There was a light throbbing in Gray's head. He shifted and there was triple the pain in his abdomen. He hissed and grabbed his side, too aware of the searing pain to return to sleep. His bleary eyes opened and he squinted against the ray of white sunlight streaming into his field of vision. Where am I? His fingers brushed the surface beneath him and he felt straw rather than the downy coverings of his own bed.
"Good morning."
Gray bolted upwards and reached for the dagger which should've been in the scabbard by his side, but he panicked, realizing it wasn't there. He looked down; these were not his clothes. His hunting attire had been traded for a thin, sack-like cotton shirt. He grimaced, seeing a growing spot of blood in the fabric.
A hand came to touch his side and Gray jerked away, grabbing the arm it was attached to. Frenzy blurred his vision. "Who are you? What've you done? Do you know--" He clenched his teeth as the injury in his side brought about another wave of pain, loosening his grip but not giving in the desire to lay back down. He had to stay alert. He might be in an enemy's camp, and Camelot had plenty of enemies to spare.
"Will you let me redress that wound?" the voice asked, a man around his age. Gray hadn't gotten a good look and he only saw the back of the man's head as he removed Gray's hand and turned his back to survey the room for some item. It was a small place, stacked with all manner of baskets full of herbs Gray hadn't seen even in the palace physician's chambers. There was a rope hanging about the room, large green leaves and ruby-red berries growing on the vines encircling it. There was an entrance and a small window where a few quaint pots grew spring vegetables. Gray hadn't known tomatoes could grow this time of year. Whoever had kidnapped him was obviously very talented at their profession.
The man himself had yet to say anything further, and Gray realized he should say something in response. "Who are you?"
The man removed a glass jar from a wooden cabinet. "I found you last night."
"Found me?" Gray wished he could recall which situation the man was referring to, but his mind came up blank in the face of the headache that continued to persist.
"I believe you were on your way to your coronation," the man said.
Gray jolted. Right. He and a troupe of his most loyal knights had embarked on a hunting trip to commemorate the penultimate day before Gray would ascend the throne. The hunt had been bountiful and his soldiers had bragged about the palace's kitchens not needing to purchase veal for the feast that would be held. They'd begun the day-long trip back to Camelot before Gray's memory faded into nothing. He pressed a finger against his temple and shuddered at the shooting pain that accompanied it.
He glanced at the man, who finally turned around, a hand on one hip, and his other holding a jarred green poultice by its base. He was wearing a cotton shirt similar to Gray's, though his shirt fit his long, lanky frame more suitably than it did Gray's smaller body. His long pigs'-skin apron matched the color of the roomy work pants that sagged over bare feet. His face was smudged with dirt in some places. His eyes were honey brown and his lopsided smile was kind. Gray commanded himself to remain on guard. This stranger could still be the enemy, though that was becoming less of a likelihood. He'd clearly been ambushed, and this person had saved him.
"What's your name?"
The man bowed. "Stephen, my lord."
Gray nodded. "And your profession?"
"I'm a physician's apprentice, sire." He grinned when Gray gestured around at the well-equipped room with a doubtful flourish. "My master's away on a herb discovery expedition, so I've taken over his practice for the time being." He hurried forward. "I've prepared medicine for your wound so it will heal faster."
Gray didn't want to appear too forthcoming in the presence of a stranger, especially as the prince, but god, his entire body hurt. He removed his shirt without protest and allowed Stephen to patch him up, unwrapping the old bandages from the previous night and applying the poultice to what felt like a very severe wound. Inspecting it with his own eyes, it was smaller than Gray thought it should be. He'd had his fair share of injuries and this one did not match the others.
"It would be better by now, but you insisted I not take any action," Stephen murmured.
"What do you mean?" Gray asked. "Is that something I said last night?"
Stephen rubbed his fingers together, crushing a seed from the medicine into a crumble. "When I brought you here, I wanted to immediately attend to your wound, but you commanded I leave it be." He looked up at Gray. "And who am I to deny my future king what he demands?"
"I must have said it out of deliriousness," Gray said. He didn't know why he would reject medical attention. Perhaps he had been overly-cautious of the apprentice. "You may continue with your original treatment."
"Are you sure, my lord?"
"Yes, very sure." The sooner he recovered, the sooner he could leave and attempt to find out where his men had gone and how far away they were from Camelot. The coronation was in just a day; he couldn't leave his people to worry.
The apprentice gave Gray a perplexed stare, then helped him to his feet, being careful not to pull him up too roughly. Maybe it was because of the present wound, but not very many outside the castle knew Gray had been sickly in his youth. Yet he could tell this apprentice had already surmised it. There was surely no other reason he was handled so gently.. It wouldn't do to be haggard with the crown prince.
"With any luck, you'll be back in the palace by tonight," Stephen said, leading Gray to stand at the center of the cluttered floorboards. "Camelot's been due for a new king." Gray tensed and the apprentice paused and quickly apologized, realizing he had misstepped.
Gray knew his father hadn't been the kindest king (what, with the witch-burnings of innocent people and all), but...he was a father to Gray, and a good one, at that. He expected much, and Gray intended on honoring his father by meeting all required of him.
Stephen held the glass in both hands and started a hushed chant. Gray's head snapped up in alarm. "What are you doing?"
"Magnifying the potency of the treatment," Stephen explained, eyes still closed. He opened them when Gray's trembling hand tightened around his wrist, violet eyes ablaze.
"You would dare use magic on your future sovereign?" Gray hissed. Anger bubbled underneath the surface of his skin, but he couldn't bring himself to smash the jar to the floor. Stephen's eyes flashed gold and his mouth was set in a resigned line. They...they'd had this conversation before. That was why Stephen had been so hesitant to commence with the better treatment. Gray had rejected it the previous night, probably with a much weaker bout of strength than the surge of energy Gray could already feel ebbing away. His fingers still shook but Stephen's eyes met his and told him this was not the mount to die on.
Someone knocked at the door.
The two stepped apart and Stephen instructed Gray to lie back on the bed while he attended to the guest.
"Won't they be startled to see their king-heir in your chamber?" Gray asked.
"Most of them have never seen the palace, much less the prince in his undergarments," Stephen said. Gray flushed and the corners of Stephen's eyes creased. "Don't worry. They won't recognize you."
Not totally convinced, Gray threw a thin blanket over his body and watched the interaction from the discretion of the covering. Stephen put down the poultice, distractedly rubbed at the spot where Gray had grabbed him, and answered the door. He brightened seeing a young man with pitch black hair and ragged field clothes. "Alex! What brings you?"
Alex stepped through, spared a single glance at Gray in the bed, then stated his problem. "The same issue. One of my flock has gone missing again and I think it's the goblins."
Goblins?
Stephen hummed. "Probably not the goblins. They don't stay once their den has been found. It may be that night harpy I've heard rumors of."
Alex sighed and smacked his head. "A harpy. That's exactly what we need a day before the coronation." He looked around at the room at the various tools organized haphazardly. "Do you think you might be able to help me hunt down this one too? I can't have any more go missing this spring, or the traders will have nothing to trade for."
"Certainly," Stephen replied, reaching for the wool coat hanging from a rack near the entrance. He turned to Gray with an apologetic grimace. "My apologies. I should be back within the hour. Please make yourself at home." He shut the door behind him, leaving Gray with an unfinished treatment and no idea how he should approach this situation. He'd been attacked and rescued by a warlock. Stephen had to be a warlock. He hadn't denied using magic to amplify the poultice. The plants in the room were foreign. Gray had been corralled with tales of demonic caves dripping with blackened mandrake roots, but Stephen's (or his rather, his master's) chamber was rather homely. More like a scientist's kitchen than a foreboding lair.
Regardless, Gray had to escape. Stephen had been benevolent then, but who knew what would become of him once dusk broke. This was one time he was willing to take his father's advice. Never trust a witch, wizard, or warlock. No matter how kind. No matter how gentle their touch was.
Painstakingly, he forced himself up and put the shirt back on. He was relieved to see he was still wearing the original riding pants he'd donned for the hunting, but he'd need something a little more substantial if he didn't want to be targeted as a weakly invalid on the roadside.
He spotted more coats along the rack beside the door and surprisingly, two pairs of shoes beneath them. He wondered if Stephen simply chose to be barefoot for the looks of it. To have people lower their guards around him. But in all honesty, Stephen had so far not proven to be any sort of danger. Except maybe to this supposed harpy he'd gone to hunt.
He'd pulled on the shoes, stuffing rags into the fronts to fill the gaps, when the door swung open. It had been only mere minutes since Stephen had left. Gray stood his ground, ready to knock out any who dared intrude the apprentice's chamber.
However, it was the apprentice himself, who only startled slightly at the sight of Gray holding a broomstick like a jousting sword. "Ah, my lord. Apologies for arriving before you'd anticipated. Just forgot my staff."
Gray put down the broom. "I wasn't aware physicians in this part of Camelot also hunted harpies," he said slowly.
Stephen's smile split his face in two. "I suppose most physicians don't, my lord." He looked Gray's haphazard ensemble up and down. "Are we headed somewhere?"
Gray figured he might as well give up appearances. "I was going to escape. My knights are likely looking for me."
Stephen nodded, as if he understood one wanting to leave such a comfortable, if peculiar, abode. "I mean no disrespect, sire, but I think it best that you stay here and fully recover."
"With or without the aide of your magik?" Gray grumbled.
"Preferably with," Stephen said.
"Then I shall go."
He moved to step around Stephen, but Stephen blocked him, stretching an arm out. "Then without, if that's what pleases you. I just plead of you to stay here where I can monitor your condition."
Gray was too vain to say it directly to Stephen, but the idea of a comfortable cot appealed more to him than going by the wayside and hoping Sir Jin would come rescue him by happenstance.
So he stayed. Stephen left again with his staff and came back a few hours later, rightfully muddy and absolutely beaming.
"I take your hunt was a success?" Gray asked.
"The hunters took the carcass to the village's butcher but he wouldn't accept it unless I 'cleansed' it of impurities," he said, shrugging at "cleanse". "I had to clarify that I am not a priest. Merely an apprentice."
"Merely a warlock," Gray added punitively.
Stephen flinched and Gray allowed himself a small smirk.
~!~
And so the visits continued on the rest of the day. Gray hadn't realized the many duties appointed to a village's physician. Women asking for rare herbs for their soups, men asking for sharpening stones, children coming in with all manner of scratched knees and torn clothes. Stephen attended to them all, plucking leaves, giving advice, and sewing both skin and fabric. He did not use magic, but his patrons were happy all the same. There were very few moments where Stephen was free, and he used them to rebandage Gray and apply a new, unaffected, layer of the herb.
Gray was bored, but he took a little entertainment in watching Stephen commence with his day. He met every person with a warm disposition, and they all reciprocated in kind. Gray realized not one person ever asked for Stephen's master. Perhaps his master was not as kind as Stephen. Perhaps his master was not as skilled as Stephen. Perhaps this master did not even exist.
It was soon evening time. Stephen brought Gray a warm wooden plate with salted potatoes, soft carrots, and something he presumed was harpy meat. He hadn't seen Stephen cook anything at the furnace, so he ought it to be prepared via his warlock abilities. He still ate it. It was nothing like his plentiful feasts at the capital, but it was good. Hearty.
"How do you feel now?" Stephen asked, checking a wound on Gray's side.
"Much better, thanks to you," Gray answered. He felt not even half the pain he'd endured that morning.
However, compared to that morning, Stephen was quiet. Introspective as his hands moved around the rolls of bandages and glasses of crushed seeds. Gray could not blame the man; all the work he'd done would tire anyone. He felt the need to fill in the silence as Stephen worked.
"My mother," he started. He didn't know why he started with his mother. He hadn't talked about her in a long while. But Stephen seemed like he was a good listener. He continued to work, but shifted his head to the side to indicate he was hearing what his sovereign had to say about the former queen.
Gray cleared his throat. "She was a good mother. Quite a bit like you. Caring, I mean. Good with all sorts of people." Even the witches, before the witch-hunts began.
"Does that make me mother-like?" Stephen grinned.
"Damn you," Gray said, smiling back before he'd realized it. "She was the most wonderful person I knew. A terrific mother, really. Before she passed, she told me many things. How to present myself in court, how to treat my knights, the ways to judge people's actions."
"She was beloved," Stephen murmured.
Gray thought he might cry, hearing that, but took in a deep breath to stave off the sting. "She'd sit me down in my chambers and take my hands. Tell me that what I lacked in strength, I had in wits. My knights guard me fiercely, as we've agreed the people of Camelot best not learn of my physical weakness." He dared to glance at Stephen. "I trust you'll protect this secret as well, apprentice."
"With my life, sire," Stephen replied as he finished up the last of the bandaging. He did not request that Gray not banish him from the kingdom.
Gray nodded and looked down at the plate. "I owe you a great debt. You will be rewarded handsomely once I am crowned."
"And crowned you shall be," Stephen said. "I located your troop at an inn in the village square."
Gray looked up. "Have you!"
Stephen nodded. "They will come to collect you in the morning. I insisted you stay overnight for final treatments." He chuckled. "They made me swear on my father's life not to harm you, and I did, but it doesn't mean much since my father is already dead."
Gray was quiet receiving that information. "Then...I suppose, we are both half-orphans."
"Suppose so," Stephen said. "Doesn't make us less of anything, if I dare say it."
"Certainly no less of a physician," Gray offered, smiling up at him.
Stephen lightly squeezed Gray's fingers. "And no less of a king, my lord." He took Gray's empty plate to the wash tub, and stretched, yawning widely. "It's coming to be bedtime in these parts."
"Where will you sleep?"
"On the floor. The mice like me, you know," Stephen said, bursting out in laughter at Gray's look of dismay.