Chapter Text
Running as fast as his legs could take him, Arthur tore off into the forest. The sound of dead leaves crunching underfoot barely audible over his labored breaths. He had to get away; this was his only chance of escaping the bandits who’d attacked. Having already seen them ruthlessly cut down one of the knights, Arthur could only assume they wouldn’t spare him a second thought if he was captured. Forced to rely on copious amounts of combat training, Arthur attempted to even the odds by fighting one on one. Which meant he’d have to outrun them all first.
Sparing a glance behind, Arthur was unnerved at the sight of five men hot on his heels; it appeared they had been through the same training regime as him. Cursing his bad luck, Arthur kept running. Trying to formulate a plan of attack while fleeing for one’s life was not an easy task, unwilling to give up hope Arthur decided he’d have to stop and fight. He couldn’t run forever, and the men chasing him were clearly not going to give up anytime soon.
The burning sensation in his lungs didn’t dissipate when he suddenly whirled around and lashed out with his sword. The surprise move allowed him to take out the closest bandit, who alarmingly was only an arm’s length away. Bolstered by his success, Arthur plowed ahead and took another swing, this time he nicked another bandit in the arm.
Using all the strength he had left, Arthur fought for his life. There was no way he was going down a coward. Time wasn’t measuring properly anymore, and with each swing of his weapon, Arthur became increasingly aware of his fatigue. Not to mention the fact that despite taking out three men he soon found himself surrounded. Where had all these men been hiding?
Taking what he thought was his last stand; Arthur adjusted the grip on his sword and prepared for the end. No one could accuse him of backing down; he was the Prince of Camelot after all. Mustering his last dregs of energy Arthur stepped forward and initiated what he thought was his final strike.
With eyes on his selected target, Arthur had little time to react when a sudden crushing weight threw him to the ground. Pinned to the forest floor, leaves, and dirt scratching his face, Arthur barely registered the hit to the back of his head. The blow was quick and he saw black spots paint his vision before the pain even became evident.
Slipping into unconsciousness, Arthur failed to grasp the fading shouts of the nearby men. It didn’t matter, he’d failed. Uther would be disappointed in his lack of skill.
He was no prince.
--
The clanging of swords and shouting had stopped the moment Arthur’s eyes rolled up into his head.
“I hope he ain’t dead,” a man commented, breaking the quiet spell and coming to stand next to Arthur. “No need to sit there anymore, Conrad, I think you got him,” he added, pushing his companion off the prince’s back.
“He’s still breathing,” Conrad replied, levering his bulky frame upright. “I got him good though, little blond bugger didn’t see me comin!”
“An’ how could he? If he wasn’t facing you, Con? He don’t have eyes in the back of his head!”
“Oi, shut up Berty, I did what you lot failed to do and you’re just being pissy about it.”
“What we failed to do?!” Berty sputtered. “He runs pretty damn fast for wearing all his chainmail and armor, Uther’s trained him well. I’d say we got him all wore out first, so don’t go givin’ me some song and dance ‘bout you doing all the dirty work!”
Watching his men fight like little children was so depressing, but unavoidable in this line of work. “You two need to stop arguing and get our little prize tied up. People don’t stay down for long just because they got tackled and knocked in the head,” Thomas chimed in from the back of the growing mob.
“He wouldn’t have got far if he woke up, I’d have just tackled him again, Thomas. Don’tcha worry,” Conrad offered proudly.
“Stop talking and tie up the prince, Con. We have to get back to camp and wait for further instructions. Or have you forgotten what our goal is?” Thomas sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “We’re supposed to interrogate him later, we need him to be somewhat coherent. I for one don’t want to explain how we beat the prince to a pulp to the master; I doubt he’d be very happy about that.”
“Do ya suppose he’d let me have fun with ‘em after he spills the beans?”
“Probably, I know he’s eager to have Prince Arthur dead. For now we have to wait,” Thomas mused.
Conrad grumbled disapprovingly at being told to stand down. The man always did like a good fist fight, especially when there were no consequences if his opponent ended up dead. Unwilling to walk away until their prey had been secured; Thomas crossed his arms and watched his men work. Arthur’s patrol stood no chance of survival. The Prince had only gone out with two other knights and Thomas had amassed nearly fifteen men to accomplish his task.
Some would have claimed it was overkill, but Thomas had seen Arthur during training sessions and he was no amateur in the field of combat fighting. The young lad may not have had much practical experience, but he was fit and had his father’s attitude to fill in the gaps for what he lacked in real world training.
All they had to do was keep him from escaping until Lord Dresden arrived. Once their master had gathered the information he needed, Arthur would no longer be of use. Stepping aside to let his men drag Arthur’s limp body away, Thomas wondered when exactly their intrepid leader would arrive. The man hadn’t said much, for good reason. Being a member of Uther’s court meant Lord Dresden needed to ensure his movements were never noticed.
No one aside from Thomas knew his real name. Anytime Dresden appeared it was usually in the dead of night and he was covered from head to toe in a dark cloak. He didn’t even speak unless they were alone for fear of having his voice recognized. Dresden had been careful to cover his tracks so far, so it would be interesting to see how he handled the interrogation of the prince.
Thomas’ answer came that very evening when a figure on horseback approached their camp wearing a dark hooded cloak. The moon was obscured by clouds, and any chance of seeing the rider's face was hopeless. A few of the men were by his side a moment later, swords drawn. Holding out his hand Thomas waited to see what the visitor would do. He relaxed slightly when the man threw out a small red handkerchief on the ground between them.
Striding closer, Thomas picked up their agreed signal from the ground. “We’ve got him ready for you,” he offered, handing the cloth back to Dresden as he dismounted. A nod of the head and quick grunt was all Thomas heard in response. The silent treatment continued and Dresden simply motioned with his hand for Thomas to lead the way.
“Er, how do you want to uh –my men are everywhere,” Thomas pondered, assuming Dresden meant to question Arthur about something. The prince’s prone form tied to a tree catching his eye briefly. He’d had enough sense to blindfold the boy in case Dresden wished to see him first. Jumping slightly when Dresden leaned in close, Thomas barely heard the whispered reply.
“I have but one task to complete and then you may kill him,” Dresden replied, but held up his hand before Thomas could comment. “You must leave his body for Uther to find in exactly three days. It is imperative that enough time passes from my visit tonight to the discovery of the prince’s body. Is that understood?”
“Of course my lord, I will ensure my men follow your strict instructions.” Worrying for a moment of how to keep a body looking fresh for three days Thomas cast his thoughts aside when Dresden unsheathed a small dagger from his cloak.
“I see he’s been divested of his armor and chainmail, but is he secure? He can’t lash out at me?” Dresden asked quietly.
“No. Conrad tied him up real good, he’s not going anywhere.”
Dresden didn’t respond, instead he began heading over to where Arthur was seated on the ground. Thomas wasn’t sure if the prince had regained consciousness, but he suspected he’d been awake and was listening for any clues as to who his captors were. Not that it mattered; he wasn’t long for this world. It wasn’t worth the risk of keeping him alive for more than necessary once Dresden had left.
Staying a few feet behind his master, Thomas saw Dresden remove a small glass vile from a bag hidden underneath his cloak. He was slightly confused as to the purpose of each item until Dresden unceremoniously rushed forward and jammed the blade into Arthur’s shoulder. The poor lad cried out in pain and squirmed to get away. His hands were secured behind his back and his upper body had been lashed to the tree so there was nowhere to go. Even his feet had been bound together, so he couldn’t kick anybody with real accuracy.
Momentarily taken aback by the sudden and ruthless act, Thomas almost stepped forward to assist, though he had no idea how. Wisely choosing to stay back he watched Dresden remove the knife and press the glass vile up to the open wound. All the while Arthur was breathing heavily, but hadn’t uttered a word.
Once the small vile was full of Arthur’s blood, Dresden stood up and briskly walked away. As he passed by he leaned in again. “Do with him what you wish, but make sure he’s dead come sunrise. Remember… leave his body out in the forest in exactly three days.”
“My lord,” Thomas murmured.
Dresden didn’t even acknowledge him and kept walking to his horse. The man had always displayed a cold facade and now Thomas was even more curious as to what Dresden’s true nature was. Collecting someone’s blood was not a normal thing to do unless you needed it for something specific.
Something specific, like magic.
Suddenly struck with an idea Thomas patiently waited for the sound of Dresden’s horse to disappear into the night. Once he deemed the coast clear he rushed to his pack and rummaged through it, looking for his water skin. It would be a waste to use it in this manner, but the idea wouldn’t leave him that Arthur’s blood was an important item to have.
Taking the last swig of water for good measure, Thomas walked over to the tree and waved Conrad over. “I need you to hold him still,” he ordered as Conrad eyed him suspiciously, but the man complied nonetheless. Stomping over to a clearly distressed Arthur Conrad grabbed his arms and pushed his upper body back into the tree.
“Don’t – don’t touch me!” Arthur spit out in between labored breaths. His attempt to shake off Conrad’s grip was to no avail. There was no place to go.
Taking the water skin, Thomas held it up to the still oozing wound and waited as he collected the same amount Dresden had of Arthur’s blood. Once his task was finished he capped the skin and stepped away from the prince. “He’s all yours Conrad. Master wants him dead before sunrise.”
“With pleasure,” Conrad sneered.
Arthur’s breaths quickened at the news of his emanate demise, but he didn’t say anything else on the matter. Perhaps the boy was resigned to his fate and didn’t want to appear weak begging for his life. However, his silence didn’t sit well with Conrad who liked his victims to be a little more vocal.
“Come on boy! Nothing else to say?” Conrad mocked before giving Arthur a rather wicked backhand to the face. The slap resonated through the woods as did Arthur’s pained shout. The move was decidedly cruel as Arthur literally couldn’t see it coming, being blindfolded.
Thankfully, Conrad had no qualms about beating Arthur senseless while he was restrained. Satisfied that things would be handled, Thomas turned and walked away. He needed to secure his little parcel of blood before they set off in the morning. Another grunt of pain sounded behind him when Conrad struck a second time. Not caring to see where Conrad had hit Arthur, Thomas continued toward his pack on the edge of camp.
Kneeling down to store his newly acquired item, Thomas felt the air pressure shift slightly. Expecting a small squall he let out a shout when he saw a glowing fiery light blazing through the trees, headed straight for them.
--
Kilgharrah had lived long enough to master conjuring a rather sizable fireball without making much noise, which at the moment was very useful. He’d been crouching in the dirt, inching closer and closer to the bandit’s camp for over an hour. Now within striking distance he was finally ready to unleash his attack. Taking a deep breath he sent his deathly little gift into the camp holding the Prince of Camelot. These men meant to kill the prince, and that simply wouldn’t do.
When the fireball hit in the center of camp Kilgharrah sprang up from his position hidden amongst the trees, and charged in. Opting to let loose a rather uncivilized roar, he watched in glee as some of the humans scattered into the darkness. Cowards, they didn’t even want to face him to test their mettle.
Spinning quickly, he used his tail to knock the other men down who’d foolishly run closer, thinking tiny metal swords would do him harm. Rearing up on his hind legs Kilgharrah readied for another fire attack. This time he could let loose a stream of liquid death without compunction. He was already out in the open.
The ensuing fire deluge set half the camp ablaze and made it much easier to see. This was when Kilgharrah noticed two men not fighting; they had been the ones hurting the prince. Knocking away a few stragglers in his path, Kilgharrah rushed to catch them. Upon seeing they were discovered the two irritating humans split up and ran in opposite directions.
Catching a whiff of blood on the skinnier of the two, Kilgharrah went for him first. Leaping over several burning piles of gear he landed directly in front of the man. Snarling to show his teeth, Kilgharrah debated the best way to dispatch the filthy little human. He was about to snap at him when he heard a mangled cry.
The prince.
Instantly abandoning his efforts Kilgharrah raced to where he knew the poor boy was and witnessed the other brute of a human trying to strangle the prince to death. Seeing red at the very audacity of the cowardly act, Kilgharrah wasted no time in letting loose another ear splitting roar. The oversized man quickly ceased his efforts and went to escape, but Kilgharrah was not going to let that happen.
Deciding to pay back what the horrid human had dealt out earlier to the prince; Kilgharrah swiped his muscled arm out and caught the human mid step. The resounding crack he heard was not something Kilgharrah concerned himself with; this terrible human was no longer going to cause any trouble.
The prince was coughing roughly, but it seemed like he still wasn’t able to get enough air into his lungs. A quick slash with a very sharp talon released the prince from the tree, and within seconds Kilgharrah had scooped him up. Running as best he could on three legs Kilgharrah went for the clearing he’d landed in earlier. The sooner he got this poor human back to Merlin the better.
He could heal with magic if need be, but Merlin’s touch was gentler and would make quick work of saving the prince. Stretching his wings when the trees dropped away, Kilgharrah worked to get airborne. By the looks of it the prince had lost consciousness, time was running out, and if he didn’t hurry the prophecy of the once and future king was going to end far too soon.