Injuries Heal Faster Than Pride

[Lucy Halacre]

Lucy wandered around the trees in the Forest of Ascetir. Her feet took her carefully along the downtrodden path, navigating carefully around blemishes in the rocky ground without their owner looking down. She knew the paths in this forest like the back of her hand, considering she came here every week to gather her herbs. Twice a week, sometimes, if business was good and illness was flourishing in the Lower Town. It was a cruel thing to wish for, sickness, but Lucy had learned long ago to just accept the peculiarities of her job.

Today she was out for Garlic, which kept most infections down. The new Knights, the commoners His Highness Prince Arthur had enlisted, may not be permitted the Court Physician's aid and if that was the case, she would be on hand. She was also collecting Capsella bursa-pastoris (or Shepherd's Purses). Those herbs were better internal healers, but still did a very commendable job on outside scrapes and scratches. If only disease was rife and she didn't have to resort to these injury healings!

She had just stooped to the ground to pick up a stray clove of garlic for her basket when an echoing shout hit the clearing. Lucy froze, and the grip on her basket tightened. She had once had the unpleasant job of cleaning up a group of druid's injuries after they had returned to the camp having encountered a group of bandits. With natural magic on one side and ciolence and cruelty on the other, it was a close call, but the Druids were succesful. Most had returned in mutilated forms, and Lucy had made herself useful carrying out menial tasks for the healers. The cry of severe pain had been forever embedded in her memory and it had been revisited many times since.

That loud sound was a cry of pain. She had never been more certain. Her left hand, the one not holding her basket, fumbled for the hilt of her small dagger (only madmen went around with no weaponry) and she knew she might need it. Sighing, she slung her basket over her shoulder, knotted her skirts so they wouldn't get in the way and set off at a fast pace towards the direction of the cry.

She would have gotten lost, but another yell steered her in the right direction and after two hundred or so paces she spotted a red trail on the ground. Grimacing, she swiped a finger over the liquid and dabbed a tiny amount in her mouth.

"Human," She said to nobody in particular, wiping her staining finger on her already torn dress. That would need a wash when she got back home. Assuming, she did get back home and whatever had got this person didn't eat her too. Focusing again, she followed the steadily increasing trail of blood around a few trees and bushes. Eventually it stopped, disappearing right in front of a holly bush.

Lucy sighed. She wasn't going to come this far and not find out what was going on, if she could help. She braced herself, and then shoved her way into the bush, biting her lip to stop herself shrieking when the sharp holly leaves tore at her skin. The world was a blur of green for one confusing moment. Then, with a grateful sigh, she fell forward onto the bare ground concealed by the holly bush.

"Thank god that's over," She said, relieved. Then she looked up.

Before her lay the sprawled and moaning figure of His Highness, Prince Arthur of Camelot.

Tagged: Arthur
Word Count: 593
Setting: Just after Series 3
Notes: Sorry this took so long to write, muse would not let go!

[Arthur Pendragon]

Camelot was still not fully recovered from recent events. Though Morgana's reign of tyranny had only lasted a little more than a week, the impact of it was great and people still felt the devastation from what she had done. Innocent people had been needlessly killed; the immortal army had raised so much fear in the people that they were still fully accepting that it was truly over . . . and above all else, the question of who would be king was still slightly pending. Arthur felt he needed to take the role, for his father was still recovering from the physical, but more so emotional, trauma he suffered at Morgana's -- his daughter's -- hand. That fact alone, and Morgana's great betrayal, was what precisely drove the Prince out of the city and into the forest. He was not clad in armor, but rather casual attire with only his sword at his side for protection. But he was not thinking about the dangers that he may befall. All he could think about was how Morgana could have done something like this; how his father had not told him that she was his sister. These consuming thoughts were why Arthur needed some time alone, so that he could dwell in them, still unable to let any of it go.

He had not even been paying attention to the road or how far he was straying from the city; he just kept riding deeper and deeper into the Forest of Ascetir, more focused on his thoughts than paying attention to his surroundings. Though, he was forced to snap back into his awareness when he came across a heavily wooded area. He dismounted from his horse and began to walk through it, rather than ride his stead through the uneven and awkward ground. Still, Arthur was dangerously oblivious to what was around him. It was why he suddenly became surrounded by a group of men, forcing him to snap back into his senses. Arthur had encountered enough of them in his life to recognize them immediately: bandits. There were many, around eight, and Arthur was but one man, uncertain of his chance of success. Still, he swiftly pulled out his sword from its sheath, first warning the men to back away. But since when did bandits listen? Never. They acted based on their greed and mere desire to cause trouble. Which was why the Prince knew that any efforts to negotiate would fall upon deaf ears.

No time was wasted in this particular ambush for the sound of clanging metal soon filled the air. Arthur defended each block as the men swung at him. Their style of combat was less than strategic. It was evident that they were not trained men, that they had no style of fight, and had Arthur had more time, he would have been able to get a feel for their pattern of sword play. But even within the first few moments, the bandits must have realized that he was more formidable than they initially anticipated. It must have been only a matter of minutes, for none of them died at Arthur's blade. Instead, there was a whipping of an arrow cutting through the air. That arrow had conveniently landed right in Arthur's chest. He froze, feeling the excruciating pain of it as his sword fell from his hand, and he crumpled to the ground. He fought to keep his eyes open, but everything blurred around him. He heard the footsteps of more men approaching, and the very distant voices which were far closer than they seemed to be in his ears.

There had bee more men surrounding him, ones with crossbows evidently. The background voices spoke of taking everything of his. His horse. His sword. He even felt one of them patting down his pockets, taking out a small pouch with a few coins. The thought of what would have happened had Arthur been wearing his princely attire and armor, briefly entered his mind. Would they taken further measures to ensure his death? Would they have kidnapped him for ransom? Would they have not dared to cross him had they known of his true authority? Right now, he just looked like an ordinary commoner, and from what he could hear none of the bandits knew of his true identity. Once they took all that they could, he heard them flee. Arthur was now left lying on the ground, weaponless, vulnerable, with an arrow protruding from his chest. He felt him weaken and closed his eyes, succumbing to the darkness that had threatened to consume him completely, rendering him unconscious.

[[ HAHA Wow. That came out a bit too dramatic I think, hahah! ]]

[Lucy Halacre]

Lucy's healing side took over immediately. She jumped to her feet, sweeping holly leaves off her dress to the best of her ability. She ran forward, still clutching her basket to her shoulder, and dropped down by the ailing man. Thank the lord she was at least competent enough at healing injuries, since she was fairly certain it was not a sudden bout of disease that had struck his highness down in the middle of a hunt...

Except, it couldn't have been a hunt. There were no men, unless some sort of creature had eaten them already. There were no horses, no supplies of any kind. Just the Prince, not even his servant was with him. His leather weapons belt flapped around in the wind, setting off an alarm bell without her knowing why. After a minute it came to her, there was no weight to anchor it. No sword, or anything. This looked stranger by the minute. Still, she was a healer, and here was an ailing person, Prince or no Prince.

She turned him over, to see what had struck him down protruding from his chest. A single arrow, stained with blood. Lucy reached for the limp wrist of the Prince, checking for a pulse with urgency. To her relief, one beat steadily. He must have been extremely lucky, for it to have missed all his important inside...bits. Lucy grimaced, she had never been hot on anatomy. The arrow that had injured him was plain enough, which meant that the highest suspects on the list were bandits. Lucy glared at the arrow menacingly, fighting the urge to wrench it out. Her own family had been killed by bandits.

Thank god she had been collecting herbs for injuries when she had stumbled across this. She took her canteen of water from her side and hesitated before seizing the Prince’s empty leather sheath and cutting it in half along the seams with her dagger. If only she had a pottery bowl on her...but for now, this makeshift palette would have to do. She took four of the big herbs, Shepherd’s Purses, and a clove of garlic and laid them gently on the scabbard. She dashed some of her water over the herbs before flipping her dagger and pounding the whole thing with the hilt. Some people would have been shocked at her ignoring the probably dying form of the Prince, but she knew her job and how to do it. Taking out the arrow would increase the blood flow, and that was something she did not want to do.

Soon, the mixture was ready, and knowing she couldn’t delay any longer, she grasped the shaft of the arrow and pulled hard and fast. It came sliding out reasonably easily, although it definitely didn’t make for one of Lucy’s best healing moments. She ripped his shirt open while subtly wiping the few drops of blood on her other hand on his breeches. There was a neat puncture wound on his chest were the arrow had been, and she needed to block it, immediately. She splashed the remaining water from her canteen over the wound and tore enough material from his ruined shirt to bind it well. Tying the makeshift bandage in place with her own cord belt, she took the scabbard with the mixture on and gently poured it over the wound, pressing it to make certain it soaked through.

It took only a few minutes for her to realise this wasn’t going to be enough. The Prince’s breathing had slowed and the pulse was getting weaker all the time. She sighed. Lucy had always known that one day it would come to this. She’d known it from the moment she’d re-entered the walls of Camelot. But her choice was right now. She could use her magic, and risk both her getting caught and the Prince not making it out the other side anyway, or she could sit on this cold, hard ground, and watch the Prince die before her eyes.

There was no choice about it. Lucy swallowed and closed her eyes. She knew a few basic healing spells, enough to cure the Prince anyway. She sighed, and felt the magic build up inside. It was now, or never.
” Hámsócn forbærning þes æðeling be sylfum andfangol ealdorlegu andetnes eallwundor ealdormann.”
Lucy’s eyes flashed gold as she opened them and the magic rushed out to start it’s work on healing the Prince. Now all she could do was sit and pray.

Tagged: Arthur
Word Count: 751
Notes: I had fun with that spell! This is the actual meaning: Please heal this Prince because of his destiny thanks very much. Anyway, sorry it took so long!

[/i]

[Arthur Pendragon]

For the most part, Arthur was consumed with darkness. He was not conscious, unable to feel any pain from the arrow being taken out, or the heavily bleeding wound. Unable to acknowledge the presence of another, or the fact that she was tending to him so desperately. He could see nor feel anything. All he knew was that he was slipping deeper and deeper into a permanent unconsciousness; something that he knew would constitute as death. He was not ready to die, but what choice did he have? He would not die in battle, as was the ultimate honor for any knight. He would not die protecting the life of a loved one, or a citizen of the kingdom he was destined to rule. No. The downfall of Arthur Pendragon, sole heir to the throne of Camelot . . . would be due to a group of bandits. It would be because he was so reckless, and irrational for having left on his own, without backup, entirely unprotected by anything but his own blade which had evidently failed him. What a useless, unnecessary death this was and in the moments he felt himself slipping, the one feeling he would be filled with, is regret.

When he thought he was slipping into a deeper unconsciousness, he was in fact slipping out of it . . . back into an awakened state. But not fully. No. He was too weak for that right away. It started with him ever so slightly moved his head, a pained groaned emitting from his throat as his lips slightly parted. It took several more moments for him to hazily open his eyes, this act alone being far more difficult than it appeared. His eye lids seemed heavy, and he was extremely groggy from . . . well, from whatever had just happened which led him to the ground. The first thing he saw was the blurred image of . . . a person. While it did not clear all too much at first, be began to make out the long locks of hair and the cloak. It was indeed a woman. But who? He could not even bring himself to ask yet, as he was still focusing on staying conscious.

"Morgana." It was not a question, nor a statement . . . it was just a word. Seeing the woman's long hair made him -- in his delirious state -- associate this woman to Morgana. He was not even conscious enough to recognize the illogical word, the impossibility of this having been her. But Morgana had been on his mind since the moment he discovered her betrayal, and the fact that she was his sister. So now, it was just coming out in one word. But when he spoke, that was when the pain from the injury began to surge through his body, causing him to cringe. At least this kept him awake, for it was far too painful to allow sleep to overcome him. He did not, could not move right now. He could not even lift his head enough to see what happened, to see the extent of the wound. He would have to ask. Taking a few heavy breathes, he managed to speak. "What happened?" His voice was hoarse and weak. And he truly hated being in such a vulnerable position . . . perhaps even more so because he did not know who this woman was.

[[ Oohhh thanks for giving me the translation! Very cool spell! And no worries about how long it took! I myself took a few days to reply! But your post was definitely worth the wait! It rocked! ]]

[Lucy Halacre]

Lucy's eyes were shut tight, her stomach feeling unusually queasy. She was, after all, playing games with the Prince's life... One thing she'd really like to know; how did she get herself into these situations? It had to be some cruel game on fate's part. Okay, maybe that was taking it a little far. Just a little bit. But more seriously, the Prince was taking his damn time coming around. Her fingers twitched, she longed to quickly check his pulse. However, this seemed pessimistic in the extreme, so she sat on her haunches, a strange anticipatory feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Time seemed to still, it was just her, sitting in this cold forest clearing, faced with a dying Prince. The most unusual of things, and yet all Lucy could do was sit and wait for fate to make its verdict. Had she only cast the spell first and not messed about with the herbs, he might of lived...Stop it! She thought to herself. He isn't dead!

As if somehow hearing her thoughts, the Prince’s head moved, if only a fraction. Ceased by some sort of instinct, she grasped his cold, sweaty palm and clasped it tighter than tight in her own hand. Then, as the recovery always started, a groan emitted from the chapped lips of the patient. Lucy let a relieved smile slip on to her face. For a moment there, she’d been terse. For a moment she thought she’d lost him.

The pale eyelids opened to reveal paler blue eyes beneath and Lucy widened her smile into a grin to encourage him.

”Come on,” She whispered under her breath, ”Come on!”

”Morgana.”

A flush of anger suddenly came over the young healer. The King’s Ward was infamous, both in the Lower Town and the Druid Camps. The woman wanted to destroy everything Lucy so cautiously nurtured in her life; no doubt Lady Morgana would want to kill her. Straight after trying to recruit her. While the Lady was somewhat admired among the reginades, the killing druids, the real Druids disproved. Killing the King may have been excused. Killing innocent people was most definitely not. Lucy was just lucky she hadn’t been in the crowd that day. Thankfully, her work had called her away from the mass execution.

But her mind had diverted itself, she needed to concentrate on the man in front of her.

”No,” She said, firmly answering his question even though it hadn’t been one, ”She’s an abomination...and I am not.”

”What happened?”

”I’m not sure about the intricacies, but the long and short of it is that you were shot.”

Lucy cringed as she delivered this verdict, hoping he would see the paste and assume that was the reason for his reprieve. If he suspected sorcery was involved, he would tell his father...she would end up with no head. Which would not be a pleasant reward for saving the Prince’s life.

Tagged: Arthur
Word Count: 489
Notes: That felt like a really long post, but it really wasn't...

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur heard a soft voice, urge him into consciousness and he used this as encouragement. There was something very reassuring about it. Something that he felt compelled to comply with. It was the words that followed in which there was a noticeable dramatic change in her tone. Not too long ago, had anyone said anything negative about Morgana, Arthur would have immediately been offended, discouraging such negative comments about her. But now. Now, he could not defend her. The people of Camelot despised her for having ruled under such tyranny. Killing innocent people, just to 'set an example'. He would not even begin to justify her actions, for they were the ones of a traitor. Which is why it was far too painful to be able to so easily move past.

And it was also why he said nothing when the woman -- who he was acknowledging was not in fact Morgana -- called her an abomination. there was a strong bitterness in her tone, which led Arthur to believe that the woman was from Camelot. Quite possibly the city. While those from other kingdoms -- mainly their allies -- would not have approved of her actions, they would not have taken it personally for it was Camelot that Morgana attacked. It was citizen of Camelot that she killed. It was primarily Camelot that she betrayed. He was not going to talk about her, so dismissed her comment, taking away only one thing from it: that she was not Morgana.

Arthur closed his eyes again, squeezing them tightly shut before opening them and trying to sit up a bit. It was then that he felt the cool sensation of the paste on his exposed chest. He tried to look at it but it was difficult enough to sit up; it would be all the harder to move his head forward to see exactly what happened. So he listened the to the woman's words, and trusted her. Shot. He had been shot? By whom? Flashes of random men's faces rapidly raced through his mind. They did not look familiar, which concluded that he did not actually know his attackers. Wait. He was shot . . . she was here . . . there was no arrow in him, but rather a strange past. Did she . . . save him? "How did . . . " He survive. That was what he meant to ask, but his voice trailed of a bit, still trying to fight the grogginess of having just woken up. He hoped she understood what he meant. If not, he of course could not blame her. He would just wait to wait a few more moments before attempting to ask again.

[Lucy Halacre]

The Prince was coming round well and easily, which made Lucy think that this was not the first time he had sustained such injuries. Actually, she knew he had. She remembered him being carried through the lower town by his Knight's once, unconcious and in a bad way. She had never enquired further, but had puzzled over how he had survived such an injury.

Prince Arthur started to move, as if he was trying to sit up. She moved with all the sharpness of someone who had had a lot of dealings with uncooperative patients, and pushed his shoulders firmly down on to the ground.

"Don't move unless you want to die," She said almost threateningly. The chances of him dying now were slimmer than slim, but it wouldn't hurt to keep him still. After all, he wouldn't know any different. Then he enquired about his injury. Or at least, Lucy thought he did. The Prince could only manage two words.

"Your injury? I'm a healer and herb seller, from the Lower Town. You were very lucky I had the right kind of herbs on me, it was close enough as it was. Never underestimate herbs," Lucy explained. Hopefully, he would just buy that explanation and leave it. Please.

tagged: Arthur
Word Count: 210
Notes: My word counts just get worse and worse don't they? I promise I'll write a really long one next time!

[Arthur Pendragon]

Just when Arthur was inching towards sitting up more and more and . . . he suddenly felt some strong force push him back down. Oh. It was her. He had to admit that it felt much better to lie back down, though he knew he could not lie here for too long. Would she keep pushing him down whenever he tried to sit up? Right at this second, he was not willing to find out. He just groaned when he was forced back down, lacking the strength to fight it right now. And her determined voice made it sound like she was not exactly willing to let him get his way right now. He would not have taken to her words too kindly, had he not just suffered such a harsh attack . . . and had she not just saved his life.

He was a prince; he did not take too well to commands. But at the same time, as she spoke about being a healer, he was aware of the fact that she knew better than him. It was the same reason he hardly argued with Gaius when he gave him medicine or told him he needed rest. Because Gaius was an expert in the field of medicine, and Arthur had no problem admitting that he was not. Herbs. Remedies. Healing. Medicine. Drafts. He was lacking in the knowledge of all these things. So he would just have to believe her . . . for now. He strained a swallow, trying to gather the energy to talk. "What is your name?" He asked. If she saved his life, then he wanted to know who to pay the proper gratitude to. Not by face, but also by name. For when he was fully recovered, he would have to reward her for her actions.

[[ No worries!! Mine is horribly short too Ahh well! Yours aren't at all difficult to reply to so don't worry about the post count! ]]

[Lucy Halacre]

Lucy saw the fight in the Prince’s eyes, the pure strength and the pride of a monarch…they rebelled against her order to lie down. Some deeper force, an acknowledgement of her better experience, perhaps, complied. Or it could have been that he was too weak to fight her. She preferred the former; or Camelot was plagued with a stupid Prince. Hoping she hadn’t offended him badly enough that he threw her in the stocks after he (hopefully) thanked her, she relaxed some of the pressure on his shoulders.

He asked her what her name was, and she hesitated. It wasn’t like telling him her name was going to do her any harm, but if he did want to recognise her (which she doubted), having her name would make it easier. Bring her into the limelight. And she tried to tell herself that she didn’t want to be recognised because there was an increased risk of her being caught, but really it was simply because she was embarresed, a humble soul. Surely the Prince didn’t want to acknowledge a woman had saved his life…though it could do wonderful things to her sales.

All these thoughts passed through her head in an instant, but there was only one answers she could realistically give.

”Lucy Halacre, your Highness,” She told him. After all, to refuse to answer a question from royalty was like refusing an order. She could really end up in the stocks then. See this was why she stayed out of the way of monarchs…they brought far too many problems and threats.

Suddenly, a pressing problem occurred to her. She had used a simple healing spell, but that would mean that when the Prince took his bandage off to get the injury checked out, they would find no wound. She had to come up with something quickly.

”You are lucky I stumbled across you, if I may be so bold, sire,” Lucy began, ”Because I happened to find a herb this morning that is extremely rare and called the ‘Princuss abooba’. It is a strange plant, though not magical…of course not magical. But its strange properties triggers a reaction in the skin and it seals over at lightening speed. A reaction rather like a young boy when he eats too many sugar cane plants, sire.”

It was the most stupid thing she had ever spun anybody, she had made up the name ‘Princuss abooba’ on the spot and she was pretty sure a reaction like that was impossible. Nevertheless, she hoped for her own sake that the Prince bought it or her neck would be on the line. Forget the line, it’d be on the chopping block.

Tagged: Arthur
Word count: 446
Notes: Well it’s almost the long post I promised you! ;D

[Arthur Pendragon]

Lucy Halacre. He would have to remember that name. Hopefully his memory would retain the name, despite the fact that he still didn't feel fully conscious. The way she was staying near him though, seemed to demonstrate that she would not just run off before ensuring he was alright. She had after all stayed long enough to push him back down. Perhaps if she accompanied him back to the city -- or helped him get back to the city, since his pride would not allow him to fully ask her for help -- then that would give him time to present her as the woman who saved his life. He was not above recognizing such people. While it was impossible to put a monetary value on anyone's life, he would at least have to find some sort of way to pay her for her efforts. It was her occupation however, and just because he was of the royal family, did not mean that he could be the exception to this generally accepted tradition of paying someone for their work and efforts.

Suddenly, a word distracted him from all thoughts. Princuss abooba? That was perhaps the most obscure word Arthur had ever heard in his entire life! Was there really a herb called that?! Well, why would she lie? And as Arthur's knowledge of herbs and remedies was extremely limited, he could not argue with someone who had expertise in the field of medicinal cures. He silently mouthed the word, as if trying to allow it to register, in all its absurdity. "It seems that I have been lucky in many ways today then," he commented in still a groggy voice though he was hearing the slightest difference as it slowly began to increase in strength. Lucky. First, over having been found in time. Second, to having been found by her. And third, that she had some bizarre sounded rare herb to cure him. This time, luck had been on his side indeed.

"So you are saying with the use of this herb, there is no trace of injury?" He had to ask, just to be sure. One less scar, the better! "Not even a scar?" He further questioned. He tried to sit up a bit more, this time only slightly shifting his position up rather than taking a drastic move. His expression showed the strain but it was temporary as he was sitting a bit more up and his requirement to move had ended, for now. "Where did you find such a herb?" It sounded like it was very strong, and something that would greatly come in handy! Perhaps Gaius would know too, as his knowledge and experience in such things was very vast and great.

[[ Hahah mine's not as long, but I just have to comment on how I laughed at the words: Princuss Abooba!!! AHHAH!! BEST made up herb EVER!! ]]

[Lucy Halacre]

Lucy deeply hoped that the Prince’s semi-conscious state was enough to keep his memory from functioning properly, at least until she got him back to Camelot. And speaking of moving him, she had to check for herself that the arrow wound had fully healed and all he was feeling were the after-effects of the spell.

“Sire?” She asked hesitantly, withdrawing into herself more now that he was conscious and the initial frenzy of emergency healing had passed, “I am going to have to check your injury to make sure the…err…’Princuss abooba’ did it’s work properly. Would you mind just trying to relax while I take off your bandage?”

Her hands crept across his chest to the injury while she waited for an answer. For the first time, she noticed he had quite an attractive chest, obviously chiselled, but then also scarred from his duty as the Knight Commander.

But he kept fidgeting! As he asked her about the scarring he wouldn’t be receiving, he shifted upwards. Lucy gritted her teeth and forced herself not to say anything. He was the Prince and she didn’t want to nag him too much, and besides, the new angle would help her with her final examination. But, by the looks of it, he was almost back to normal already. He had no idea how lucky he was to have an immune system that could bounce him back from an injury like that. If it had been his father that had been hit, it would have taken him weeks, maybe months to recover, if indeed he recovered at all! Lucy would probably have been very tempted to leave him and let nature take its course if it was Uther she had stumbled upon and not Arthur.

“No,” She answered his question absently, examining a particularly nasty scar on his torso. It looked like a bite mark, an old one, but something quite unlike anything she’d ever seen before. She was drawn out of her observations as the Prince asked a question that quickly drew her to panic.

"Where did you find such a herb?"

She couldn’t tell him a specific place, because then when his physician, that traitor Gaius, went out looking for it, he would find nothing and most likely raise the alarm. She couldn’t simply make up a place, either, for it would be all too easy for them to order her to take them to it, and she would most likely by executed on the spot when they inevitably found out she had lied. It wouldn’t be too hard for them to put two and two together and realize she had cured him magically. No, it seemed her only option was to plead to the Prince in some way...

“My mother found it, years ago, in a glade and she thought it would look pretty on the table. She was a seamstress, you see, and didn’t know much about herbs. But she often went there over the years, right up until she was…killed. By bandits,” Lucy swallowed loudly, after all these years, even considering her age at the time, she didn’t like to dwell on her mother’s untimely death, “I went there every year on her birthday until…well. But it was only recently I started going back there,” Lucy hesitated. Up until this point it had all been true, such a glade did exist and her mother had truly loved to just lay there amongst the flowers.

Now, she must begin to ingrain the lie. She almost halted her tale, feeling truly awful for sullying one of the only things she could truly remember about her mother. Then she remembered this lie was to save her own life, and her mother would have wanted that more than anything, “It was then that I realized the true value of this herb and began to keep a small stock of it in cases of dire need. But you see, the growth of it is very small, so I only gather a little at a time, for dire emergencies only. If anyone knew of it besides me, I fear that this miraculous herb would be overused and be eliminated forever. You must promise to not tell of this glade, sire, and protect me from questioning.”

Lucy knew she was asking a lot of him, but surely he would understand, even if it was a concocted story. Besides, all she wanted was to live in peace. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

Tagged: Arthur
Word Count: 748
Notes: Wow. I wasn't expecting so much to come gushing out! Sorry about that!

[Arthur Pendragon]

She continued to aid him diligently as she told him -- or asked him perhaps -- that she was going to need to remove the bandage to check his wound. He gave a short nod of his head, granting her permission to do so, and bracing himself for . . . what pain? There was no pain. It just seemed to be all part of the miraculous work for this princuss abooba herb. Apart from the disorientation, he felt completely fine. This had not been his first injury so he knew the withstanding pain that often followed any wound. But this one, there was no strain, not trace of anything . . . it was as if he had not been on the brink of death at all. She was truly a gifted healer, and used the rare herbs well. He closed his eyes, taking a bit of a deep breath, as he once again, attempted to move, sitting up even more so that she would have easy enough access to the bandage so that she could remove it.

Noticing the silence, and subtle movement as her lingering touch touch was making its way to his bandage, he opened his eyes once again and looked at her softly. She had been looking at something, and then it seemed his words had pulled her out of whatever gaze her eyes had been locked on. But her words seemed calm enough, yet remorseful for she spoke of the loss of her mother and the gruesome way she had died. She held Arthur's sympathies and condolences. He knew the loss of a mother and it was indeed a painful loss. As least she held the memories with her, something that Arthur often wished he had, and knew others must be grateful that they possessed. What really captured his attention from her words, was that she had used a rare herb that her mother had found . . . on him. While she did say she held a small stock of it, he still felt that rather kind -- to say the least -- and was now, more than ever, convinced that he needed to repay her.

"I'm sorry about your mother," he said with a strong sincerity in his voice. He was not the best as conveying his own emotions, but he could at least relate to the loss of a parent which was perhaps why he could say it with such genuine sympathy. Arthur paused for a moment to gather his breath and strength so that he could continue to speak "Whether she knew it or not, she left a great legacy." He knew that no amount of words he could say would ever ease the loss of a mother, but he was at least trying to honor her by honoring her memory. As she had explained, it was her mother who had come across this herb which had saved his life -- and presumably many others -- . That is what he meant by great legacy, and then of course in addition to that legacy, she had left a daughter who had the ability to help others . . . just as she had saved his life. Her abrupt end to the sentence raised more curiosity in him.

"Until, when?" He asked wondering if the question was too naive of him. Part of it was because he wanted to know, but the other was that he was finding comfort in hearing her soft voice speak to him, for it kept him alert and . . . well, as he previously recognized , there was just something very serene about hearing a woman's voice. And that was when she told him to keep the herb a secret. Arthur thought about it for a moment. On the one hand, it would be such a beneficial herb, especially if Gaius did not already know about it. It could save lives, not only his, but people's lives who were so close to death and who she was not conveniently passing by. On the other hand, he could understand what she meant in that the usage of this herb could be abused and before they knew it, it could become extinct. However it was not so much that that he was considering keeping this between them . . . but more so the fact that she had saved him, and now asked this of him.

He had an obligation to her for her actions had literally brought him back to life. "You have my word that no one will hear of it from me," he told her, as this thought of being indebted to her had resurfaced in his mind. "But I must ask, are you willing to consort with the towns physician, Gaius, so that he could perhaps use this herb as well, for its benefits are immense." He would not tell anyone, but he wanted to encourage her to speak to someone that Arthur trusted completely about this princuss abooba herb. Gaius would not abuse its use . . . he could be well trusted, but he would not hear about it from Arthur. Which also meant, that he needed to be sure he was in complete proper physical health before he returned so that no questions would be asked.

[[ Hahahh! No worries! Have I mentioned how much I love Lucy?!?! No pun intended ! Mine came out a bit too long as well!! hahah! so you have my apologies too! ]]

[Lucy Halacre]

Lucy kept her eyes down as she spoke lies to the Prince, fearing that he would see the truth concealed in them. Instead, she carefully unwrapped the makeshift bandage on his chest, prising it from his chest first. What little blood there had been before she had cast her spell had congealed on the bandage and had stuck a little to his skin. She threw it to the side when it was finally off, the bandage lying on the torn remains of his shirt.

Whatever last tension Lucy had been holding in her body left it. An ordinary person would never been able to tell the Prince had been injured at all, but her eyes found a red spot on his chest where the arrow had gone in and the blood had come to the surface. With any luck, that mark should have gone within the hour and nobody would ever be able to tell the Prince had had an unfortunate accident on his solitary hunting trip. Which, actually, begged the question; why was he so far from Camelot, and on his own?

"I'm sorry about your mother. Whether she knew it or not, she left a great legacy."

It was a compliment, perhaps. A compliment shrouded in pity, and perhaps, empathy? Lucy knew the Prince’s mother had died when he was born, so he must know something about being motherless and alone. But he at least, had never known his mother. Never known how painful it was to hear laughter every day, and have it suddenly cut off. Never known how the smallest things triggered massive, titanic waves of grief. The sight of her flowers wilting on the table. The sight of one of her beautiful dresses half-finished, still with the needle threaded because her mother was in too much of a holiday rush to remember to put it away. Arthur had never known all of that.

Afraid she’d sound too bitter if she replied to him, Lucy merely smiled and began to collect the things around his body that had been discarded in a hurry. Her dagger was sheathed, two halves of his sheath were put with his shirt with an embarrassed grin. Trying to keep a casual demeanour, she answered his question with the evasive excuse she’d told everyone after she had returned from the druid camp.

“I left Camelot for a while,” She told him, holding up his shirt to see if it was any of it was usable, “My brother’s body wasn’t found after the bandit attack that killed my parents, so I went looking for him. It was quite the experience.”

Lucy was still holding out for his answer about the herb. If he decided to go ahead and tell Gaius about it, the Prince would have effectively signed her death warrant. The girl knew that Gaius wouldn’t hesitate in reporting her to the tyrant King. After all, he’d betrayed so many of their kind already, why would one tiny nineteen-year-old make any difference.

"You have my word that no one will hear of it from me."

Lucy let out an inaudible sigh of relief. Fate smiled on her today. She would live, for now, hopefully with no awkward questions asked. But then again, if the Prince intended to announce her existence to the city of Camelot by saying that she had saved him, which was a definite risk…

Oh dear.

"But I must ask, are you willing to consort with the towns physician, Gaius, so that he could perhaps use this herb as well, for its benefits are immense."

Damn. He was persistant, but at least, she supposed, he was working for the good of his people. She was only going to sound selfish if she refused, which would not put her in a good light and might even result in her being forced to tell Gaius all about the ‘Princuss abooba’.

“I’ll think about it,” She answered evasively, “But in the meantime, sire, I believe your shirt is out of action.”[/blockquote]

Tagged: Arthur
Word Count: 669
Notes: I would just like to announce that I love this thread

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur noticed her silence on the topic of her mother, and understood this all too well. Speaking of a deceased parent was never an easy thing to do. Had the situation been reversed, and someone was offering Arthur their condolence of the passing of his mother from this life . . . he would have very much reacted the same way as Lucy had. Saddened, yet polite, silence. Instead, he just silently watched her, first as she removed the bandage from his wound. Correction, previous wound. There was nothing there! It was like magic! . . . Or well, not really for it was thanks to princuss abooba and had it been magic, Arthur could not so easily ignore it. But it was remarkable to see that there seemed to be no trace of anything. She was quite a gifted healer this one. His state of awe and pleasant surprise was shifted when she began to speak of her brother. . . another subject that was difficult for her to speak about. Had he known, he would not have pressed it. He would have let it go.

For the loss of the brother was no easy one to bare either. Arthur had but one sibling . . . and he had lost her. Maybe not physically but certainly emotionally and in spirit, for things could never go back to the way they once were. "I'm sure it was," he said a bit pensively when she commented about it having been quite the experience. "Sounds like it would be quite the tale to tell," he added, knowing all about such adventures; some filled with things such as danger, devastation, thrill, excitement, and so on. "Did you ever find him?" He asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. So much for not pressing about it . . . but he was indeed curious. Hopefully she had not found a body, which would mean that there was still the hope he was alive. But as well, sometimes that was more painful than other closure. Sometimes the hope gave optimism, sometimes it just created bitter disappointment over not being able to find them.

Speaking of disappointment, that was the exact emotion he felt when she said that would think about. It did not sound like she was convinced that it was a good idea. "Gaius is an excellent physician, and a trustworthy man. He would not abuse its use," Arthur said, trying to convince her to work with him. For it would save so many lives . . . it could do so much good. He truly hoped she would heavily consider it. All he could do was encourage her to do so for he had given his word that he would not tell anyone of this, and while he did not intend to break it . . . he would be persistent and hope that she agreed to his suggestion. He would have continued trying to convince her, when she said something that brought his attention elsewhere. "But in the meantime, sire, I believe your shirt is out of action." Despite the fact that Arthur had seen the scraps of his shirt, seeing that she had held it up . . . for some reason, this was the first time that he properly and fully recognized what this meant.

It meant that he had no shirt.

Now, it was one thing to be shirtless while being tended to. But it was a totally different matter being shirtless . . . in public . . . in the presence of a woman . . . oh dear. This was not good. He abruptly sat up a bit, this time ignoring what pain was left from his practically vanished injury, and looked at the scraps that had once been united to be something wearable. He suddenly felt very exposed. What was he supposed to do now?! He couldn't return to the city half naked, and walking alongside a woman. What would that suggest?! Dear god was she going to leave him out here without a shit?! He most certainly hoped not! He looked at her . . . or more specifically her cloak . . . hmmmm . . . No! He couldn't! He was not that desperate to take a woman's cloak and wear it. Wearing womens clothing was more embarrassing than having no shirt at all! So then what? Would she be willing to run to the city, fetch a shirt, and return? It was quite a distance. And what was he to do? Hide out in the woods like a caveman, half nude, hoping that no one would pass him . . . what if someone passed him who recognized him?! Oh the horror! "You uh, wouldn't happen to have a way to remedy that, would you?" He asked, wondering if she had a suggestion . . . one that gave him a shirt, and FAST!

[[ HAHAH I love this thread toooo!!!! Its awesome!! Lucy has become one of those OCs that I wish was actually in the series!! ]]

[Lucy Halacre]

Lucy smiled, despite herself. She was sure that the Prince could identify with the kind of adventuring she had done whilst looking for her brother. She’d never come too near to death, but there had been enough close shaves that kept the adrenalin rushing and the experiences memorable. She looked up at the Prince, much happier now that the talk had moved away from her mother. Her brother was a less painful topic, “It was character building,” She said, slightly evasive, “I’m sure I could tell you sometime, if you had a day free, of course.”

“Did you ever find him?”

She closed her eyes again, trying to phrase the cold, the darkness, the fumbling fights with nameless drunks and the inevitable pain and surrender into a single reply, “No.”

He mentioned Gaius being trustworthy and not abusing its uses, but Lucy had had enough of talk about the physician and she pretended not to hear. Even if the herb had existed, which would be a miracle she could do with; Lucy would not have gone near Gaius with any information about it. She had been told many stories about him, had even chatted to him on the rare occasion he came to buy herbs off her, but she didn’t trust him at all. What he had done in the Purge was wrong beyond measure, and Lucy couldn’t forgive him, despite that she barely knew him.

As she proclaimed the less than perfect state of Arthur’s shirt, Lucy watched his face comically transform to satisfied at the state of his recovery to downright horrified that he would be without a shirt for the foreseeable future.

"You uh, wouldn't happen to have a way to remedy that, would you?"

Lucy looked at the remainder of the shirt dangling from her hand. It was ripped into three; one segment was stained with blood and one of the sleeves had been ripped open. She unfastened her cloak from around her neck, and flung it down on the ground to sit on while she thought. She could offer the Prince one of her own garments, but her dress was, well, her dress, and her cloak was distinctly feminine. She couldn’t repair the shirt with neither needle nor thread and there was no way Arthur Pendragon could walk out of the woods and through the town semi-naked. And Lucy was damned if she was going to run to Camelot and back for another shirt, even for the Prince.

That left one solution.

“I haven’t finished collecting herbs,” She offered, “You could stay with me until it goes dark and sneak back to the castle then.”

It wasn’t the most convenient option for either of them, but it was the best one. It meant that Arthur was going to have to follow her in his half-naked state while she tried to collect the herbs she needed without being distracted. After all, Lucy was only human. She held no power over her own temptation.

She stood up from the floor and dusted herself and her cloak off in a business-like manner, before offering her hand to Arthur.

“Come on, then.”

Tagged: Arthur
Words: 523
Notes: Aw, thanks. I’ve grown to love her like she’s actually a real person!

[Arthur Pendragon]

Character building. What an excellent way to put it. "Doesn't seem like I'm going anywhere right now," he said jokingly when she said she would tell him, if he had a free day. Of course, right now, the only thing that was stopping him from returning to the city . . . was the fact that he was currently half naked. And he had no shirt! Noticing her reaction to the question of her brother, Arthur could tell how much pain such a loss had caused her. He felt sympathetic, that she had lost such a person clearly dear to her heart. It was not easy . . . to not know if someone you loved was alive or not. Arthur had experienced a similar emotional turmoil when Morgana had gone missing for that year. How long ago that seemed now . . . for he knew everything since then, had been a lie. "I will do what I can to help you find him," he told her. He knew it was not much, but he had resources, contacts. She had saved his life and he had no way of repaying her. This was at least something he could offer his assistance in, to maybe give her hope that he would be found; that she would be reunited with him again.

"Any details you have will be helpful, but we do not have to speak of such things right now," he added, not wanting her to feel forced to speak about her brother. "Just know that I will do all within my power to continue your search for him." Some extra patrol, a little bit of additional effort . . . maybe, hopefully he would be found. But now, he had another pressing matter to deal with: his shirtless state. He looked at her with a bit of disbelief when she gave her suggestion. She wanted him to roam the woods like this?! How terrible would that look! The Prince -- future King -- of Camelot, wandering around half naked with a woman. Dear god! That . . . really?! "You can't be serious . . . " He said, staring at her for a moment before taking her and to help him up. He slightly cringed when standing, but most of the pain had finally gone, so it was nothing too hindering. His void shirt was a more hindering situation!

"You really can't expect me to stay like this until nightfall," he added. While he did not mind the accompanying her part -- for it clearly was not safe in these areas and it would probably be better if she had someone with her . . . it was his awkward state of dress -- or undress rather -- that made him feel uneasy about this. Yet, it seemed that she choice she presented was the only one. Besides, was it not far better for only one woman to see him like this, rather than an entire group of people? Yes! Maybe he could look at it that way! Yet, it did not make him feel any better about this. He felt . . . exposed. Exposed and vulnerable! Bloody hell! "How much more do you have to collect?" He asked, knowing that was insignificant, for he would be waiting until nightfall to return, not wait for her to finish collecting what she needed. But he was just wondering where they would be going and how deep into the woods she ventured for these herbs.