Run
Arthur ran, taking in the morning fog in sharp gusts. It felt as though a layer of frost covered his lungs; the cool air felt jagged as he sucked it down his throat; but his legs were warm as they pounded a path through the forest, and his blood drummed out a quick rhythm against his throat. He was very much alive, and even as the crisp air began to hurt and ache inside him, he kept running, kept stretching one foot out in front of the other. The sky turned from purple to pink to orange and he ran still. Further away from Camelot, away from court, away from his new crown that felt too heavy on his head.
He tripped and landed on his hands and knees in the dew soaked leaves. He stayed like that, watching as sweat slid down his arms. His mouth hung open, gulping down the air that stung his throat and chest.
He wasn’t ready. Not yet. He couldn’t be King; he wasn’t strong like his father. Arthur thought of the sorcerer, the one who had brought about his father’s death. He had lost both his parents to magic and yet…and yet…were a sorcerer brought before him, he knew he wouldn’t have it in him to order that man’s death.
Arthur rolled onto his back and stared up at the trees above him. They were beginning to turn red and gold, and sparkled in the waking sun. Brilliant, they were, turning most beautiful just before they fell as if to say farewell. In a few months, they would be the first to bud and greet the spring. It was like magic, the way they did that.
Arthur was reminded of what the old sorcerer had said. That magic was woven into the very fabric of the earth. He closed his eyes and felt the dew and the fallen leaves beneath him. He smelled the sun, the life it gave to a new day. A little way from him, a stream was chatting animatedly with the fish and the trees and a squirrel taking a drink at its side. For a long moment he believed he could feel it, the magic of the world moving beneath him. And then a pang of guilt struck him like the blade of a knife in the place where he grieved for his father. Magic, and those who practice magic, are a dangerous threat to the kingdom, his father’s voice chided him. Arthur picked himself off the forest floor, bits of leaves and dirt sticking to his bare and sweaty back. He made his way to the creek, very thirsty now that he had caught his breath.
He knelt beside the water and plunged face-first into a small waterfall and gratefully lapped up the deliciously cool water. When he had had his fill and pulled back he found a squirrel sitting beside him, staring at him.
“Good morning,” Arthur greeted awkwardly. The squirrel placed its tiny paw against Arthur’s leg and gave him a reassuring smile. No, not that…of course squirrels couldn’t smile, but it did something, and then it decided to behave like a normal squirrel and skitter away and up a tall tree. Arthur remembered thinking about the brook and a squirrel having a morning chat.
“No…” he murmured. He stood and walked over to the tree the squirrel had climbed. He gazed up the long trunk, not knowing what he was trying to see.
“Sire?” Arthur jumped and spun around. Merlin was there, a curious look on his face. He looked stripped down somehow…he was absent his jacket and scarf, and the front of his shirt was soaked.
“What are you doing here?” Arthur asked. The question came out accusingly, not at all like he had meant. Merlin didn’t seem fazed by it.
“Couldn’t sleep. Went for a run. Ended up here,” he explained shortly. “You?”
“Same.” Arthur stepped toward him. “Sun’s almost completely up. Should go back soon, yeah?” Merlin simply nodded. Arthur’s stomach gave an anxious flop. Merlin’s demeanor was unsettling. Up close, he looked pale and sick. The rims of his eyes were red. Had he been crying?
“Something…something wrong?” Arthur stammered out. He didn’t want to know, he really didn’t want to know what could have upset Merlin so much. Fortunately, Merlin didn’t seem inclined to tell him.
“Just…couldn’t sleep is all,” he shrugged. “Bit tired.”
“Well, don’t think I’m letting you off your duties today,” Arthur said, putting on his best haughty airs, “It’s not my fault if you can’t sleep.” His tone, which had been intended to pull a snide remark from Merlin, did not work.
“‘Course not, sire,” he answered demurely, his eyes downcast, shoulders slumped. Arthur’s heart sank a little. Merlin had clammed up around him once or twice before, but on those occasions he had maintained a sense of purpose. But now…now he was the vision of a man who had been shattered into a thousand pieces.
Arthur reached out and put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder.
“My father was a great King; he provided security for his people. I realize that his sudden passing has left doubt for us all.” He gave Merlin’s shoulder a tight squeeze, “I will not fail you.”
Merlin’s eyes flicked up at him, clear and shining in the morning light, and nodded.
“I know,” he said. Unlike his council members, Merlin’s voice carried no doubt and no uncertainty. Arthur felt stronger, then. With a final pat, he let go of Merlin’s shoulder. He jerked his head back down the path.
“Come on, back to Camelot. It’s time for you to get my breakfast.” But Merlin just stared at Arthur, unmoving.
“Arthur, I…”
“What is it?”
“I…” Then Merlin shook his head and smiled. “I’ll tell you later. Soon,” he added. Arthur gave him a curious look.
“Did your mother ever have you tested for a mental affliction?”
“Oh, I’m daft, is that it? Very clever, real original.” Arthur was relieved to hear his sarcasm again.
“Race you,” Merlin said. Arthur raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve got to be joking.” Merlin straightened up to his full height, which was about an inch taller than Arthur.
“Not in the least. Bet you an afternoon off I get back to the castle before you.” Arthur made an over-exaggerated roll of his eyes.
“You’re on.” He’d barely finished speaking before Merlin took off, giving Arthur a bit of a shove as he went. Arthur bolted after him.
He tripped and landed on his hands and knees in the dew soaked leaves. He stayed like that, watching as sweat slid down his arms. His mouth hung open, gulping down the air that stung his throat and chest.
He wasn’t ready. Not yet. He couldn’t be King; he wasn’t strong like his father. Arthur thought of the sorcerer, the one who had brought about his father’s death. He had lost both his parents to magic and yet…and yet…were a sorcerer brought before him, he knew he wouldn’t have it in him to order that man’s death.
Arthur rolled onto his back and stared up at the trees above him. They were beginning to turn red and gold, and sparkled in the waking sun. Brilliant, they were, turning most beautiful just before they fell as if to say farewell. In a few months, they would be the first to bud and greet the spring. It was like magic, the way they did that.
Arthur was reminded of what the old sorcerer had said. That magic was woven into the very fabric of the earth. He closed his eyes and felt the dew and the fallen leaves beneath him. He smelled the sun, the life it gave to a new day. A little way from him, a stream was chatting animatedly with the fish and the trees and a squirrel taking a drink at its side. For a long moment he believed he could feel it, the magic of the world moving beneath him. And then a pang of guilt struck him like the blade of a knife in the place where he grieved for his father. Magic, and those who practice magic, are a dangerous threat to the kingdom, his father’s voice chided him. Arthur picked himself off the forest floor, bits of leaves and dirt sticking to his bare and sweaty back. He made his way to the creek, very thirsty now that he had caught his breath.
He knelt beside the water and plunged face-first into a small waterfall and gratefully lapped up the deliciously cool water. When he had had his fill and pulled back he found a squirrel sitting beside him, staring at him.
“Good morning,” Arthur greeted awkwardly. The squirrel placed its tiny paw against Arthur’s leg and gave him a reassuring smile. No, not that…of course squirrels couldn’t smile, but it did something, and then it decided to behave like a normal squirrel and skitter away and up a tall tree. Arthur remembered thinking about the brook and a squirrel having a morning chat.
“No…” he murmured. He stood and walked over to the tree the squirrel had climbed. He gazed up the long trunk, not knowing what he was trying to see.
“Sire?” Arthur jumped and spun around. Merlin was there, a curious look on his face. He looked stripped down somehow…he was absent his jacket and scarf, and the front of his shirt was soaked.
“What are you doing here?” Arthur asked. The question came out accusingly, not at all like he had meant. Merlin didn’t seem fazed by it.
“Couldn’t sleep. Went for a run. Ended up here,” he explained shortly. “You?”
“Same.” Arthur stepped toward him. “Sun’s almost completely up. Should go back soon, yeah?” Merlin simply nodded. Arthur’s stomach gave an anxious flop. Merlin’s demeanor was unsettling. Up close, he looked pale and sick. The rims of his eyes were red. Had he been crying?
“Something…something wrong?” Arthur stammered out. He didn’t want to know, he really didn’t want to know what could have upset Merlin so much. Fortunately, Merlin didn’t seem inclined to tell him.
“Just…couldn’t sleep is all,” he shrugged. “Bit tired.”
“Well, don’t think I’m letting you off your duties today,” Arthur said, putting on his best haughty airs, “It’s not my fault if you can’t sleep.” His tone, which had been intended to pull a snide remark from Merlin, did not work.
“‘Course not, sire,” he answered demurely, his eyes downcast, shoulders slumped. Arthur’s heart sank a little. Merlin had clammed up around him once or twice before, but on those occasions he had maintained a sense of purpose. But now…now he was the vision of a man who had been shattered into a thousand pieces.
Arthur reached out and put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder.
“My father was a great King; he provided security for his people. I realize that his sudden passing has left doubt for us all.” He gave Merlin’s shoulder a tight squeeze, “I will not fail you.”
Merlin’s eyes flicked up at him, clear and shining in the morning light, and nodded.
“I know,” he said. Unlike his council members, Merlin’s voice carried no doubt and no uncertainty. Arthur felt stronger, then. With a final pat, he let go of Merlin’s shoulder. He jerked his head back down the path.
“Come on, back to Camelot. It’s time for you to get my breakfast.” But Merlin just stared at Arthur, unmoving.
“Arthur, I…”
“What is it?”
“I…” Then Merlin shook his head and smiled. “I’ll tell you later. Soon,” he added. Arthur gave him a curious look.
“Did your mother ever have you tested for a mental affliction?”
“Oh, I’m daft, is that it? Very clever, real original.” Arthur was relieved to hear his sarcasm again.
“Race you,” Merlin said. Arthur raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve got to be joking.” Merlin straightened up to his full height, which was about an inch taller than Arthur.
“Not in the least. Bet you an afternoon off I get back to the castle before you.” Arthur made an over-exaggerated roll of his eyes.
“You’re on.” He’d barely finished speaking before Merlin took off, giving Arthur a bit of a shove as he went. Arthur bolted after him.