Chapter Text
Arthur sheathed his blade, clapping a hand on Gwaine’s shoulder.
“Not so bad, was it?”
Gwaine rolled his eyes as he tried to wipe the mud from his trousers.
“Speak for yourself, princess. You didn’t have to be the bait.”
“Well,” Arthur replied, his blue eyes mirthful. “Serves you and Merlin right. I couldn’t very well flush out the beast and kill it.”
At the mention of his name, Merlin appeared with their horses. He was covered from head to toe in mud, evidence of his mad dash to try and lure the wolf into Arthur’s trap.
“You could just admit you’re a bit slower than us, Arthur,” Merlin quipped, handing a set of reins to Gwaine. “Or, admit that you just wanted all the glory.”
Arthur caught his servant’s goading look and rolled his eyes.
“Merlin, do shut up.”
“He didn’t say you were wrong,” Gwaine mock whispered to Merlin.
That earned the knight a well-aimed throw of one of Arthur’s gloves.
“I imagine praise from adoring subjects is a nice reward,” Merlin added.
That earned him the other glove.
Arthur turned away from the two friends and their horses, towards the village. He fought to keep his face in his neutral, royal mask. With the job completed, though, he could relax a touch; very little danger lay between them and home, now, and the sounds of suppressed laughter from behind pulled a genuine smile from him.
“It’s almost a full day’s ride back to Camelot. So, if you two are quite finished.”
He strode a few steps then paused, giving Merlin an amused look over his shoulder.
“Oh, and do grab my gloves, Merlin.”
“If you should be troubled in future, please send word to Camelot,” Arthur declared. His voice was steady, his words commanding; he looked every bit the king he would some day be.
Shaking the hand of the village leader, Arthur bid his farewells. He nodded at those around him and began to walk back down the road towards Merlin and Gwaine. The two were laughing as Gwaine ruffled Merlin’s hair, rushing to get on his horse to dodge Merlin’s attempted swat.
Arthur hid a smile by glancing down at his chainmail and readjusting it. Looking back up, the prince abruptly stopped in surprise.
An old woman stood in his way, though he hadn’t heard or seen her approach. One green eye and one white one stared intently at him from a sunken face, her opal hair wild and curled. Arthur furrowed his brow and took a slight step back.
”I didn’t see you there. Is there something you require?” Arthur asked, kind but wary.
“This is for you, sire,” the woman replied, in a voice high and melodic. “As a token of appreciation.”
She held out her hand, clenched tightly in a fist, and slowly uncurled her gnarled fingers. In her palm lay a smooth, black stone, perfectly round, golden tendrils like lightning bolts racing across the surface.
Arthur raised his eyebrows. It was beautiful, in all honesty, no priceless gem or jewel, but captivating in a way he couldn’t quite place.
“It’s…lovely.” He gave the woman a thin smile. “Thank you for your kindness.”
The old woman held the stone out to the prince. As he reached for it, she seized his outstretched wrist with her opposite hand, forcefully pushing the stone into his palm. Startled, Arthur tried to yank his hand away but she held firm. The stone was ice cold against his skin.
“It is for luck, sire.” Her gaze transfixed the prince, and he could neither move nor speak. “May it bring you the fortune you deserve.”
With that, the old woman suddenly let him go.
Arthur blinked rapidly, breath caught in his lungs, and took a staggered step backwards. His mouth was dry, the chill from the gifted stone seeming to have stolen every shred of warmth within him. He didn’t drop it, however. The thought never even crossed his mind.
He said nothing as the woman brushed past him, taking her leave as quickly as she had arrived.
Arthur shook out his shoulders, a feeling he couldn’t quite place now heavy atop them. The interaction had unsettled him; the stone sat icily in his hand, the old woman’s words echoed strangely in his ears.
“Arthur?”
Arthur closed his hand quickly around the stone, hiding it from view. Turning, he looked at Merlin and Gwaine, both on their horses and watching him curiously. From the way they were looking at him it was obvious this was not the first time they’d called his name.
“You alright there princess?” Gwaine asked. “The appreciation of the town go to your head already?”
The knight’s teasing tone shattered the odd reverie he’d been stuck in.
“Jealousy doesn’t become you, Gwaine,” Arthur bit out, more harshly than he meant to. He shoved the stone into a pouch on his belt.
Arthur gave a small shake of his head, as if he could rid himself of the malingering unease from the old woman’s interaction. He grabbed the reins from Merlin’s hand and mounted his horse. He wanted to be as far away from this town as fast as he possibly could.
“If you two don’t mind. We have a long ride ahead of us.”
Without another word, the prince galloped away, leaving the servant and knight in a cloud of dust.
“Prat,” Merlin whispered, urging his own horse into movement.
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Gwaine agreed. He pulled the reins to follow Merlin, already lamenting the hard ride that lay ahead. But, before he’d gotten more than a few steps, he found himself turning to look behind him. Why, he could not say.
An old woman stood in the middle of the road, unmoving, watching them leave.
Gwaine found her gaze unsettling.
He gripped the reins tightly, an odd feeling in his stomach, and spurred his horse on.
He didn’t look back again.
Arthur collapsed onto his bed, a sigh of relief escaping his lips.
His whole body ached, exhaustion worming its way into the very marrow of his bones. There seemed to be a chill he couldn’t shake, probably due to the rainstorm that had overtaken them at the end of their journey and soaked them to the skin. But there was also that…feeling, the interaction with that old woman, that stayed at the edge of his mind.
He just needed some sleep.
That was all.
He’d sent Merlin away the minute they’d gotten back, annoyedly explaining that yes, Merlin, he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself for one night, thank you very much. Arthur didn’t give him a chance to argue. He stacked his sword, armor, and cloak in Merlin’s arms, clapped a hand on Gwaine’s shoulder in farewell, and stalked towards his chambers. Arthur ignored the confused looks they both gave him in response.
He just wanted to be alone.
Arthur knew, at the very least, he should sit up and remove his wet shirt, belt, and trousers so they could join his boots where he’d kicked them off to the floor. And he was soaking his bedclothes where he lay, turning them into a muddy, grimy mess. But he couldn’t will himself to move. It just didn’t seem worth the effort.
Arthur shivered and thought he should get a blanket.
Instead, his eyes slipped shut, finally succumbing to his exhaustion, and was asleep in moments. He had one arm tossed over his face and the other across his chest, snoring loudly.
And sitting safely inside the pouch on his belt was the stone of onyx and lightning.