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ARTHUR NARROWED HIS eyes at the silhouettes within the trees, and he could make out exactly what they were; wolves were common around the forest and sparse plains, and they were a terror for most small villages scattered around, especially villages with rabbitfolk.
The shadows quickly materialised, the wild dogs leaping out of the trees, landing in front of them with hostile snarls and barks that matched the thunder rolling overhead and the rain that bucketed down on them. Arthur backed up away from the wolf in front of him, maintaining eye contact with it, seeing the hostility clear within its green eyes.
The wolves circled around the Knights, snapping at their ankles as they sprung back, darting back from swords slashing at them. Bedivere cursed as one grabbed hold of the turkey at his side, pulling it free of his belt, sneaking off with it. "Little shit!" he spat at it.
Percival slashed at one near his ankles, kicking it in the snout. It yelped and snapped at his foot as it backed up. He moved away and pointed the sword at it, blinking the rain from his eyes.
"Where did these stupid mutts come from?" Kay growled, slashing at one and splitting it up the side; the wolf yelped as its blood sprayed across the mud.
“Deeper within the forest,” Galahad said, kicking one away from him to land in a puddle.
"Exactly how deep? They mustn't have been far enough away to not smell the game we've got on us," Peter asked, holding his bow in front of him, dripping with water.
Arthur looked at the green-eyed wolf carefully, narrowing his eyes at it. It snarled with its teeth bared, its haunches bristling. A bigger shadow appeared in the trees behind it, and Arthur looked up; glowing golden eyes glared at him, the wolf at least three times bigger than the rest.
“I’ve got eyes on the alpha,” Arthur said, glaring at the larger wolf.
Bedivere spun around and stared right at the wolf, his eyes wide and his long black hair stuck to his face with the rain. "By the grace of the Gods!" he cursed. "That's a huge wolf!"
“Give me a sword,” Arthur muttered to him.
"Are you mad?"
“No,” Arthur said. “Well, maybe, we’ll see,” he looked at him.
Bedivere's head flicked in front of him, and he raised his sword, slashing towards Arthur and jumping in front of him as the green-eyed wolf lunged, his sword streaking straight across the wolf's eyes. It yelped and whined, falling to the ground with a whimper of pain.
"You can't even keep your eyes on the smaller targets, let alone the large one," Bedivere scoffed, his eyes back behind him to the wolf he was focused on.
Arthur glanced at Bedivere’s side, seeing a shorter sword in a leather sheath. He looked back up to the larger wolf and pulled the sword out of his sheath, sprinting over to the beast.
Its eyes danced with challenge, and it sprung out of the treeline, its paws darting sideways out of Arthur's beeline. Peter cursed at the sight of the wolf, swinging the bow into the side of a gray wolf.
An idea sprung into Arthur's head, his eyes lighting up. This will either be the stupidest thing I've done or the best thing. Arthur charged at the larger wolf; his eyes narrowed at it with the sword gripped tightly within his palm. It regarded him with a snap of its teeth as it bunched in front of him, its black-red claws digging into the earth.
“Come on, then!” Arthur challenged, baring his teeth at the beast as thunder split the sky. The large dog barrelled towards him with an explosive kick of its hind legs, charging at him with a spark of joy in its eyes as it leaped into the air.
Arthur quickly slid underneath the wolf, swinging his sword at its leg from beneath the beast. Blood rained down on him as the sword pierced through its hide, a loud bark echoing through the trees. It landed on the earth lopsided, rolling onto its side. Arthur got up from the muddy ground, wiping away the blood from his face, panting heavily.
"Well, look at that; you are mad!" Bedivere barked at him and hacked at another dog.
The rain made the blood runoff Arthur in rivers, the gold-eyed wolf's pelt coated in mud and blood. It stood back up and looked at him; hostility turned to interest, its ears pricked up. Arthur stared at the beast and shook his head at it. What was this wolf doing?
Its head snapped to look over his shoulder, sniffing the air. Not a moment later, a bloodcurdling scream sounded from further in the trees behind him. Arthur flinched at the scream and followed its eyes. The smaller wolves turned to the noise; their ears pricked.
Peter gasped and paused, looking towards the scream. "Arthur," he said with a daunted look.
Arthur looked back at him, fear clear on his expression. “We need to move, now!” he barked, sprinting towards the scream. The wolf watched him with a grin, the other wolves gathering around it as the Knights battled them back away.
Kay looked up in time to see both Arthur and Peter disappear into the forest, a deep scowl on his growling face.
The forest was dark, he was surrounded by leaves, and he couldn't find the path. But at least Tristan had optimism on his side. Birds were flying around in the air; A deer was over there in the trees; it's a wonder Peter hadn't shot it yet.
The lad hummed as he walked along, keeping an eye out for any sign of anything familiar that would take him to the path. Leaves, sticks, rocks, plants, leaves, trees, ugh. Hmm. Come to think of it, it's awfully quiet. He sighed through his nose and turned around in a circle on the spot. No one followed him? Weird. Normally someone babysits me while I’m out. It annoyed him greatly when someone always was on his tail; he might act stupid, but he wasn't actually as dumb as people thought.
"Hullo?" Tristan called to the trees, looking through them lazily. "Did anyone follow after me, and they're just hiding to make me feel independent?"
No one answered him but the thunder overhead and the drops of rain that got heavier by the second. Tristan frowned slightly and kept moving through the trees. "Uh... Peter? Are you there anywhere?" he asked loudly, a slight edge of nervousness in his voice.
Tristan pushed the rain out of his hair with a swipe of his palm. Where was he? All the trees looked the same around here. Tree, tree, tree. Forests were boring as Hell compared to a Kingdom. At least Kingdoms had people. Oh, how he missed people and talking to someone other than his reflection or a cranky Kyan or Peter.
Or a nutter Arthur.
Arthur was turning scary now; it was starting to worry Tristan. He'd never seen his friend like that before; it was unnatural. Maybe introducing him to Marl - Gawain wasn't a very good idea. Then again, it brought them here, and he wanted to be King now. But the anger? It was new. Tristan didn't think it was even possible for him to be so-
A stick snapped to his left. Tristan turned his head with a grin, expecting Peter to jump out of the bushes at him. "Is that you there?" he asked the noise.
Nothing.
Tristan frowned slowly, and he laughed nervously. "Peter, if that's you, I'd like it if you'd come out instead of trying to scare me because it's working too well."
A low growl rumbled in amongst the bushes, sending shivers up Tristan's spine. Uncertainty flooded him, and his brow creased, moving back away from the shrub. "Arthur? I know you can growl, so stop, please," he said with fear.
Suddenly, a thunderous snap sounded behind him, followed by a deep snarl. Tristan gasped and spun around, feeling for a sword that was not there. Damn it!
The wolf snarled while prowling around the defenceless Tristan, its teeth bared and razor-sharp. Fear spiked through him, seizing his throat up as he tried to breathe.
"Okay, okay, calm down. They can probably smell the chicken all over you; they're probably harmless," Tristan reasoned with himself, his eyes wide as dinner plates.
Another snarl sounded from behind him, and two more wolves breached the shrub, barking at him. The wolves prowled closer to him, their green eyes glued to Tristan.
Tristan's heart raced at a million miles an hour, spinning around to look at the wolves. "You guys can't smell fear, right?" he asked them with a shaky voice.
The bigger wolf barked at him; his eyes lit with hunger. Tristan swallowed the lump in his throat and took a deep breath.
The wolf lunged at him with a snap of its teeth, its claws digging into Tristan's chest as it barrelled him to the ground, driving the air from his chest with a whoosh. Alarm spiked through Tristan, and he yelped, grabbing instinctively at the wolf's muzzle. The dog snarled and ripped its face out of his hands, its teeth tearing the skin on his hands open as it struggled. The other wolves struck down on him, pain slicing through his arms and legs, one biting his side savagely.
Tristan screamed out in pain, the sound echoing across the forest. The wolf on his chest dug its claws into his skin, tearing his shirt to shreds beneath its paws as it ravaged his arms. He punched at it, the wolf yelping as his fist connected with its nose. His legs screamed with pain as the dogs bit through the denim savagely, the tearing of the fabric harsh to his ears. He kicked and writhed against the wolves, yelling in pain and fear as his blood soaked the ground with the rain. Mud clung to him like phantom hands, holding him as the wolves tore him up.
“Tristan!” a voice called from the forest beside him. “Tristan, where are you?!”
His eyes widened further, hearing the voice, trying to see past the bundle of wet, muddy fur in his face. "HELP!" he screamed, gripping the wolf by the pelt on its side and throwing it off him. His hands were bloody and torn, and it hurt to move them. Pain swamped him from all over like a suffocating blanket.
“We’re coming!” a second voice called to him.
From the forest edge, two rebels breached the tree line, drenched in rainwater with their weapons in hand. Tristan kicked one of the wolves in the face, the dog yelping and snapping back at his ankle. He cried out in pain as he felt something snap, trying to fight each of the feral dogs off. Rain flooded his vision, mud splattering on his face as the dog he threw off himself lunged towards him.
One of the rebels tackled a wolf off Tristan, landing in the mud roughly. The other, Connor, whistled at the other two while waving his hands. The one at Tristan's chest looked at Connor with a ferocious snarl, blood coating its muzzle.
“Come over here! Come on!” Connor yelled at it, picking up a stone from the ground and throwing it at the wolf. It flinched away from the stone and barked at Connor, barrelling towards him and left a deep scratch across Tristan's stomach, making him bare his teeth in pain.
The tackled wolf struggled savagely beneath the rebel, scratching, and biting at his arms and stomach. The rebel pinned it down by the neck with his sword, moving away from the beast's mouth and paws. The wolf yelped and struggled, blood gushing out of the stab wound into the mud, washed away quickly by the heavy rain.
Tristan looked at the other wolf at his feet, the dog bunching its muscles to spring at the rebel. His eyes flared wide. "Look out!" he warned.
The rebel looked back at Tristan, his eyes soon widening in realisation. The wolf sprung onto him with a snap of its jaws on the back of his neck, the dog biting savagely with a snarl. The rebel fell beneath the weight of the wolf, his neck snapping with a loud crack beneath the wolf's jaws.
"Shit!" Tristan cursed with fear, trying to get up and failing, his side making him stay down.
Connor yelled in pain, the wolf latching onto his thigh with razor-sharp teeth. He slashed at it and pierced it through its skull, the wolf dropping to the mud bleeding.
"Jack!" Connor called to the dead rebel, anguish in his voice. The wolf let go of Jack's neck and spun around, barrelling at Connor, lunging up at his chest. Connor exclaimed in fright, the sound cut off as the wolf latched its teeth around his neck, yelping as Connor's blade sunk through its belly.
"Connor!" Tristan yelled, dread filling him up. By the Gods, the wolves were killers!
Connor dropped to the mud, his legs giving out as the wolf fell, blood squeezing out in streams through the bite wounds on his throat. He collapsed to his side, looking at Tristan in shock.
Tristan's eyes filled with tears of grief and pain. The lads just died to save his life. It was the first time he'd seen anyone die in front of him; it made him feel sick.
“Tristan!” a familiar voice called to him.
He looked around, agony making him stay still as the rain drenched him. "Arty?" he yelled, looking around. Why is my vision blurry?
Arthur bolted over to him, kneeling beside him. “What happened?”
Tristan looked up at him, seeing his face in doubles. "Woah," he said. "There's... a lot of you."
“He’s losing blood, Peter!” Arthur called, applying pressure on his chest wounds. Tristan yelled in pain, trying to move away from him. "Ow!"
“You’re losing blood, Tristan! Stay still!” Arthur commanded.
"You're hurting me," Tristan cried, looking at him in pain.
Arthur let go of his chest, looking around for the others. “Peter!!”
"Arthur, look," Peter said, standing over where Connor lay with the wolf.
“Connor..." Arthur said, looking at his body in shock.
From behind, Arthur, Galahad, and the Knights burst through the tree line, their eyes taking in the bloodshed around them. Galahad looked down at Tristan and immediately rushed down beside Arthur.
Numbness overtook Tristan, and he blinked slowly up at the Knight, his head swimming. "Hello..." he muttered.
A distant feeling of pressure on his wrist registered somewhere in his mind. He could see Galahad touching his wrist but couldn't feel it. Weird...
"We need to get him back to Reigate," Galahad's muffled voice said. Am I underwater?
“How far is it?” Arthur asked.
"Just through the trees, around half a mile."
Half a mile? What's a mile? His hearing faded out to almost nothing, everything muffled like someone held a pillow over his ears.
Arthur nodded at him and helped Tristan to his feet, holding him gently. Pain lanced up his ankle as the world swam in his vision, and he yelled, gripping onto Arthur's shirt.
Galahad's familiar foreign voice rumbled in his ears, and he felt someone touch his forehead, warmth seeping through his body. He sighed in relief as the pain started to drain away, his body relaxing against Arthur's shoulder.
Wait, he hates when I lean on him. Tristan leaned away from Arthur, his torn fingers letting his shirt go as Arthur's arms caught his sides, holding him up from hitting the ground.
He was numb again, but it was a nice numbness. It felt warm and cozy, like a mother's womb. His eyes drifted down and finally closed, Tristan fading off to revel in the warmth.
"Wolves in the forest? It's rare for them to be anywhere near here," Gawain frowned, a cup between his hands that didn't smell of coffee.
Arthur sat across from Gawain, holding his own cup on the wooden table in the main cavern, the trainees murmurs and whispers echoing off the walls. “It was an entire pack; I counted up to seven of them,” he said. “The other three attacked Tristan while the rest surrounded us.”
Gawain squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers with a sigh, resting his arm on the table. "And we lost two trainees," he muttered. "A waste of two decent men."
“We didn’t get there on time,” Arthur said shamefully. “We were lucky we got to Tristan when we did.” The lad was halfway to death, Arthur could've sworn. He was more out of it than usual when they did find him, and the amount of blood that pooled around him scared Arthur half to death himself.
"We'll skin the pelts off the wolves for later use and start organising a burial for Connor and Jack. There were more than a few people here who knew the two. They will be missed," Gawain sighed, resting his arm on the table.
“The alpha was different from the others,” Arthur muttered, his mind flicked back to its unnatural behaviour.
"How different?" he asked, looking at him.
“It challenged me,” Arthur said. “Like it wanted me to fight it, then when I did, it grinned, and it didn’t go any further,” he explained, his brows creasing.
Gawain chewed his tongue in thought. "Interesting," he grumbled.
“I’m thinking they were sent to find me by someone, and that alpha isn’t truly an alpha,” Arthur said. “It was too smart to be a regular wolf, and it seemed to enjoy my efforts of trying to fight it.”
"Wolves are smart creatures, smarter than we know. They're capable of using their families to an advantage, something we can learn from them. I'll make sure the rest of the wild dogs are out of the boundary as soon as this rain is done," Gawain said to no one in particular. "We can't afford to lose more rebels to petty things like wolves."
Arthur looked down with a different matter on his mind. What was my uncle doing? What has become of Camelot? These questions puzzled Arthur, and he wanted to find out the answers. But the only way he could really do that was to see what was happening from the inside, and that meant going into Camelot.
“Are you open to wild suggestions?” Arthur looked back at Gawain.
Gawain looked at him with a raised brow. "As long as they're not stupid."
“Sneaking into Camelot to find out what Ergott is up to,” Arthur said.
Gawain frowned. "I said as long as they're not stupid," he repeated.
“It’s the only way we’d be able to see what we’re up against,” Arthur protested. “And we need to know exactly what’s happening in Camelot.”
"We can still send out rebels to mingle with the citizens in the marketplace like they've done for years," Gawain muttered, fiddling with his cup.
“When are they heading out next?” Arthur asked, his eyes lighting up in interest.
"You'll have to ask Rodney," Gawain said, taking a sip of the brandy.
"Who's asking me for what now?" Lancelot's gruff voice said, walking up behind Arthur.
Arthur stood up and smiled weakly at him. “When are the rebels going back to Camelot?” he asked.
"The next carriage leaves tomorrow morning," Lancelot said bemusedly. "They just need to restock up on a couple fruits and do the rounds first."
“Excellent,” Arthur smiled. “Tell them I’m going with them.”
Lancelot blinked at him in astoundment. "Why?"
"The lad’s gone nutters and wants to see what's happening in his Kingdom," Gawain growled.
“It’s the only way we can see what we’re up against,” Arthur protested. “We have to give it a shot at least; it’s the only viable chance we have to see what’s happening.”
Lancelot thought to himself, scratching his chin. "It's a plausible idea, but what if you get caught?" he asked him. "What would you do then?"
“Trust me,” Arthur said. “I won’t.”
Lancelot and Gawain shared a look, something being communicated between the two.
“Even if I get caught, I can use the tunnels; Seasoned Oak always works,” Arthur grinned lightly.
"Seasoned Oak?" both Knights asked.
“It’s a manoeuvre Tristan and I developed as young lads,” Arthur said. “We used it when the Barons chased us through Londinium.”
"I mean," Lancelot looked at Gawain, who frowned deeply. "He can fend for himself now. He's got your training under his belt."
"No."
"Jonathan," Lancelot sighed. "He'll be fine, he'll stick with the rebels, and we'll give him a disguise, so no one recognises him. Won't he?" Lancelot looked at Arthur.
Arthur nodded, folding his arms proudly. “It won’t be too hard,” he said.
Gawain scowled and sighed. "If you get your ass caught, I'll be the one to come and get you just so I can drag you back here behind my horse," he growled.
“Then all three of us are in agreement,” Arthur clapped his hands together.
"Begrudgingly," Gawain snapped, looking at Arthur flatly.
“It’s an agreement, nonetheless,” Arthur said to him, picking up his cup.
"I'll tell the lads our plans," Lancelot said, clapping Gawain on the shoulder. Gawain snorted at him, downing the last of his drink.
“I need to check on Tristan,” Arthur said, copying Lancelot.
"Personal space is a right of mine I like to uphold," Gawain growled.
"Oh, cheer up, old chum," Lancelot grinned, squeezing his shoulder. "You love it, don't lie."
"I'd love it more if you'd piss off," he growled. "The both of you."
“Don’t you love me anymore?” Arthur smirked at him.
"Who said I loved you in the first place?"
"Rude, Jonathan," Lancelot frowned.
“That’s hurtful,” Arthur frowned. “I was starting to consider you as a mentor and a father figure.”
Gawain threw his hands up in the air, sighing dramatically. "Well, the Gods be damned," he spat. "I can't get a lick of space around here from the children that constantly bother me, and they call me mean for it."
“And we all know who your favourite trainee is,” Arthur said with a wide grin.
"Oh really?" Gawain asked him, looking at him with his brows raised. "Who?"
“Me, of course,” Arthur said, grinning at him.
"You're wrong, actually."
“Then who?” Arthur frowned at him.
"Peter, because he doesn't touch me or bother me with questions," Gawain growled, but a small smile crept on his face.
“I see that smile,” Arthur grinned at him.
"Pah!" Gawain huffed, standing up from the chair and shoving off their hands lightly. "What would you know, boy? You've only been around for two months, and it's enough to bother me to bits."
“And you’ll have many more months to come,” Arthur patted his shoulder. “And you’ll love it.”
Gawain swatted his hand away gently, narrowing his eyes at him jokingly. "I'm sure I'd rather try and herd cats than be putting up with you and your lot for the remainder of my complicated lifespan," he goaded and turned to frown at Lancelot. "Don't laugh."
"I'm not laughing," Lancelot chuckled, squeezing his lips to stop from smiling.
“You will be a Knight of my Roundtable, so you’ll have to put up with us all,” Arthur said, giving him a look.
"Bugger the damn Roundtable, I've had my share of the limelight," he raised his arms, walking towards the kitchen. "Give it to a young one that has more energy to grovel at your boots."
“Rude,” Arthur frowned at him. “That’s not very formal of you, Jonathan!”
"It's Gawain to you, son!"
“Sorry, John!”
Gawain rounded the corner, laughter echoing from around it. Lancelot laughed and patted Arthur on the back as he followed the old Knight. Arthur smirked lightly to himself and made his way down towards the medical ward further within the caves. Deep down, he was fearful of Tristan’s condition and worried about how he would be once he recovered. But he didn’t want to think of the worst; in fact, he refused to think about it.
He passed by the bathing chambers, trainees walking in and out of the doors and dodging him, more than a few looking distressed. Connor and Jack's loss really was leaving an impact. He glanced back at them with a shred of pity and continued, his attention focused back on finding his friend and making sure he was okay.
The medical ward door sat half-open, light glowing out of the doorway. Arthur peered in cautiously; the room was lit up by natural lighting, one section of the far wall carved open as a window. Wooden shutters were pinned back against the stone wall to let the light in, illuminating the large room. Beds sat along the length of the walls with scattered trainees laying around on them, a window carved out every so often with the shutters open like the first. A stone desk sat in front of the door, recessed shelves burrowed into the walls holding all kinds of concoctions and different cloths and kits.
Arthur wandered in slowly, trying not to make any disturbances for the resting patients. Galahad stood at the far end of the ward, his back to Arthur. A strange sensation flew up Arthur's spine as he gained closer to him, peering at the bed he stood in front of.
Tristan laid dormant on the bed, his eyes closed, and his body relaxed. His arms and legs were bandaged in bloodied wraps, bruises dark on his brown skin. Arthur walked up beside Galahad, peering down at Tristan.
He frowned, his face creasing in grief. “How’s he doing?”
Galahad jumped in fright, his eyes flying open to look at Arthur, his hands forming into fists. His eyes were a starkly bright yellow, glaring at Arthur for a moment before he realised who stood before him. Arthur stepped back away from him, his eyes wide in fright. “It’s just me,” he reassures him.
"Gods, Arthur, you frightened me," Galahad breathed, his eyes fading back to their normal brown shade. "You've got the feet of a cat."
Arthur looked at his eyes curiously, his brows creasing in interest. “Your eyes changed,” he muttered.
"A lot more changes too, don't worry," Galahad huffed in amusement, lifting his hands. An orange-yellow light glowed around his fingertips, his eyes glowing back to the yellow once more. "I'm sure the legends would hold some sort of facts about me?"
Arthur looked at him in amazement, staring up at him with a smile. “You’re a healer,” he said.
"That's correct," he nodded, and the light faded away. "It takes a bunch of energy out of me to use the magic, but there's plenty of it. Plenty of tools to use it on, too."
“How is he doing?” Arthur repeated, turning back to Tristan.
"His wounds were not great to start with," Galahad admitted, placing his hands back on the lad's arm. "But his skin is starting to knit back together. I don't know what he's gonna do when he wakes up."
“Will he be alright?”
"He should be. I've healed the deepest wounds first, so the only thing he should feel is the bruises and small cuts, but they'll deal with themselves."
“And personality-wise?” Arthur asked, looking at Galahad with a serious look.
Galahad quirked his mouth. "That's up to him, I'm afraid," he said, his hands hovering over Tristan's side.
Arthur nodded lightly, turning back to Tristan. Footsteps barrelled down the hallway towards the doorway, and a bedraggled Maria hurdled through the door, panting hard. Her eyes were wide as she searched through the ward and saw Arthur standing at the far end with Galahad, moving over to them quickly.
"I just heard what happened," she panted, her skin pale. "Is he okay?"
Arthur turned back to her, blocking off Tristan from her. “He’s resting,” he said.
Maria blinked at Arthur, pausing. "Well, can I at least see him?" she asked, worry on her face.
Arthur nodded. “He’d want you to know he’s okay,” he said, moving to the side closer to Galahad.
She moved over to the bed, her eyes taking in the lad's wrappings and the dark spots blotting his skin. She sighed in relief and sorrow, her eyebrows creased together. "Gods, Tristan, how did this happen?" she whispered to him.
“Wolves,” Arthur said, placing an arm around her in comfort. “He’ll be okay; Tristan is strong. Probably stronger than me.”
She leaned into him, looking at her friend in grief. "Connor and Jack are gone," she muttered. "They apparently found them near him."
“We were too late to save them,” Arthur sighed. “Tristan is lucky we got to him when we did; otherwise, he wouldn’t be here.”
"Silly lad," she mumbled, touching his arm gently. She reeled back her hand sharply, gasping in shock. "Ow!"
"Sorry," Galahad said. "I should have warned you before you did that. The healing magic heals the patient while protecting them from outside forces, hence why you just got zapped."
Maria rubbed her finger gingerly. "That's one hell of a zap," she grumbled.
“I didn’t do it,” Arthur grinned weakly.
"Oh shoosh, you," Maria smirked and touched Arthur's arm, a zap of electricity flicking him.
“Ow!” Arthur reeled back from her, shaking his arm around.
"It transmits like normal, too," Galahad chuckled.
Maria giggled and grinned at Arthur, her hair floating up around her head slightly. Arthur grinned at the sight, and she frowned slightly, smoothing her hair back down with her palm.
Galahad opened his eyes, his hands moving away from Tristan's body, his magic dimming. "He's coming back," he said quietly.
Arthur looked over at Tristan and knelt beside his bed. Maria stood beside him, watching the lad with wide eyes. Tristan's face twitched, scrunching up with a groan. His hand moved up to his face, and he winced, flexing his fingers.
"Ow, what the Hell?" Tristan murmured, blinking minimally.
“Hey, buddy,” Arthur said quietly.
Tristan turned his head to Arthur, his eyes opening wider. "Arty?" he croaked.
“How are we feeling?” he asked warmly.
"Like I got attacked by a pack of wolves," he groaned and opened his eyes completely, blinking a couple times. Maria gasped in disbelief.
Arthur looked at him in shock, staring directly at his eyes. Tristan frowned at them both, looking between them. "What?" he asked.
"Tristan, your eyes!" Maria said breathlessly.
Tristan's eyes widened, his eyebrows flicking up. "My eyes?" he asked cautiously.
“They weren’t blue before,” Arthur huffed, looking at him astoundingly. Tristan's soil brown eyes had turned icy cobalt, like the bright blue of the point where the ocean meets the sky.
Tristan frowned. "Are you two toying with me?" he asked. "My eyes aren't blue."
Arthur looked over at the table beside Tristan and grabbed the only reflective object he could find. He passed the small handheld mirror to Tristan, who took it gingerly in his wrapped hands. He stared at it for a moment, his face flicking with emotions Arthur couldn't place. He turned the mirror on himself and gasped, his blue eyes widening. "What in the name of the Holy Gods of the Overworld?!" he cursed, dropping the mirror. "Why are my eyes blue?!"
Arthur looked over at Galahad in question. “Care to answer?” he asked.
Galahad smiled faintly. "Sometimes there's a couple side effects of healing magic," he shrugged. "Eye colour changes can be one of them. The effect is harmless, but once it's changed, it won't revert back."
"This is so bloody weird," Tristan breathed, his face unsure and frightened.
“The blue suits you,” Arthur said, examining his new eye colour.
"I don't understand why I'm not dead," he said, trying to sit up and grunting.
Arthur gently laid him back down, positioning the pillow better for his head. “You need to stay,” he said firmly.
"Everything hurts," he groaned, holding his side.
“We can get you tarts,” Arthur said.
"Tarts are not what I'm thinking of at the moment," he said.
"It's either tarts or some sort of sandwich," Maria said, a bit of laughter in her voice.
Tristan looked at her with creased brows, confusion, and disbelief written across his face. His bandaged hands shook involuntarily; his nerves were probably damaged.
Arthur glanced at Tristan, concern written on his face. His eyes trailed over his many wounds, seeing the blood seeping through the bandages. Arthur looked back up at him, and his mouth quirked.
“Are you alright, buddy?” he asked softly.
Tristan's chest heaved a bit, flicking his eyes to Arthur. Fear sat in the newly blue depths, his jaw quivering. "Where did everyone go?" he asked shakily.
“We got caught in between a pack on the way to the caves,” he said. “Most of us were certain you made it back here long before we did.”
"Y-you were right behind me, and then when I turned around to see if Peter was there, no one was around," he said, looking at his hands. "I thought you guys were tricking me."
“We had the alpha’s pack surrounding us,” Arthur said, looking at Tristan, saddened. Maria glanced at Arthur, uncertainty on her face.
"I was frightened," Tristan shivered. "I didn't have my sword, and there were things in the shrubs, and then the wolves sprang out." He shook even more violently, tears springing to his eyes.
Arthur moved closer to him, placing a hand on an untouched part of his arm. “Hey, hey, hey, look at me, look at me,” he repeated, worried about him.
Tristan flinched at his touch, snapping his eyes up at him in fright.
“You’re safe now. You’re with us,” Arthur reassured him.
"Why weren't you there?" he said, pained. "You're always there."
Arthur looked at him with guilt and sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.
"No one was there!" Tristan snapped, suddenly turning angry. Maria moved back slightly, shock on her face.
“Tristan,” Arthur said. “We were caught up with our own pack to deal with.”
"Connor and Jack died for me! I had to watch that!" Tristan gripped his hair with his hurt fingers, hissing in pain. "I saw Connor die, and I watched the wolf spring on Jack and heard his neck break," his voice broke.
Arthur tried to calm him down, moving his hands gently away from his hair. “Tristan. Tristan,” he said with nervousness in his voice. “Calm down.”
"Don't touch me!" Tristan barked at him, pulling his arms out of Arthur's grip. His eyes glared accusingly at Arthur; his teeth bared at him.
Arthur moved back, standing next to Maria in shock. This wasn't like Tristan at all. This isn't the careless lad he grew up with. A tinge of hurt stabbed through Arthur, and he glanced at Maria, looking at her with a silver tint in his eye.
Tristan panted through his teeth, putting his face in his hands with a pained growl. "I'm just the tool that keeps on screwing up, right?" he hissed. "I'm not smart enough to know how to find a stupid path in a forest that I ran into myself."
Arthur looked back at him. “No...” he said quietly.
"Everyone is right about me when they say my stupidity is going to get me killed," he growled. "And it almost did. It's a wonder."
“You’re not stupid, Tristan,” Arthur corrected him.
Tristan peered at him through his fingers with angry eyes. "What am I then, huh?" he snapped. "Other than the one who makes everyone laugh at his own expense. The one everyone makes fun of and calls stupid or takes weapons from because they think they can't handle it or rejects them from jobs like blacksmithing because they think they're not smart enough to know how to use a hammer without breaking something."
“You’re my friend,” Arthur said with a strained voice. “And you always will be,” he whispered.
Tristan shuddered and laid back against the pillow, his breath shaky with tears. The anger seemed to drain out of him like a squeezed sponge, his body visually deflating. "I'm sorry, Arty," he choked out, lowering one hand to his side. "I'm very overwhelmed."
Maria looked away from him, her face burning in shame as she folded her arms around herself. She would've seen the numerous times he'd been pushed away from a training session because of some other trainee and, by the looks of it, didn't do much about it. What did he say back at the courtyard? I don't want anyone coming in to steal this one too?
“Rest well, buddy,” Arthur said quietly to him, turning to Maria and walking her out of the ward.
Arthur and Maria walked silently out of the ward while Galahad stayed, all kinds of emotions flowing through the both of them, especially Arthur. Tristan watched after them, regret and sorrow in his eyes. Arthur knew he didn't mean to snap, but it was still something he didn't want to see.
Arthur exited the ward entrance and leaned against the wall, resting his head back on the sandstone. Maria stood in the walkway, a hand over her mouth. She was just as shocked as Arthur was. Guilt was written across her as clearly as if it was inked on her skin.
“I should’ve been there,” Arthur said, shaking his head. He'd been too caught up with Peter and Percival; he'd forgotten somewhat about Tristan. Guilt hit him with the thought. He thought Tristan would've been fine on his own. Stupid wolves.
"I didn't know it hurt him that much," Maria whispered, both of her hands on her face.
“I’ve never seen him like that,” Arthur admitted. “And I don’t like it, not one bit.”
"Me either," she said, moving to lean back against the wall beside him. She slid down to the ground slowly, her hair falling across her face.
Arthur slid down slowly next to her, sighing deeply to himself. “It’s my fault.”
"It's mine too," she said muffled. "I didn't say anything against the trainees for all those months. I saw him get pushed around and sat in the corner and still did nothing about it."
“I haven’t been the kindest to him either,” he said, looking at her sideways. “I’ve been pretty negative towards him for a while now.”
She moved her hands down slightly, her green eyes stained red with tears. She stared down at the floor, sniffling. "If I had known he wasn't taking it as well as I thought he was, I would've told Kyan to shove off months back. I thought he was just playing along with it like he normally seems to, but," she shuddered. "I don't know what to think anymore."
“That’s why Kyan got the beating he deserved,” Arthur frowned. “He’s nothing but a self-proclaimed asshole with no respect.”
"It wasn't just Kyan," she said quietly.
Arthur looked at her in interest, waiting for her to continue.
"It was just about everyone in there. Everyone knew him somehow, and everyone treated him either like he wasn't there or like a kid." She sighed, dropping her head down and curling into a ball, resting her forehead on her arms. "I feel terrible."
Arthur looked at her and moved his arm slowly around her, pulling her closer to him. “It’s not your fault.”
She sniffled and shifted closer to him, leaning against him. "I could've said something," she muttered sadly.
“We all could’ve,” Arthur sighed, rubbing her shoulder gently. She leaned her head into his shoulder.
“Is Tristan alright?” A familiar accented voice asked from down the hallway, jogging up to them. Maria flicked her eyes to the voice, a small smile on her grieved face. Simon jogged up to them, his face distressed and worried about Tristan.
“I heard what happened,” Simon panted heavily, stopping in front of them. “I wish I was there to help you all.”
"He's okay, but he's not himself," Maria said quietly, looking down to the floor.
Simon glanced over at Arthur. “Are you alright, my liege?”
Arthur held his tongue at the word but collected himself and nodded at him. “I’m unscathed, thank you for asking,” he said.
Maria sniffled against Arthur and wiped at her face, sitting up. "How much did they end up bringing in?" she asked Simon.
“Enough to last us two months. We’re heading back into Camelot tomorrow morning for fruit rations,” Simon said.
“And I’ll be joining you,” Arthur chimed in.
Maria turned her gaze on Arthur. "You're going back into Camelot?" She raised a brow.
Arthur looked over at her. “We need to know what they’re up to on the inside,” he said. “The only way we do that is if we sneak into Camelot and see for ourselves. Lancelot and Gawain agreed I would go with them,” he explained.
“Isn’t that dangerous for you?” Simon asked. “You’re basically a wanted man in that Kingdom, and if you get caught, you’ll surely be hanged.”
“They won’t find me,” Arthur said. “Even if I get caught, I can use the tunnels underneath the kingdom to flee, or I do a swift manoeuvre.”
“A swiftly manoeuvre?” Simon raised his brows curiously.
“Seasoned Oak,” Arthur grinned.
"Why is it called that anyway?" Maria asked.
"Well, you see, the tunnels are braced with all the oak planks that were just kind of dumped in them from when they were made," Arthur explained. "We use a lot of carriages to help us out when we need to get into hidden spots inside old shacks that have tunnel entrances. A wedge of oak is pushed underneath the wheel, which is connected to a rope that either Tristan or I pull after getting on a roof, and the carriage goes zooming down the alleyway with all hopes of our perpetrators getting on the roof. Also, because the tunnel doors are hidden under piles of planks." There's only around two of them left set up now, too...
Maria and Simon stared blankly at him. "That's actually a smart idea," she said slowly.
“How’d you come up with it?” Simon asked.
“It was improvised,” Arthur shrugged. "We realised gravity was an effective tool." And it still is. "It's not fun to haul the carriages back up, though."
“Clever,” Simon nodded, intrigued by the manoeuvre. “It would act as a good escape plan.”
“That’s its whole purpose,” Arthur said, standing up from the ground with a groan. “It’s how we evaded the Barons; Maria was there.”
"I didn't get to see it because I was halfway to Tristan's with Peter and Kyan, though," she admitted.
“Missed opportunity,” Arthur smirked at her. She smiled faintly back up at him, looking away. She still feels guilty.
“Maria, would you be interested in organising the new kitchenware?” Simon asked politely.
"Kitchenware?" Maria echoed.
“We got new equipment from Camelot as well,” Simon said. “And they’re in wonderful conditions for elegant cooking.”
She laughed faintly at his wording and looked at him with a small smile, unfolding herself from the ball. "I'd be delighted to," she said.
“Splendid,” Simon smiled, turning over to Arthur. “Would you care to join us, Sire?”
“I’m not much of a chef,” Arthur dismissed. “I’ve got other things to attend to.”
"I'm no chef either," Maria shrugged, standing up and brushing the dirt from herself. "I just know how to make tarts and sandwiches."
“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll pass,” Arthur said.
“Not a problem," Simon shrugged, turning to face Maria. "I've got all the help I need here."
Arthur frowned slightly at his words and glanced over to Maria. She smiled warmly at Simon, the guilt and grief gone, it seemed. He made her happy. It didn't sit well with Arthur, but... didn't they establish they didn't want it to go further?
“I suppose you do,” Arthur sighed, looking back at Simon. “You look after her.”
Maria looked at him with a blink, a small glimmer of surprise there. Simon smiled and nodded to him, placing a hand on Maria's back gently. "I'll make sure she's okay," he said.
Arthur nodded at him. “I’ll see you both around,” he said, walking down to the main room. He listened as their footsteps went down the other way further, their conversation getting further away.
Even if it did go further, it wouldn't work. The law required noble blood to marry noble blood. And if Arthur was going to be the King, he couldn't have Maria at his side. She was a peasant, raised by a nanny from a brothel. The Kingdom would laugh and spat in her face. He couldn't subject her to that.
He sighed in defeat. He'd lost both his Kingdom, a love interest, and now possibly his best friend. Is this what being a King is? When everything is complicated enough to drive a man to want to throw in the towel and lose everything?
Arthur shook his head. He needed a drink.
