiety, her mouth tight with dismay. Dread churned to life within his belly.

"What is it?" he asked, gaze flicking to Gaius, who appeared unable to meet Arthur's eyes. "What's happened?"

"Merlyn is missing," Hunith finally shared, before her hand came up to her mouth and she turned from the two men, emotion robbing her of the ability to elaborate.

Alarm zapped up his spine. "What do you mean, 'missing'?" he demanded, looking to Gaius for answers.

The old man sighed, craggy lines deeper than usual upon his face. "Merlyn never made it to Ealdor," he divulged. "And it has come to my attention that Hengist has placed a bounty upon her head. There is a high possibility that she was captured by a hunter."

"Hengist? He is little more than a common crook. The knights flushed him from his castle and his men have since abandoned him."

"There are rumours that he has taken up with Cenred," Gaius corrected. "And Merlyn bears a price high enough for several attempts to be made in the short time she was outside the city. Gwen, herself, was subject to these attempts and it was she who informed me of the threat."

"How did I not know this?" he demanded, more to himself than to the old man. He raked through his memories, trying to find any indication of it being mentioned and slipping his attention. As a Friend of Camelot, such a danger should have been brought immediately to the prince's attention.

"The bounty is said to be very large, sire. I suspect it didn't take long for pursuers to arise; likely, word has not yet spread far enough to reach Camelot's ears."

"My father does not focus enough of his attentions to the hearsay of neighbouring lowborn," Arthur commented, unless it was for sorcery, he didn't say. He dismissed the thought and said sharply; "So you believe she has been taken by a bounty hunter."

"There are not many other options I can imagine, sire," said Gaius.

The prince turned to Hunith, the woman having taken a seat at the table, stress wearing lines into her aging features. "Were there signs of a struggle anywhere on the path?" he asked, trying to be kind even as restlessness was itching in his feet.

Hunith turned haunted eyes his way and slowly shook her head. "Not anything obvious, but I am no tracker."

This was true. Many things could slip passed an inexperienced eye. He would need to venture out there himself in search of clues – and have Leon accompany him. The older knight bore one of the keenest eyes in Camelot.

"You will remain here for if she returns. Sir Leon and I will retrace the path to Ealdor; if there is something to find we will make haste. If not, we will return and plan our next step."

"And if you find her well?" challenged Hunith, blue eyes flashing in familiar defiance. "If you find she has used any means she possesses to escape, will you condemn her for it?"

Arthur's heart squeezed in guilt, but he covered it with bluster; "Of course not!"

The woman's glare intensified in warning. "See that you do not. Merlyn may have allowed you to bully and belittle her – Gods know why – but I will not. I will stand at the executioners block without fear if it means she is safe from your judgement."

"I would never have you executed!" he exclaimed, upset she would believe him capable. This was Merlyn's mother.

Slowly, Hunith pushed herself to her feet, hands planted flat against the tabletop as if to brace herself for her words. "I trusted you to care for my daughter, Prince Arthur. I sent her back to you when she wanted to stay in Ealdor, believing you would be a better man than your father. You two match as two sides of the same coin – I felt it the very moment you joined us to save our home – and I knew, in my very soul, that you would not turn when you learned her true self." One of her hands curled into a fist, her bottom lip trembling for a brief moment. "You made me a liar, Arthur Pendragon, and you hurt my daughter so very much. You cannot know what it is to train your child to understand the threat of execution. To teach them that the very thing to bring them joy is also a death sentence. You cannot know the damage it does. You say magic is evil? Then you do not know my daughter at all. And you do not deserve to."

There was no defence upon his lips, no argument within his mind. Her declaration was strong and sincere, opinion as clear as cut crystal, where his own was riddled with confusion and betrayal, and the uncertainty of haphazard teachings. But he was not without pride.

"I will set out before sundown," he said in lieu of a reply, escaping the room with the little dignity he had left.

He scrubbed a hand over his face as he marched along the corridor, wincing as his attention was brought, once more, to the heat in his cheek Hunith had not retrained herself, that was certain. He was sure the side of his face was red and hoped the marks of a handprint were not obvious. His father would have her head if he knew any of what had just occurred, and that was not an issue he wanted to face, ever.

Find Merlyn, Hunith goes home. Merlyn… goes with her? Arthur slowed his steps as he contemplated options. Automatically, he'd been thinking of finding Merlyn and coming back to Camelot, but that wouldn't work now, as she was banished. Though… he hadn't yet made it official. Only a handful of guards knew his command so it would be easy to dismiss.

But no. He shook his head in annoyance. That would countermand every reason he'd had for sending her away. He needed space to set his thoughts in order; he needed to investigate without the niggling doubt that he was being influenced; he needed to stop using Merlyn as an outlet for his insecurities.

He nodded to himself and quickened his pace once more. Find Merlyn, send her to Ealdor, send her mother after. As good a plan as any.

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Sir Leon gave no objections when Arthur sought his aid, concern for Merlyn bleeding through his visage. He also, mercifully, didn't ask on why the girl was no longer in Camelot, seeming to sense his aversion to sharing the larger story – or, perhaps, seeing the reddened skin of his bruising cheek. Within a couple of hours, the two had distributed their duties among the men and were on the road to Ealdor.

Ever thankful it had not rained or blown a gale in the past few days, the two traced the easiest route to the small village, seeing little on the way. None of the campsites used regularly were disturbed beyond the norm, and they found no clues to lead them further in their search, but Arthur refused to allow despair to suck him down into its sludgy depths, knowing once he succumbed, he'd be useless. By his side, Leon said nothing of the hopelessness of their endeavour.

They were on the last leg of the journey when his trusty steed perked up, head lifting from his relaxed plod and ears pricking forward. He wasn't acting as he would were there a potential threat, so Arthur didn't ready his sword, but he refused to let himself believe it was Merlyn. Not until he had proof.

"What is it, Hengroen?" he murmured, patting his stallion on the neck, only to almost fall from his saddle when the beast released an ear-piercing whinny, the unexpected loud noise startling the previous quiet.

Even more surprising was the distant returning neigh.

Arthur and Leon exchanged wide-eyed glances, the prince recognising the sound to which horse it belonged.

"Sunstrider," he breathed, and Hengroen let out a snort before he gave another cry, pace picking up as he marched to where he wanted to go.

There was a reply from Sunstrider and the thundering of distant hooves as he charged nearer, the two men soon able to spot the vivid coat of the gold beast as he leapt around trees and over debris in his haste to see a familiar face. Naturally, Hengroen grew a little antsy as the other stallion approached, ears moving from their focused point to lay flat against his head in displeasure at his proximity. Sunstrider paid it about as much mind as he usually did as he sprung past the pair in his final leap onto the path, flaxen tail high with excitement.

"Where is his gear?" Leon murmured, his mare dancing nervously as Sunstrider pranced too close for her comfort. He didn't scold her when she struck out a hind leg to deter his swaggering, and the free stallion moved away obediently, more focused on Hengroen to retaliate.

Arthur allowed the two to smell each other, knowing there was little he could do to deter Sunstrider until he was satisfied, and rolled his eyes at the subsequent squeals before he replied to his captain. Sunstrider circled them with a prancing trot, tail high with his excitement.

"Perhaps, she let him go?" Even as he said it, Arthur shook his head. "No, this beast wouldn't leave on his own. Come on." He nudged Hengroen forward, ignoring the pinned ears and flared nostrils of distaste. "We can trace Sunstrider's path; perhaps there is something to find."

Leon clicked his filly forward, flicking his reins at the gold stallion when he paid too much attention to his steed, and the temperamental beast spun away with a series of bucks, overreacting with the finest of them. Both riders snorted when he almost hit a tree, and he corrected himself quickly with a snort, trotting off ahead like he'd done nothing stupid. Hopefully, his good spirits boded well for the state of Merlyn.

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They found the decomposing body of an unknown man, clear signs of a struggle with frayed rope for proof, and strange markings dug deep into the grass, like a great bird taking flight from the earth. One with two pairs of different feet, it seemed.

"I've seen these before," Arthur realised, tracing the disturbed dirt with gloved fingers. "These are the marks of a griffin."

"A griffin, sire?" his companion asked with alarm, eyes automatically scanning the sky before landing on their placid steeds; steeds that would not be so tame were such a threat nearby. "I thought the last of them were killed by Sir Lancelot's hand."

"Clearly we were wrong," the prince murmured, worry boiling like an overfilled pot in his chest.

He pushed himself to his feet, turning to watch as Sunstrider nibbled on grass beside Hengroen, seeming unconcerned with the absence of his rider. A normal horse would no doubt react this way, trained to remain nearby but easily distracted by animal things, but it had long been known that Sunstrider was no normal beast. He coveted his owner like a mother coveted her child; if Merlyn was in danger, he would not stand idly by.

So then, where was Merlyn?

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They camped the night while Arthur tried to think on what to do, but, by the light of day, was no clearer on his course. Leon awaited orders patiently, just as clueless at the prince on how to find Merlyn, and the two wasted several more hours scouring the area in hope of new clues.

When the midday sun beat down through the canopy, the prince finally conceded defeat. "We will return to Camelot and speak with Gaius. He may be able to shed light on what we discovered."

"What of Sunstrider?" asked Leon, and Arthur eyed the golden beast grazing innocently beside his steed.

"Fashion a halter out of the spare rope. We will lead him back to Camelot." If Merlyn was not recovered soon, he would need to be put out to pasture, as there was no one suicidal enough to dare handle him alone.

Leon did as asked, and the two wrestled with the stallion until he was restrained, sharing exasperated looks as the beast let out one last dissatisfied snort then lowered his head resignedly. Arthur looped the lead to his pommel and mounted Hengroen, hoping the two horses would tolerate each other enough to make it home. Or, better yet, that Sunstrider decided to lead them to wherever his elusive mistress had vanished.

But the hope for it was slim, and Arthur stalwartly refused to acknowledge the niggling doubt of why a griffin would take a human alive.

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"A griffin, sire?" Gaius said in surprise, distracted from mixing whatever elixir he was concocting. He lowered the phial back to the table to raise a shocked brow at the prince. At his side, Hunith's mouth gaped and the pestle in her grip fell with a loud thud. Arthur could have written the action off as shock or horror except the expression on her face wasn't either of those.

"What is it?" he asked, the realisation shining in her eyes triggering a flare of optimism.

Slowly, the woman shook her head, eyes flicking to Gaius before returning to the prince. "Merlyn came to me months ago, visiting Ealdor on her way to the Northern Plains. She spoke of the griffin that besieged Camelot, of the witch who manipulated its grief and the young one orphaned by its passing. She said she was ensuring the witch could never harm the beast again, designing a protective barrier around its home."

"Merlyn wanted to save the monster?" Arthur asked with incredulity, thinking of all the citizens killed by its sire, all the homes and families destroyed.

"It was not acting of its own volition," Hunith said, a bit of steel entering her voice. "The witch killed its mate to drive it mad so she could direct its rage towards Camelot. Merlyn was undoing the damage wrought in the only way she knew how. You know as well as anyone that we cannot be blamed for our decisions when they are not made with a sound mind."

Arthur's gaze dropped away, feeling unsteady with the knowledge the woman held. Clearly Merlyn had kept her updated on the happenings in the city, the pointed words casting his mind back to Sophia and his own befuddlement under her influence. It had felt like a dream, reality hazy and distant to his eyes, emotions far removed while euphoria strung him high in the clouds. Even after regaining his senses, that time was remembered only with Merlyn's prompting.

"So what of the beast?" he asked, leaving Hunith's statement to remain unanswered. "What happened when she reached the Northern Plains." A trip of which he'd been entirely unaware.

His eyes flicked between Gaius and Hunith, but it appeared the physician was as in the dark as the prince, for his attention was firm upon the woman, brows furrowed. Hunith met the old man's gaze, an apologetic tint to her expression.

"She followed her home."

Gaius closed his eyes, looking both pained and resigned. "Tell me she didn't grant it a name."

"Skylark," Hunith said softly, and Gaius released a long, slow sigh. "She lives at Avalon Lake, which lies to the north-east of Camelot?" she sounded unsure, and rightly so, for Arthur had never heard such a name and he lived in the kingdom.

Hunith continued, oblivious, "Is there a chance the griffin sought to protect her from harm?"

"Normally, no," said Gaius, sounding weary. "They are secretive creatures and avoid mortals unless provoked. But with Merlyn involved… who knows. Ordinarily, it wouldn't relocate unless it found a mate, so having it follow Merlyn anywhere is unprecedented."

Arthur looked to Hunith. "Was she specific in where the lake was located? Avalon Lake is not a name of which I am familiar."

Hunith frowned thoughtfully. "She spoke of it as a place connected to the Otherworld, where – the Sidhe? – live. She said it was ideal because it naturally deterred mortals."

"So how am I to find it?" the prince asked, frustration spiking in his gut at the confusion of magic. "Point my horse towards a place I feel unwilling to venture and hope for the best?"

"Your aversion would not be so obvious," corrected Gaius with a lifted brow. "And you have been there in the past."

"When?" he demanded, startled.

"Sophia Tír-Mòr along with her father – both Sidhe banished to the mortal realm – drew you to its banks while ensorcelled. You were to be sacrificed as payment for their re-entry to the Otherworld."

Oh, Arthur thought, reeling with the knowledge that Sophia had not even been human. He had never discovered what they sought when trying to drown him but had summed it up to the wickedness of sorcery and the corruption of sanity. It was no secret that many chose to retaliate against the King by hurting his son, seemingly the only chink in his cold, hard armour.

How many things had he summed up to magical insanity, never bothering to investigate further? Too many.

It felt like a slap to the face, this unexpected revelation to a long-shut case, shared so casually by Gaius as if the knowledge was common, as if Arthur should have known.

Thinking back to that murky incident – time dulling the distorted memories to even fainter shadows – he did recall waking upon the shores of a lake surrounded by his men. Strange; he had forgotten all about it, though his mind had been clearer in that time than it had been for days. Remembering now did not mean he would be able to retrace his path, and he wondered if any of his men remembered the lake or if they, too, had been leeched of the knowledge.

"How am I to find it again?" he asked, frustration staining his voice. Whether sorcery was evil or not, it did little but make things more difficult.

Gaius pursed his lips and shared, "There is one I trust who should remember the way."

Curiosity sprung to life in his mind and he asked, "Who?"

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"Lancelot," Arthur called after finding the man in the armoury, sharpening his favourite blade with thoughtful focus. Brown eyes glanced up before he quickly stood, a faint pinch between his brows.

"Sire," he returned politely. "Have you need of me?"

Arthur sighed internally at the respectful question. Lancelot was not so bold or rebellious as to outwardly object to the prince, but he had made his displeasure clear in his humble way. Arthur had pretended it didn't bother him, drawing his title around him like a shield and imagining the distance didn't hurt. But it did. It did. Lancelot was a true friend; someone to trust implicitly, yet Arthur's mulishness had become so great even his brother-in-arms couldn't tolerate it any longer.

He hadn't been a very good friend to anyone recently, it seemed. But he intended to remedy that immediately.

"I wish to speak with you – in confidence," he said, knowing the knight would obey, even reluctantly. The armoury was not a place to talk freely; too many entrances and plentiful nooks in which to hide.

Lancelot nodded with understanding and replaced his sword and whetstone before following behind as Arthur led them out towards the training yards – closer than the parapets, which he preferred, but just as secluded when need be. They remained silent the entire way; though Arthur was brimming with things he wished to say, he held his tongue until they were at the far end of the yard, by the balustrade that separated the edge of the field from the long drop on the other side. From their position, they overlooked the lower town, the earth beneath them a solid mass until the very bottom where a single arch led into a lightless labyrinth of tunnels. It was as private as they could be without being obvious.

"What is it, sire?"

Arthur took a fortifying breath and set aside his pride. "I need your help."

The brown-haired knight peered at him expectantly, suspicion already living in his eyes. "Of course, sire," he said placidly, ever polite.

His compliance only made Arthur's regret worsen, wondering how a man as good as he could exist in the world. He buried his feelings of inadequacy (a sense of being that was more common than he would admit) and said, "Gaius tells me you know the way to Avalon Lake."

Faint confusion speared across Lancelot's face before thoughtful recollection took its place. A frown pinched between his brows. "That is the lake whereupon Merlyn saved you from the… Sidhe, yes?"

"Yes," Arthur concurred then explained: "Where we found Sunstrider, there were marks upon the ground indicating a griffin had been present. Merlyn's mother revealed that Merlyn adopted the orphaned griffin of the one which beset Camelot. It is believed the beast took Merlyn to Avalon Lake where it lives… and… you already know this."

It was said with surprise as realisation brightened Lancelot's expression. Immediately, he looked contrite, as if he'd let a secret slip, and Arthur's eyes narrowed in warning against any lies. The other man relented quickly and revealed, "It was at the same time I discovered Merlyn's gift. If not for her, we would all be dead at the claws of the grieving beast. She appeared to it when we were all at its mercy, halting its attack and entering its mind. Later, she revealed that a witch had sought the griffin, killing its mate to stir its rage and cause harm to Camelot. By no fault of its own did it seek destruction, and Merlyn freed it from her grasp. It became, however, that griffins do not survive long past the death of a mate, and our hands were forced. Merlyn divulged during my initiation feast that she saw a young one in its mind and felt responsible to see it guarded against another attempt." He shook his head frankly. "I did not know that it had followed her home; last I knew it still lingered in the Northern Plains."

"Will you be able to lead me there?" he asked, internally rattled over what he'd shared. Merlyn had been the cloaked figure that day in the woods. It made sense, of course, but there were so many instances of facing sorcery that details slipped. He needed to create a list so he could recall each time Merlyn had appeared as her hidden self, just to keep the facts straight in his head.

"If it means Merlyn's return to safety, I will see it done," said the knight solemnly and Arthur dipped his head in acknowledgement.

"We will leave in an hour," he decided and clapped the other man on the shoulder in thanks before taking his leave. He wondered if it was worth ponying Sunstrider for the journey, thinking it would be a pleasant sight for Merlyn, but contrarily considered the need to be swift lest the griffin decide to attack when they invaded its territory.

In the end, Sunstrider decided it for him, utterly refusing to be haltered and lunging at the gate whenever a body approached his stall. Arthur had him locked out of the stable and forced into the yard beyond, unwilling to risk the destruction of his box and endangerment of the staff. As Arthur left, he could see his golden body streaking up and down the fence line nearest the road, crying out to ghosts.

"I'll get her back," he murmured to the air, leading Hengroen towards the courtyard as a stableboy did the same with Lancelot's filly.

He'd get her back. There could be no other option.

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The evening sunlight streaked through the canopy in hazy golden ribbons, illuminating dust motes and tiny insects in the air as the cooling atmosphere brought forth the first creatures of the night. Hengroen and Bronzemarle were silent in their steps, damp earth packing their soles and cushioning against sound. Neither Lancelot nor Arthur shared a word, thoughts centred on their missing friend as the prince followed his knight through the forest.

Rationally, Arthur knew where they were. He knew Gorlois' tomb was further west and that directly north was Willowdale, but he did not recognise this stretch of forest, even as an inkling of awareness tickled his spine. It was impossible to know every inch of the woodlands surrounding Camelot, for they were too vast and ever-changing, but a trace of a memory scratched at his skull when he gazed at the hardwood trunks and gravelly dirt.

The trees were thinning as they marched onwards, the undergrowth overtaking the tall spires above, even as a definable path became clear. The dirt trail was too wide to be from wildlife, and Arthur grew wary that he was about to happen upon a hidden encampment of some sort. Hengroen, too, seemed to pick up his tension and grew toey, muscles bunching beneath his skin as his breath grew heavy with uncertainty. His ears swivelled alertly as he picked up sounds beyond the range of Arthur's human hearing.

Ahead, Bronzemarle was reacting similarly, flinching at shadows as her nostrils flared with unease. Lancelot gave her a reassuring pat before his breath abruptly hitched and he shuddered. Arthur's alarm soared at the odd reaction before he, too, shivered as a peculiar chill spun over his flesh, as if he'd stepped through an invisible waterfall. He glanced around instinctively as goosepimples sprouted atop his skin, feeling eyes upon his person.

A quiet, near-missed rustle of a nearby shrub caused both steeds to jump and Arthur checked his rein so his beast didn't bolt. The hairs on the nape of his neck prickled and he slowly reached for his sword, watching Hengroen's ears prick attentively towards a space between two sturdy trunks on his right. The shrubs obscured his sightline, but he trusted his steed's acuity.

"Who goes there?" he called, his blade sliding free with a shing! "Show yourself!"

No one answered but that meant nothing. It could be a scout, or an ambush. Lancelot followed his prince's lead and bared his sword, his other rein keeping his flighty mount steady. She was a young thing, her training only partly undertaken, and her greenness showed.

"I demand you identify yourself!"

Nothing.

He glared into the shadows but was unable to isolate any odd silhouettes or movement incongruent with the rest of the underbrush. After several long minutes, the feeling of being observed retreated and Hengroen's tension eased, even as his nostrils remain flared to catch scents Arthur couldn't hope to fathom.

"Continue, sire?" murmured Lancelot without removing his gaze from the trees. Bronzemarle had settled but she looked done with the place, shivering in anxiety.

"We're close, are we not? I recognise this area."

"Just beyond the tree line ahead," he answered, and Arthur nudged Hengroen forward as answer, keeping a hand on his blade.

He guided Hengroen between two tight trunks and a cluster of saplings and shrubs that seemed to run like a barrier across his path. He lifted a hand to protect his face against a few scratchy leaves before he opened his eyes and stopped short at the vision before him. He stood on the bank of a lake, land curving around its edges like two hands cradling a precious gem. Yellow water lapped at the dirt shore, the short stretch of reedy grass at his feet falling away quickly into a steep, natural levee held together by clusters of waterweeds.

The lake was roughly circular, but it was not completely contained, the bank giving way at the far back to an outlet that travelled out of sight – perhaps to a river or larger body of water. Backdropping the scene were picturesque, snow-capped mountains and that same sense of familiarity danced over his skin, ghosting through his mind like smoke. This place was known to him.

"Avalon Lake?" he asked his companion quietly, and Lancelot nodded mutely, seeming as awed as he by the beauty.

But they did not come for sightseeing.

"I'll search the left bank. We meet back here in an hour unless something is found. Be alert; the griffin may be near."

Lancelot nodded and they parted ways.

It wasn't the best time to be conducting a search. The light was dying, the shadows were long, and clues were easily hidden, but Arthur was willing to wait out the night nearby and return in the morning should nothing present itself soon. It was reckless and risky, lingering in the range of an impervious beast, but Arthur wasn't using his strategic brain so much as his emotive one.

He followed the curve of the shore towards the outlet, riding on the narrow strip of lawn between the trees and the dip of the bank, though that was soon to disappear as the trees started to swallow his path. He was grateful they were so old that their gnarled, intertwined branches rose high above his head, blocking most of the sunlight so underbrush struggled to grow. He dismounted from Hengroen and led his alert steed around the trunks, but a glint of reflected light drew his eyes and he saw more water on his other side. The stretch of land he had been traversing was little more than a horn in a larger lake.

With an annoyed sigh, he turned around and walked back the way he'd come, following the opposite bank instead.

When he stepped from the tree line, hacking at a stubborn tangle of undergrowth blocking his way, he emerged onto a broad clearing between the water and the trees, long swaying grass rippling in the gentle wind. Upon the water, far from the shore and near the centre of the lake, an island rose into a small mountain with a single stone tower piercing its peak like an arrow. Something about the tower drew his focus even as he felt his body bow away from the sight. That place was Magical, it was clear as day.

His gaze flicked along the shore, looking for a dock or a beached rowboat or some sort of vessel to traverse the water, assuming the island would be where he would find the griffin. Instead, his attention was caught on a flicker of movement within the tree line.

From within the shadowed depths crept forth a black winged creature, melding from the darkness seamlessly and into the sunlight. Under the stark rays, its coat glimmered blue, feather reflecting the light as only true obsidian could achieve. Its head was low, wings held inches from its body in either a threatening or fearful position. He wasn't sure because nothing else about it screamed aggression. He kept a tight grip on his sword anyway.

It was much smaller than the first griffin he'd faced, perhaps the size of a pony, though its great wings made it seem larger. It had a broad chest, shoulders heavy with muscle but it was quite dainty overall, not yet filled out into adulthood. Still, his heart still skipped when it focused gold eyes on his shape, his blood singing with nerves as Hengroen baulked in fear at his back.

But it did not attack. It halted only a few steps from the forest, dipping its head even lower and releasing a soft, gentle chatter of its beak. Arthur paused, unsure what, exactly, that meant, but the beast didn't wait for him to interpret, melting back into the shadows whence it came until he lost sight of it altogether.

"Hey – wait!" he cried, leaping forward in reckless desperation. This creature was his only lead to Merlyn; he wasn't going to let it disappear.

Yet, Hengroen refused to budge, releasing an anxious groan when the reins pulled at his mouth and Arthur hissed in frustration before returning to his side and wrapping the reins around his head, looping the end through the throat strap to keep it from unravelling.

"Never took you as a coward," he muttered even knowing it was a disservice to the sturdy beast. He was a faithful companion in many a battle, steady when many others were not. His hesitation now was the outlier, and he couldn't exactly be blamed: magical predators would be a little alarming to an ordinary prey animal. And knight steeds were trained to linger nearby in peaceful settings.

Once done, Arthur quickly shot in the direction of the griffin, wishing he could pull his horn and call Lancelot but unwilling to risk frightening the griffin. If his companion ventured this way, Hengroen's secured reins would reassure him that Arthur's absence was intentional. He just had to trust the beast wasn't about to maul him within the trees.

The griffin didn't reappear as Arthur followed his path, but there were clear tracks in the sandy dirt for him to follow. He kept a steady hand on his weapon to reassure his stretched nerves.

"Merlyn?" he called softly, adverse to yelling louder. Something about the area warned him not to be too boisterous.

Instead of another voice, the chatter of the griffin's beak echoed through the otherwise silent undergrowth, and the prince spun on the spot in an attempt to spot the elusive creature. The gloom among the trunks felt thicker than it should have been, but he managed to catch a glimpse of a black wing before it was swallowed by a cluster of trunks. He hurried in its wake.

He caught sight of it twice more before he lost the trail, no feather or tail catching his eye to guide him further. The canopy too dense to see any tracks on the earth, and, as he slowly spun on the spot, he began to question the wisdom of his choice. He knew where he was; he knew the way back to the lake only a short walk behind, but, having spotted the creature that took Merlyn only to lose it to his own slow pace had him aggravated.

Although… now he compared it to the rest of the forest, the area ahead of him did seem marginally brighter than the rest, as if the canopy was giving way.

He squeezed his hand indecisively around the hilt of his sword before he gave in to hope. He was sure the griffin had been leading him somewhere – its actions had not been of one fleeing a threat – so why would it now disappear, if not believing it had guided him far enough?

He moved forward more cautiously than before, unsure of his wisdom (and a little apprehensive on what he would find). Merlyn was not one for secrets and games. She operated with sincerity and emotion (did she truly? whispered a voice that sounded like his father), so this cat and mouse game meant that Merlyn could not be the mastermind of this charade.

The trees thinned quickly, trunks narrowing into the wiry saplings of youth, though a deer track made it easy to avoid the tangle of undergrowth as it thickened. Daylight almost hurt his eyes as the sun shone down in the small glade he stepped into, the flat expanse of long grass dotted with an assortment of wildflowers. But the picturesque view was not what drew his attention.

"Unicorn," he breathed, stunned as his eyes landed on the white beast in the middle of the clearing. It was sitting, the long grass flatted around its shape as flowers bloomed along the curve of its back. And huddled against its belly, curled between the front and back legs with her head bowed against its flank…

"Merlyn," he gasped, heart skipping a beat at seeing the elusive girl. Relief burst like a geyser in his chest and his hesitant approach quickened in joy. "Merlyn!"

But something was wrong. She didn't lift her head at his call, tangled black hair a striking contrast to the stark brightness of the unicorn's coat. She was garbed in her usual outfit – tunic and trousers – but they were particularly weathered, torn and grubby, and no boots covered her feet. Her heels were tucked under her haunches, just as her arms were curled against her chest, body bowed over her knees as if she was chilled. He couldn't see if she was breathing.

"Merlyn?" he questioned, slowing again as trepidation slid up his throat. The unicorn watched him all the while, ears pricked attentively, but there was no wariness as he would have expected. He watched as it turned its head away from him, muzzle reaching to nudge at Merlyn's back as if to wake her, lipping at her tunic coaxingly.

Merlyn didn't move.

"What's wrong with her?" he asked it, as uncertain to the creature's intelligence as he had been with the griffin. His steps were cautious once more, sliding his sword back into its scabbard as he skirted around the unicorn's frame to be on the same side as his servant. If there was nothing else, he trusted the unicorn would not gore him without reason.

The beast did nothing more than release a long sigh, shifting its head away as if resigned. Large, liquid brown eyes landed on him, serenity filling their depths like a calm, fathomless lake, unaffected by his careful approach, even when he was within arm's reach. He squatted to lessen his threatening appearance and stretched out a hand to touch Merlyn's shoulder. He could see her ribs expanding with soft breaths.

"Merlyn," he murmured, shuffling the last few feet to her side. He tipped his head down to see passed the tangle of hair hiding her face then gently moved it aside with his fingers when it proved too thick.

When his eyes finally landed on Merlyn's deep blue ones, an automatic smile pulled up his lips. "There you are," he whispered, bracing a hand on the ground as he leant further forward to catch her focus. Yet, her gaze remained unmoved, glazed with emptiness.

His smile died slowly.

His attention drifted down, leaning further forward to see one hand cradling the other as they curled into her chest. And the edge of the Magic-Suppressing Cuff sealed tight around her wrist.

He cursed and rocked back into a squat, unsure what to think. This was what he'd wanted. Magicless Merlyn, as it should have been all along. Just because someone else managed to do what he couldn't bring upon himself meant little in the grand scheme of things. Her reaction was simply some kind of shock, a transitional phase as her body adjusted to a regular state.

Right?

"Merlyn?" he asked, hoping against hope that she would react.

But there was nothing.

"Can you do anything?" he asked the unicorn, casting a desperate glance at the head of the beast as it watched him struggle with the girl's state. "Can you not –" he flapped a hand, "– fix her?"

The unicorn did nothing but gaze at him passively, almost knowing in its silence. Or, perhaps that was his guilt projecting.

He released a sharp sigh, head bowing forward in defeat before he steeled his resolve. "Alright," he murmured to himself, scrubbing a quick hand over his face. "Alright."

He shuffled a little closer, the toe of his boot nudging against one of the unicorn's hooves as he reached both hands towards his servant, tipping her from her post against the beast's flank and instead resting her weight against himself. She was not limp with unconsciousness, but she was not responsive either. Limbs placid to his movements as he adjusted her so she could be lifted. He was unable to keep from touching her pale cheek with the pad of a finger, longing to draw her from wherever her mind had retreated, but there was no response.

With a huff of effort, he stood with Merlyn in his arms. She was not an impossible weight, her form slender and leggy, but she was healthy enough for him to know his arms would ache by the time they returned to Hengroen.

A small price to pay.

No longer acting as a bed, the unicorn pushed to its feet in one smooth motion, shaking its body to be free of stray grass. Arthur stilled as it turned its pale head towards them, but it only dipped its head towards Merlyn, whiskery lips brushing over her forehead like a kiss. Merlyn gave a sudden gasp, as if in pain, as a gentle wash of magic brushed over his skin.

Then it was gone, and the unicorn retreated, though Arthur only had eyes for the girl in his arms.

"Merlyn?" he whispered as the glazed look slowly leaked from her face, the rise and fall of her chest quickening with awareness. Her brow creased with discomfort, but her eyes slowly tracked from the sky to focus on his face.

"'thur," she rasped in a strained voice. A relieved laugh escaped his mouth and he quickly knelt so he could brush stubborn hair from her face, heart galloping at the recognition in her groggy features. "Where 'm I? What… what happ'n?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"I – don't…" she twisted weakly in his arms, pain marring her expression. "My arm," she groaned, one hand clasping at the flesh of the other. Arthur drew back as she lifted her aching limb to eyelevel and saw the shock settle as she saw the Cuff against her wrist.

"Oh, no…" she breathed, horror bleaching her already pale skin of colour. Her gaze sought his distraughtly. "Did you –?"

He shook his head sharply, but any delight at her wakefulness wilted beneath regret. "I – couldn't… I banished you. You were returning to Ealdor but were attacked on the way by a bounty hunter. Somehow, he found the Cuff and…" he gestured rather than speaking and Merlyn's attention sucked back to the solid metal piece around her arm.

There was a beat of silence, then Merlyn said, almost nonchalant; "It hurts."

Displeasure pulled at his lips at her statement, clueless how to help. "It will pass," he said decisively, unsure if he was lying or not. "Gaius will have an answer."

Her arm flopped back onto her belly, head growing heavier against his arm as fatigue seemed to drain her strength. "Where are we?" she asked on a sigh, appearing too weary to glance at their surroundings.

"In a glade near Avalon Lake," he answered, casting his eyes over the beautiful area and only just noticing the absence of the unicorn. In the flattened grass where it had lain, white flowers bloomed with life.

"Avalon…?" she murmured in surprise, forcing herself upwards somewhat to stare at the nearby trees. "Why are we here?"

"Now that," Arthur murmured with a raised eyebrow. "Is an interesting story."

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Merlyn was too weak to walk with any speed, so Arthur scooped her back into his arms and marched forward despite her feeble protests. She fell silent quickly, seeming cowed by recent revelations, and kept her hands tucked self-consciously in her lap.

When he had spoken of the reason they were near Avalon Lake, – a griffin taking her hostage – she had blanched and peered at their surroundings as if searching for the beast herself.

"Did you… did you… kill it?" she asked fearfully, and, were he ignorant, he would have assumed it to be fear of the beast. Now he knew better, he recognised the distress far better.

"Did you want it dead?" he challenged, curious to see if she'd lie.

Her eyes met his, and she read the knowledge in them too easily. He cursed his inability to hide his emotions as she deflated like a scolded child.

"I did not mean to keep so many things secret," she mumbled softly, bracing for his temper. "I only wanted to save the griffin from Nimueh's perversions, but I couldn't turn her away when she followed me home. She was so lonely."

There were several things about her statement that caught his attention, but first and foremost; "Nimueh? I know that name."

"She… she was an enemy of Uther's. A High Priestess of the Old Religion. She's dead now."

"By your hand," he confirmed, watching her reaction. Of all the things that took him aback, knowing Merlyn was powerful enough to best a High Priestess was atop that list. There was nothing inherently fearsome about her; nothing that screamed power.

Indeed, Merlyn dropped her gaze guiltily at his assertion. "Yes," she admitted without divulging more. Truly, Arthur wasn't sure he wanted to know more. Magic, sorcerers, mythical beasts and spells. It was just… not supposed to be his world.

So he said nothing more and carried his servant through the forest to where Hengroen was grazing where he'd been left.

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Merlyn fell into slumber a short time into their ride, slumping back into Arthur's frame from where she sat before him. His arms by her hips prevented her from slipping as he guided his steed along the smoothest path. He thought nothing of her exhaustion, trading relieved glances with Lancelot as they focused on returning to Camelot. He would learn later, fatigue was merely one of the symptoms of bearing the abominable creation, and not nearly one of the worst.

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