Chapter Text
Arthur struggled to his feet. His armor was heavy and the sun beat down. Sweat trickled down his skin and he struggled to remove the baking pieces of metal. His whole body ached, and his head spun.
Arthur remembered the ambush. Bandits had used magic to stay hidden. They'd been outnumbered.
Arthur had been separated from his knights. He remembered pain from a wound in his side, and the thick swirling mist that distorted the world.
Arthur had sunk to his knees, breathing shallow. He’d felt clammy and everything grayed at the edges before he'd passed out.
Now the pain was gone, and he could breath without feeling like he was drowning.
Looking around, Arthur couldn’t see any trace of anyone nearby. He sat back on his heels and listened. All he got was the sound of forest, and the gentle bubbling of a nearby stream.
“Sir Leon!” Arthur called out. “Merlin!”
The only answer he received was bird song.
After several minutes, Arthur removed the last bit of armor. The chainmail followed, and the gambeson dropped from his shoulders. Finally, he could feel the breeze on his overheated skin, and he sighed.
Laying in the grass, he let the air dance over his body, taking the heat with it.
Where was Merlin?
The idiot was always at his side.
Sitting up, Arthur inspected his side. A slash cut through his shirt, and blood caked the fabric. It spread around the opening and past the tops of his trousers.
The skin beneath was stained with dry blood, but the wound was gone. Icy trendles of fear crept up his spine. His heart beat faster, and his hands shook.
Something–possibly magic–had healed him. There was no other explanation. He knew it was possible, but the area held no other tracks, and if the Druids had done it, they wouldn't have abandoned him to the forest.
He slowly dragged himself to his feet, and looked towards the sky. The mountains behind him looked familiar so he found south, and began walking. Arthur couldn't afford to bring his armor with him. He needed to move quickly and it would weigh him down. He needed to get back to Camelot, find out what happened to the rest of his men, and come up with a story for his father.
He kept a firm grip on his sword and focused on taking one step at a time, making sure to stay within earshot of the stream.
At this pace it would probably take him a few days to find civilization. The sun was heading towards the horizon and he would need to set up camp soon. Food would become an issue, and so would water.
“I’ll find a spot to camp near the stream,” Arthur said, “and follow it to the nearest village tomorrow.”
Keeping a running list helped push his panic over waking up alone to the back of his mind. Arthur drew in a deep breath and sore muscles pulled but that was it.
“I'll get home and Gauis will have answers,” Arthur said.
As the sun lowered behind the mountains, Arthur found a suitable spot to set up camp. He gathered firewood and cleared a spot to build a fire. It took him a few tries since he didn’t have his flint, but he managed to get it going. He wanted to rest, but he was hungry. Arthur only had a limited amount of daylight left before it got too dark to hunt.
Arthur pulled out the dagger he kept in his boot, and found a sturdy stick. He broke it off and sharpened the end to a point. It wasn’t the best spear, but it would do for now. He could hear the running of water to his left, so he followed it to the stream.
He sat the spear on the river banks, removed his gloves, and cupped the water in his hands. It was clear, cool, and felt wonderful on his heated skin. It soothed his parched throat, and eased the ache in his head
Arthur then scrubbed his face and hands before gently cleaning off the blood on his torso.
Afterwards, he managed to spear two fish. Once he had the fish gutted and cooking over his fire, he went back to the stream. He cleaned out one of the gloves before filling it with water. A strip of cloth from his shirt tied the top closed and he used another to create a handle.
Arthur held it up and grimaced. It wasn’t ideal, but he needed water, and had no other way of carrying any with him.
Darkness spread across the land as he settled back by his fire. Owls hooted and other nocturnal beasts started their nightly hunt. The temperature dipped and he scooted closer to the fire. He kept his sword close and his dagger rested on a rock next to him.
His dinner was plain but it filled his stomach. Exhaustion bore down on him, and Arthur tidied up before trying to find a comfortable place to sleep.
A twig snapped in the distance. A howl filled the air. Wolves.
Arthur sighed. He wouldn’t get much sleep tonight, he’d have to keep the fire going in order to keep predators from getting near.
The moon was high before he was finally able to settle into sleep. He spent a fitful night tossing and turning on the hard ground. This wasn’t the worst night out he’d ever had but the uncertainty of what had happened kept his mind running on a loop.
The fight kept replaying. The cries of the bandits as they swarmed the small patrol echoed in his thoughts. The phantom pain of his injury caused his muscles to tighten.
Arthur was unable to truly settle into a deep sleep and was awake to see the sun rise.
Before he set off, Arthur finished off the rest of the fish, and refilled his makeshift waterskin. With the morning mist still covering the land, Arthur headed south towards Camelot. He now had a general idea of where it was located, and used the position of the sun, and the position of the moss on trees to help him stay on track.
He sipped at his water, and pushed his trek well passed mid-day. Sweat was running down his brow and soaking his body by the time he was forced to stop. His legs trembled and his chest burned with each heavy breath. He found a shaded place to sit, and leaned against a tree. He closed his eyes and let the soft sounds of nature sooth his rattled nerves.
A quick drink, and he knew he’d need to find another stream soon. A glove wasn’t an ideal waterskin, and some had leaked out over his long trek. He spent the next three days following a path southward, stopping only when his body demanded it of him. Arthur ate what he either caught or scrounged, and slept fitfully each night, convinced something would come upon him while he was vulnerable.
He was trying to figure out when to stop on the fourth day when a buzzing sensation ran up his spine and dropped him to his knees. He clenched his jaw tightly, squeezed his head, eyes closing against the pain.
Arthur took deep breaths through his nose, and worked on forcing the pain to the back of his mind. The thundering of hooves had Arthur scrambling to his feet, his legs wobbling beneath him. He stumbled as he turned and headed back to the cover of the forest, his breath heaving in his chest.
The sounds grew louder and he pushed harder, clenching his jaw so hard his face hurt. His hand stayed clapped around the hilt of his sword, and when he heard the horse behind him, he turned, sword drawn, and back as straight as he could make it.
A man with angular features watched him from a solidly built brown horse. He had a sword attached to his saddle and his hands held the reins loosely.
His clothes were well made and clean. He wore a loose green tunic and dark pants. His leather boots were sturdy and mirrored ones Arthur, himself, wore.
He kept sharp eyes on Arthur, not saying a word as the sensation that had rattled Arthur’s bones settled to a faint buzz.
“I don’t want any trouble,” Arthur said, keeping his voice calm. This man wasn't an ordinary peasant.
A smile tugged at the rider’s lips and he nodded. “I don’t imagine you do.”
His voice was smooth, each word said precisely, but his accent was strange, and hailed from a land Arthur didn’t recognise.
“Then you won’t mind if I pass by,” Arthur said. He relaxed his stance, but didn’t lower his sword.
“I wouldn’t, but I think you would like some answers.” The man tilted his head and smirked. “Have you experienced anything unusual lately? Maybe you survived something you shouldn’t have?”
Arthur swallowed and his hands shook. He steadied his arms, and lifted his chin. “No.”
The man threw his head back and laughed. “That sensation I felt when I found you says otherwise.”
“You’ve got it wrong,” Arthur said. “I simply got separated from my patrol due to a recent storm and I’m making my way back to the city.”
The man nodded and nudged his horse closer. Arthur backed up and raised his sword. The man stopped and raised his hands, attempting to appear harmless. He wasn’t.
Arthur knew from the way he sat on his horse, the way he scanned the environment, and the way he watched Arthur that he was dangerous.
“That was one hell of a storm,” the man said. “Were you there? I heard it nearly flooded a village on the border between Camelot and the Kingdom of Essetir.”
“I was on patrol and we got caught in it,” Arthur said. “Now excuse me, I need to get back to the city.”
“It’s weird,” the man said, still blocking his path. “Because there have been no large storms recently. Though, I did hear that Prince Arthur was missing.”
Arthur swallowed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Camelot has sent out search parties, and there's a rather large reward waiting for anyone who delivers him safely home.” He stared directly at Arthur when he said the last part.
“I told you I got separated from my patrol.”
The man nodded and swung down off his horse. He made sure to leave the sword in the scabbard as he led the large animal towards Arthur.
“This is where I know you’re lying,” he said. “You felt that buzzing sensation, and I know what it means.”
Arthur didn’t wait, he just turned and ran, pushing himself towards the forest. A sharp, burning sensation spread from his back as something slammed into him. He stumbled and fell to the ground. The world went dark.
Arthur woke up sometime later. His mouth was dry, and the sun had set. A fire lit the area, and he could smell stew cooking.
Arthur sat up, stretching stiff muscles while the strange man watched him across the fire. He twirled a dagger in one hand, showing an easy mastery of the weapon.
He threw a waterskin at Arthur. He caught it easily, but didn’t drink.
“Who are you and what do you want with me?” Arthur asked. The grass was still warm beneath him, and the air had yet to cool.
“Nothing. I’m just the one with all the answers,” the man said.
Arthur drew in a deep breath and dropped the waterskin. “Then you can let me leave.”
The man chuckled. “You’re not an ordinary knight,” he said. He pointed to Arthur’s sword and clothing. “These are too finely made, and that sword isn’t something any regular knight would have. In fact, I don’t think anybody outside of royalty would have a sword like that.”
Arthur’s gaze darted towards the sword. His father had gifted it to him when he'd become crown prince. It was his favorite, well balanced and sharp.
The man followed his gaze and nudged the sword towards him with his foot. Arthur reached forward and settled it under his palm. He felt calmer.
Arthur sighed. He was tired, thirsty, and there were too many questions swirling around his head to carry on. If the man wanted to ransom him, his father would do nothing. The man's best bet was to keep Arthur alive, and claim the reward money.
“You said you had answers,” Arthur said. “So, what are they?”
“Welcome to the Game, Your Highness,” he said with a sad smile.
Arthur couldn’t stop his twitch and he cursed. “What does that even mean?”
“The Game is a battle between our kind that ends when only one of us is left.”
“You did not attack me.”
The man shook his head and poked at the fire. Sparks swirled up into the sky, and his gaze followed them.
“I don't want your head,” he said, “but there are others who would take it.”
“I want no part of this Game,” Arthur said.
“You died,” the man said.
Arthur shook his head. “I almost died, but something healed me.”
The man barked out a harsh laugh. “No, that sensation you felt means you died and came back.”
“I’m not undead,” Arthur snapped, a chill causing him to shiver. Flashes of the Knights of Medhir rose up in his mind, and he couldn't help the bile that stung his throat.
“No, you’re an Immortal.”
Arthur surged to his feet and began pacing, sword clenched in one hand. He didn’t speak for several minutes. His heart raced and memories crowded in his head.
He remembered letting go. He remembered feeling regret at not being able to see those he loved again. A part of him had known the wound was fatal.
It had to have been healed by magic…right?
This wasn’t like the time with the Questing Beast. That had been surrounded in a fog of distant pain that was held back by Gaius’ potions. He could still feel how hot and uncomfortable he’d been. How parched his throat had grown, and how numb his limbs were. The fire in his shoulder never faded.
“People don’t just come back,” Arthur said once he’d finally stopped pace.
The man shrugged and leaned back against the tree he was sitting under. The fire lit their small clearing and left shadows dancing on the sharp planes of his face.
“You did,” he said. “So did I, once upon a time. And as long as your head stays on your shoulders, you will come back.”
Arthur rubbed his face and sat back down. He still kept his sword close. It gave him comfort to have it nearby.
“Why have we never heard of such a thing?” he asked.
“We keep our existence quiet,” the man said. “It’s for our own safety, especially when the Great Purge got started.”
“What makes someone an Immortal?” Arthur asked, desperate for any logical explanation. “Is it magic, or something they’re born with? Can just anyone become immortal?”
The man sighed and glanced towards the stars. “In all my years, we’ve never found an answer.” He gave Arthur a sad smile. “All we do know is that we’re all foundlings, and that our immortality is triggered by a violent first death. After that, we don’t age or stay dead unless our head is removed from our shoulders.”
Arthur frowned and shook his head. “You’ve got it wrong then,” he said. “I wasn’t a foundling.”
“We are all foundlings…”
“No,” he said, swallowing. “I wasn’t.”
The man sighed and sat forward. “I know it’s hard to believe, but none of us know where we come from.”
Arthur swallowed again, and glanced at the fire. A long ago memory surfaced, one Merlin swore had been false. There had been times he’d wondered if maybe what he’d seen had been true. It made sense, in a way. A life for a life. His mother was unable to conceive and so his father had turned to something he did not truly understand. What Arthur didn’t know was whether his father had ever told his mother about his bargain.
“I know,” Arthur said softly. “My birth caused the Great Purge after all.” He gave a bitter smirk and leaned back.
“It’s not…”
“It is and don’t ask how I know,” Arthur said, voice sharp. “But it does answer the question of why I’m like this.”
“Well, excuse me if I don’t believe you.” The man shot back. “You haven’t given me any evidence to contradict what I know to be true.”
“And you sir, haven’t given me your name, much less told me how you came to find me,” Arthur said. “You knew who I was from the beginning.”
“I’m Methos,” he said. “I was traveling in the area, and heard the news of your disappearance. I found you by chance. Your clothing and your sword gave you away.”
He leaned forward then and stirred the pot. It smelt heavenly and Arthur’s stomach growled. Methos laughed and got up. He dug out some bowls and spoons from his travel bags and divided up the stew. He handed one bowl to Arthur and kept the other for himself.
Arthur took a tentative bite, letting the warm liquid slide down his aching throat. Methos simply dug in, not bothering to wait for Arthur.
“It’s not poisoned,” Methos said. “That would be a waste of food and poison since it can't really kill us.”
“Really?” Arthur asked.
Methos shrugged. “Well, you’ll experience the horrific effects but wake up afterwards.”
“Thank you for the food,” Arthur said as he began to eat. “I’ll remember your kindness once I’m back home.”
Methos paused his eating. “You can’t go back.”
“Why not?” Arthur asked, frowning, and pausing in his own eating. “My kingdom needs me.”
Methos gestured towards Arthur's ruined shirt. “How would you explain your miraculous recovery?”
“I’d…” Arthur trailed off. His thoughts circled and each solution offered brought terrible consequences. If he claimed the Druids had helped, it would bring his father's attention their way.
If he claimed a random healer, that would bring even more questions.
“I’ll think of something.”
Methos raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to say it was magic?”
His words carried a stringing bite that caused Arthur to flinch again. If what Methos said was truthful, did that mean Arthur was corrupted? Where did Immortals fall in the realm of magic? Were they even still human?
Arthur glared and sat his bowl aside. He wasn't hungry anymore. “It would be a reasonable answer.”
Methos scoffed. “Right, and next you'll say fairies led you home.”
Derision dripped from his words and Methos rolled his eyes. He finished his food and gathered their dishes.
“You speak as if you've never come across such things.” Arthur’s look turned flat and his voice became harsh.
“I believe there are people who claim to have great powers,” Methos said, “and there are some people who can do strange things, but magic? Calling down lightning? Fireballs? No.”
He quickly cleaned up their dinner and settled back in his spot.
“I have seen magic with my own eyes,” Arthur said. His stomach twisted and he briefly wondered if Methos had lied about the poison.
“I’ll take your word for it.” Methos rolled his eyes and leaned back against the tree.
Arthur huffed and took a drink of the waterskin Methos had given him. His eyes felt heavy and a headache pulsed in time with his heart. The slight buzz was still there, a constant reminder that Methos was only a few feet away.
“How do you deal with it?” Arthur asked, rubbing his forehead.
“With what?” Methos asked.
“This sensation,” Arthur said with a wave of his hand. “It’s like ants crawling across my brain.”
“You learn to ignore it,” Methos said. “The longer you’re around, the easier it is to let it fade.”
“What’s the point of this thing?” Arthur asked.
“That's your Quickening. It's what makes us Immortal.” Methos closed his eyes. “Now get some sleep. I’ve got a lot to teach you tomorrow.”