Chapter Text
They made a bivouac at the bottom of the slope of the hill they’d stridden across all day. Lucien continuously shot glances towards Gwaine as they set up camp for the evening. The sun was still hanging in the sky, bright and orange, and it suffused a gentle halo around the two centaurs’ shapes. Faced with the blinding aster, Lucien didn’t realize he was squinting at the smaller centaur with no discretion at all.
“Lucien, cease your ogling and pay attention to what you’re doing.”
He stiffened when he heard his mentor’s deep voice reprimand him on the other side of the bivouac. Gwaine raised his eyes towards Lucien, and looked surprised to notice that the other boy had been staring at him. His expression turned inexplicably wary in the beat that followed. Lucien blushed and immediately averted his gaze.
“Sorry, Sir Tearlach.”
“After this, you and Gwaine can go fetch some firewood together.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Gwaine didn’t say anything. Lucien carefully avoided looking at him again, and directed all of his attention on tying rope around the branches which Tearlach had selected for the base structure of their shelter. He felt a slight panic at the thought of being alone with the other boy. It wasn’t that Lucien felt shy, but Gwaine looked even more stoic than his uncle, and Lucien wasn’t sure how to come across as likable to him when he already had such a hard time with Tearlach. In fact, Gwaine himself hadn’t tried to talk to Lucien ever since Tearlach had introduced them to one another. All he did was look at him like he’d never seen a human before. His eyes had such an uncanny color, and Lucien felt like that yellow gaze could drill a hole right through him if Gwaine wished it.
Tearlach gestured towards the both of them when they were done.
“Go on, and check our surroundings again while you pick up wood for the fire. I expect you to report anything you may find out of the ordinary.”
“Yes, Sir Tearlach,” answered Lucien.
Gwaine was staring at the side of his face. Lucien saw the way his face was angled down out of the corner of his eye. He felt oddly pressured to ignore him. He shouldn’t have felt so intimidated just because Gwaine was taller, and yet.
Tearlach said in a cutting voice: “Gwaine.”
Gwaine finally looked away from Lucien and said: “Yes, Tearlach.”
“Sir Tearlach,” his uncle corrected him.
“Sir Tearlach.”
“Off you go then. Don’t tarry.”
Gwaine turned around first, and Lucien followed him away from the bivouac. They walked in silence for a while, the snapping of twigs and singing of insects filling the air in conversation’s stead. Lucien felt like he needed to speak, but he didn’t know what to say. Gwaine looked completely unfazed by the quiet. He found a branch on the ground of nice length and size, and Lucien watched in fascination as Gwaine folded one leg on the ground so that he could pick it up with his hands. It was a slower process than if Lucien had done it. Back in Ildenmoor, he’d once seen a traveler who’d trained his horse to do tricks, and bowing had been one of them. This looked just the same.
“Maybe I should be the one to pick up the wood,” suggested Lucien.
Gwaine got up and leveled an unimpressed gaze in his direction. Lucien felt himself blush again.
“What? It was just an idea.”
“You can go pick up your own if you want,” said Gwaine. “I don’t care.”
“I was saying it to help you.”
Gwaine frowned at him, looking annoyed.
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
“Oh. Alright then,” said Lucien, a little miffed. He’d only wanted for them to go faster in finishing their task.
Gwaine ignored him and started walking again. Lucien pulled a face in the young centaur's back, and then looked around for some branches that he’d be able to take back to camp himself. They went their separate ways, though Lucien kept Gwaine in his sights in case the centaur started heading back to camp. Lucien didn’t want to take the risk of looking incompetent if he got back long after Gwaine had.
They finished their errand without incident and went to drop the firewood a small distance away from the bivouac. Tearlach looked satisfied with Lucien’s work once he was done preparing the fire for when they’d light it later, but looked upon Gwaine’s meal preparations with an air of faint disappointment. Lucien felt a spark of vindication, guessing that this was because Tearlach had grown used to his superior cuisine during all the days they’d been just the two of them. It served Gwaine right for being so cold to Lucien all the time. Though, Gwaine didn’t seem to mind what Tearlach thought about his cooking skills in the slightest.
“You could make an effort to make the food presentable,” Tearlach told his nephew.
Gwaine glanced down at the vittles he’d mashed in the pot, then back up at Tearlach.
“It’ll be good to eat anyway,” he told him.
Tearlach looked like he wanted to say more, but ended up just turning away. It was a little amusing to see Tearlach interact with someone who was more disinterested than him in matters like this, and Lucien smiled to himself.
Tearlach reunited them in front of him a second time when they were done with their respective chores, and Lucien felt a little nervous because it looked like he was going to make a serious announcement.
“It is almost sundown,” Tearlach started by saying. “As is tradition when two apprentices choose to be under my tutelage, herein lies an opportunity to show each other your mettle. Gwaine, you are already aware of this, but I will explain the rules for Lucien’s benefit.”
Gwaine nodded. Lucien shot him a perplexed glance, and then turned his attention back to Tearlach.
“It is a simple game which you will play every month,” the centaur explained. “One takes the role of the hunter, the other the role of the hunted. This is decided by a coin toss. The hunted will leave first to prepare his escape through any means necessary. He can choose to hide in the same spot until the end if he finds such a suitable place.”
Lucien thought of the times he’d played hide-and-seek with Esmilde. She’d been better at hiding than him, but he was confident in his skills as both seeker and hider regardless. He hadn’t thought that Tearlach could have such a tradition in store for him and Gwaine, but it was a nice change of pace after the day they’d spent without really getting to know each other. He couldn’t deny that he was curious about Gwaine’s abilities.
“The moment the hunter is allowed to leave in turn is when the sun’s outline touches that of the boughs. The hunter is allowed to choose between a bow with a single arrow, or a knife. I will hand over the weapon of choice once the hunted is gone.”
Lucien’s excitement was dampened by the mention of weapons. That sounded dangerous.
“Both the arrow and the knife are blunted. Other weapons are forbidden to avoid grievous injury. The use of traps is allowed for both players, if their sole purpose is to impede movement.”
Lucien’s shoulders relaxed. Of course Tearlach wouldn’t send his two apprentices to fight each other to the death. This was supposed to be a game, after all. Lucien chastised himself for being so cowardly. He wasn’t a kid anymore, this wasn’t playing hide-and-seek with his sister. He was a knight’s apprentice now. He was supposed to learn how to wield weapons, to read his adversary, to overcome trials.
Tearlach gestured towards the vivid pink skies.
“The game ends when night comes. If by then, the hunted has managed to stay untouched by the weapon, then he wins. Otherwise, the hunter is the winner. I will wait here for your return.” He looked at Lucien. “Any questions?”
“No, Sir Tearlach.”
Tearlach held out a coin in his hand.
“Then let us begin.”
Gwaine listened to the distant caw of a raven. His hooves scratched the dirt as he paced impatiently on the spot. His uncle was staring at the sky with unwavering focus. Gwaine touched the string of his bow again, and then pulled out his unique arrow to test its blunted tip. It was rubbery and rounded. He slid the arrow back in the quiver strapped to his back and stared out at the trees. Eventually he turned to Tearlach, despite knowing how little his uncle cared for being questioned.
“You said he wasn’t well trained yet. Is there really any point in playing this game when we both know he will lose?”
Tearlach didn’t look away from the sun when he answered.
“I shouldn’t need to remind you that this game is not about victory, Gwaine. It is about the manner in which the hunt goes. For Lucien, this will be a way to put his newfound knowledge to the test after having spent a month in my care.”
“Well, what purpose does it serve for me?”
“Think of it as target practice.”
“I don’t think it’ll be as instructional as–”
“Gwaine.”
His uncle’s voice was hard, suddenly, and Gwaine closed his mouth. He’d forgotten his place. He wasn’t just a nephew to the knight, now, he was an apprentice.
“I haven’t permitted you to doubt my methods simply because you are of my blood. You do not have any more right to it than Lucien does. Do not speak out of turn again.”
“Sorry.”
“Sorry, Sir.”
“Sorry, Sir.”
They stood quietly in the golden evening light, the shadows at their feet slowly growing. Then, without raising his voice, Tearlach calmly said:
“Go.”
Gwaine took off after Lucien.
Lucien patiently watched the sun’s rays glinting in the stream that ran down the slope below his feet. He felt rather confident about the hiding spot that he’d found. Just as Tearlach had taught him, he’d walked down the stream to hide his tracks. He’d even had the time to make a fake trail pointing to the other direction if Gwaine ever reached this point. There had been little time to make traps, given that he lacked the proficiency, so Lucien had only made one and had hidden it beneath the leaves a small distance away from his hiding spot. He wasn’t sure if it would hold back Gwaine long enough to put distance between them, but he supposed it was worth a try.
Lucien already knew that Gwaine would win. Tearlach always said that centaurs were born warriors, and it seemed that they were taught to hunt at an early age. It was obvious that Gwaine had the advantage. Lucien wasn’t preoccupied with the thought of winning as much as he wished to hold out for as long as possible. He wanted to show Tearlach that he remembered everything he’d been taught so far, that he could put it all to execution. That was what really mattered. He wanted to show him that he was a good apprentice.
The sound of a branch snapping made Lucien’s spine stiffen. He stayed very still, straining his ears to identify the source. The noise didn’t happen again. It had been close by, however, and he didn’t want to remain uncertain. Lucien carefully kneeled closer to the edge of the rock and looked down at the stream. His eyes widened and he flattened himself to the ground. Gwaine was already there. The centaur stood immobile next to the stream, intently studying the trail that Lucien had voluntarily left behind. His head of lazy chestnut curls turned to the opposite side of the stream. Lucien felt his heart drop when Gwaine turned his back on the trail, clearly disinterested. All that time he’d spent making the fake trail just for it to be ignored in a matter of minutes… but now wasn’t the time to dwell on mistakes.
Lucien watched with bated breath as Gwaine walked across the stream, his hooves splashing quietly in the water. He reached the other side and surveyed the landscape. Lucien ducked his head. He waited, hidden, for the other boy to start making noise again. The rustling of leaves finally reached his ears. Lucien looked over the edge once more. Gwaine was moving at a measured pace towards the rocks that surrounded the one Lucien was hiding on, now holding a long stick in his hand that he must’ve found on the ground.
It would only be a matter of seconds before he was found. Lucien began to creep away, initiating the slow descent down the side of the rock. His palms were sweaty. He gripped the rock tighter to keep a good hold, his fingers taut and aching. He was halfway down when he heard the sound of a heavy rock splashing in the water. He felt a burst of triumph, recognizing his drowning snare; but it was short-lived, as he didn’t hear Gwaine utter any sound. The spark of victory was snuffed out completely when he heard the centaur move closer to his location. The trap had been sprung but hadn’t caught Lucien’s target. He had to run.
Lucien jumped down the rest of the way and landed awkwardly, nicking his ankle on a jutting angle of rock. He bit down his sound of discomfort and moved quickly, seeking to put distance between himself and the rocks as silently as he could. He aimed for the overgrowth of bushes just beyond the trees, thinking that he could hide himself in the foliage until Gwaine lost interest in the rocks. He was only a few steps away from the nearest bush when the pounding of hooves made his heart jump in his throat. Lucien whipped his head around and saw Gwaine’s dappled coat weaving around the trees, hurtling towards his position.
Lucien began to run. He threw himself into the bushes and pushed through the layers of branches, leaves, and thorns, until he broke through the other side. Gwaine was bigger than him, and Lucien was counting on the thickness of the foliage to slow him down. He frantically looked around for a means of escape. There were only trees, some standing and some fallen, and Lucien was running out of ideas. He didn’t think that he could hide there. Gwaine would find him too easily. Lucien kept running.
The dense thicket had only been a momentary solution, and soon Lucien heard the galloping of hooves ring through the forest again. His defeat was closing in. Lungs burning, throat aching, Lucien pushed his body to run faster. The hooves loudly pounded the earth, louder and louder. Lucien swatted low-hanging branches and leaves away from his face as he ran, his feet skidding on the humid dirt at every turn.
The pounding of hooves ceased. The sudden silence plunged Lucien in uneasy dread, and he couldn’t stop himself from looking over his shoulder. Yellow eyes pierced through the underbrush, intense and unwavering, staring straight at him. Below them, nestled just above the bow’s grip, a pointed arrow clearly aimed at Lucien.
Gwaine let his arrow fly loose. In the very instant the thin wooden shaft slipped past his fingers, he noticed two things: the lucidity in his prey’s blue eyes shuddering to a halt, and the twisting of Lucien’s face in an expression of terror. The arrow struck Lucien’s collarbone, and he stumbled as if he’d been slammed by a spear. Gwaine watched him go down behind a dead tree. There was no sound, no movement in the moment that followed. Uneasiness snaked into his chest when Gwaine was hit by the doubt that he’d used a real arrow after all.
He hurried to the dead tree in long strides and rounded the pale trunk to find Lucien lying on the ground, eyes open, gasping like a fish out of water. The arrow laid next to him, its tip rubber, just as it had been at the start of the game. Lucien was fine.
Gwaine frowned and nudged the boy with his hoof.
“Hey. Quit the theatrics. I didn’t hurt you.”
Lucien’s wide-eyed stare jerked to Gwaine’s face. For the space of a heartbeat, he looked like someone who didn’t know where they were. Gwaine thought that he may have hit his head. Then Lucien slapped a hand over his collarbone and jolted upright, breathing hard, the fingers of his other hand digging into the earth and leaves. He looked around frantically.
“Hey,” repeated Gwaine, trying to catch his attention.
Lucien blinked at him, then removed his hand from his chest and looked down at it.
“There’s no blood,” he said, his voice faint and hoarse.
“Tearlach told you, the tip is blunted. You’re fine,” said Gwaine, annoyed. He knew he was coming off as dismissive, but because he was unsure what he’d seen on Lucien’s face, he didn’t want to give it too much importance. Tearlach had said Lucien wasn’t well trained. The human had probably gotten scared because it was the first time he was in a hunt. Gwaine had always heard that humans were rather cowardly.
“I thought…” Lucien drifted off, and shook his head.
“I won,” said Gwaine after a beat of strange silence. “We should go back.”
“Right,” muttered Lucien. “Right.”
Gwaine waited for him to get up. It didn’t look like Lucien was having any trouble standing upright, and he didn’t seem hurt aside from the way he kept his hand splayed across his collarbone, so it didn’t look like Lucien had hit his head after all. Gwaine began to walk ahead. Lucien’s feet were dragging at his back. It was quiet.
Finally, Gwaine looked over his shoulder and said: “There was no need to look so scared. It’s just a game, you know.”
Lucien looked up at him. The light in his eyes looked somewhat duller than what Gwaine knew. He must’ve been tired from the chase.
“I’m a good shot,” Gwaine added. “I wouldn't cripple you in a game.”
“Of course,” said Lucien.
His voice made it sound like he was the one reassuring Gwaine, and not the other way around. It annoyed the centaur. He turned back around and didn’t say anything else for the whole trip.