~<>~

The next morning Arthur came up to the deck shortly after daybreak. He was still exhausted from staying up so late. His eyes traveled over to where The Mage stood at the bow of the boat. Her braid was coiled over her shoulder, and loose tendrils of her hair blew wildly around her face. The hood of her cloak was thrown back, and her cloak snapped in the sea breeze. He wondered if she had slept at all.

"Welcome to the darklands," Bedivere called as the island came into view.

Arthur turned away from The Mage and climbed up to where Bedivere stood. The higher vantage point gave a clear view of land ahead of them. "That's the Darklands?" he asked with a frown. It didn't look any different from the hundreds of other small islands they had passed. A bit rockier perhaps, but nothing to warrant an ominous name like The Darklands.

"That's the entrance," Bedivere told him.

Arthur squinted into the light and lifted his hand to block the sun. "So that's what all the fuss is about..." Arthur mutter dismissively.

Bedivere flashed a smile. "Don't worry, you will soon understand what all the fuss is about," he assured him. His cavalier tone belying the concern he had for Arthur's coming challenge. He still wasn't convinced this was the right course of action, but he trusted in Merlin, and Merlin trusted this Mage, so he would trust her.

Bedivere expertly navigated the shallow waters, avoiding the sharp rocks, that could have proven deadly to their small boat. As they entered the shallows he tossed an anchor overboard. Bedivere jumped down first, turning towards the trees a grim expression on his face. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, he was wary, but he didn't pull it.

Arthur followed, landing in the shallow water that reached his knees, soaking into his boots. He hesitated and glanced up at The Mage as she climbed over the railing, adjusting her skirts as she prepared to jump over the side of the boat. His gaze captured her's and she hesitated. He reached up, offering her help down.

She hesitated in surprise. She hadn't expected this, not really. She was no lady by the standards of his people's imagination, and she was certainly capable of jumping off a boat, but the look in the Born King's eyes as he held her gaze was like nothing she had ever encountered before. It made her stomach twist and her breath catch in her lungs. He was waiting for her, she realized, waiting for permission to touch her.

She nodded once, a curt jerk of her chin so he wouldn't suspect the effect he had on her; with his ego, he would be impossible if he knew. Once permission was given he stepped closer and closed his large hands around her slim waist. His fingers nearly touched as he lifted her down into the water like she weighed nothing.

Arthur could have kicked himself for giving himself permission to touch her. There was something about her that drew him in and it rode him hard enough to convince him to leave it alone. She was special in a way he barely understood. He lifted her, turning to set her in the shallower waters closer to shore, but he locked his eyes on the forest before releasing her. He didn't like the thick ominous feel of the forest and liked even less that she appeared to be unarmed. Bedivere stood between her and any potential danger, but he was taking no chances.

The Mage fought to save face and not let the Born King's actions distract her from why they were there. She took a centering breath and strode out of the water with her head held high. Bedivere gestured towards the forest and she nodded stepping into the lead. Arthur made a noise in the back of his throat but followed, stepping quickly so he was just off her shoulder.

She led the way through the forest. The standing stones called to her, guiding her. She stretched her senses out to them and the magical pull was as clear to her as any map. She led the way into a clearing deep within the forest. The magic pulsing beneath her feet was distracting. It burned along her skin like an itch and she had to lock down her emotions and her senses and force herself to think only of the task at hand.

"Stand in the middle," She instructed the Born King, gesturing towards the large stones. He stepped between the stones, looking at them curiously. There were similar stones of power throughout England. She wondered if he had seen any before. His expression was accepting and he looked a little tired. She frowned, this was not the bold, egotistical man they needed to fight for his crown.

"Are you scared?" she pushed him. She wanted to see that challenging glint in his eyes. She needed to in order to reassure herself he was strong enough to do this. As badly as she wanted to finish this and achieve her status as a full Sorceress, she wouldn't send him to his death.

A smirk pulled at his handsome face and he lifted his chin defiantly, that gleam once again returning to his eyes. "I think I can manage," he told her boldly.

She nodded and, hesitating only for a moment, she stepped up to him. She reached for his wrist and tied a leather cord around it with quick, sure fingers. Her fingers brushed against the warm inside of his wrist and it felt like there was lightning between them. When the cord was secured she closed her hand around his wrist and squeezed it once, almost too quickly for him to be sure, before stepping back.

"You should be scared," She warned him seriously.

He lifted his wrist and looked at the leather cord she had secured to him. It held a small coin with a hole through it flat against the skin of his wrist. "What's this then?" he asked.

"It's so I can find you," she told him cryptically.

He nodded and seemed to accept her response. For some reason she had expected him to argue with her about using magic on him. Instead, he seemed to take it in stride and shook his sleeve down to cover it. She could feel the pulse of magic between them now. It made her feel a little better about sending him into the Darklands without a guide. She chewed on her lip, wondering if she should go with him.

The glint of power shone in Arthur's eyes as he slung Excalibur over his shoulder. He may not have accepted it yet, but it was there for him to claim. She exhaled, knowing she was making the right decision. The look in his eye reminded her of the King he would one day be. Looking at him, she was surprised to find she believed in him. He was strong enough to survive this.

The Mage pulled out her sachet bag and drew her dagger, slicing a hole in the bag. The mixture spilled out onto the ground at her feet. The ground heaved and split beneath the weight of her magic. She chanted softly as she circled him. Magic crackled all around her, the hair on her arms stood up and with a push of magic she opened the veil between the worlds.

"You travel through the lands to the tower and there you must touch the sword to the altar stone," she told him. As she neared the beginning of the circle of power rain began to fall within the circle. The veil was lifting, opening. Wouldn't be long now.

Arthur flinched as the cold rain soaked him. He reached up, pulling his hood low over his head. "You're gonna miss me," he called to hide his nerves and he flashed her an impish grin.

The Mage wondered if his sense of humor would survive what she was about to do to him. She almost wished there was another way. This was unfair and cruel, but necessary. In a rare moment of honesty she met his blue eyes and dipped her chin. "Perhaps My King," She agreed. Surprise flashed in his eyes and she closed the circle, sealing him in the Darklands.

~<>~

Bedivere paced the small clearing, his agitation rising with each passing minute. It felt like time was dragging by as they waited for Arthur to return. He still wasn't convinced this had been a good idea. If they killed Arthur the sword's ownership would pass directly to Vortigern and then where would they be? He glanced at The Mage, but she didn't seem at all concerned. She sat casually with her eyes closed, her face peaceful as though she were napping.

The Mage sat at the edge of the circle as close to the veil as she dared. She pressed her hand against the stone, closed her eyes, and pushed against the veil. She drew her magic around her like a cloak and reached for the feeling of tying the bracelet around his wrist. She felt the cool metal pressed against his warm skin and it felt like she was there, standing beside him on the mountain top inside the Darklands. She remembered the heat of his hands as he helped her from the boat and she could feel his weariness and his pain. He had already faced many of the creatures the Darkland was home to, and he had not emerged unscathed. He had injuries that were slowing him down, his knee sent steady, sharp pain up into his hip with every stride, and when he turned the pain in his ribs were like a flame.

Behind her closed lids she caught glimpses of what he was going through but they were flashes, almost too fast to track. Time passed differently in the Darklands and she wasn't able to witness it in real time. She felt flickers of his pain but also his determination to fight and succeed, to master this challenge and emerge victorious.

She gasped as she saw the dire wolves closing in on him. He was so close to the tower. Another flash and he was up the steps, their howls echoing around him. She didn't pull away. She wouldn't dishonor him that way. She felt when he connected to the Altar and knew he would survive. She was almost lightheaded with relief.

"He did it," she said, jerking her hand off the stone as though it burned her. She jumped to her feet in anticipation of his return.

Bedivere's eyes snapped to her in open relief. In the next second The Born King collapsed at their feet in a swirl of magic. Bedivere flinched in surprise, but The Mage was already moving towards him. He groaned in pain as smoke rose off his body. Excalibur clattered across the stone beside him, but The Mage ignored the sword and moved towards the him. She crouched beside him. He was cut up and covered in bruises. His eyes were closed and he laid too still. With trembling hands she reached for his neck to check his pulse. She was almost light headed with relief when she felt the erratic beat beneath her fingers.

She turned to Bedivere. "We have to get him to the boat," she said.

"You nearly killed him," Bedivere said in slow horror as he stared down at Arthur with The Mage crouched at his side.

"He has survived," she said resolutely with a confidence she did not feel. She didn't know what she had expected, but it hadn't been this. If he had accepted the Sword, this never would have happened, but Arthur had fought the magic as he fought everything and everyone in his life. He had refused to give in to it and it nearly cost him his life.

The Mage slid Excalibur into it's sheath and put the strap across her body. She could feel it's magic pulsing against her back as she approached the Born King. It spiked as she reached down and touched him. Bedivere and The Mage heaved Arthur up between them. She was so much shorter than either man she didn't feel as though she helped much.

They managed to half carry, half drag him to the boat. Getting him on board was more complicated, but they made do. Bedivere climbed the side of the boat, leaving Arthur half collapsed against the Mage's small body.

He was heavy, but she locked down her muscles and refused to let him go. If she dropped him in the shallow water he could drown. For all his strength and destiny and bold personality he was entirely vulnerable now. He had trusted her and though the plan worked, she felt guilty for the pain he had endured. The weight of responsibility hung heavy on her mind. This wasn't just about the task anymore. This was about the Born King himself. This was about Arthur.

She hadn't allowed herself to think of him as anything but The Born King before now, a means to her end, but he was so much more than that. She believed in what he was capable of. None but the prophetic King could have survived what he endured in the Darklands. This was the man who could save the mages from Vortigern.

Arthur

Bedivere tossed a rope overboard and with trembling hands she tied it around Arthur's torso. He groaned as Bedivere began to lift him. She steadied his body so it wouldn't swing against the side of the boat. Once Arthur was safely over the side she grabbed the end of the rope and let Bedivere help her up.

Bedivere left her with Arthur to begin sailing them away from the cursed island. The further away they moved the weather lifted and the sun came out, warming them on deck. As they distanced themselves from the island she was able to shake free from the magic and felt like she could draw a deep breath. The magic of Excalibur was contained.

The Mage shifted Arthur so he would be more comfortable when he woke. She was holding his hand, moving his arm when he jerked awake. His breath caught in his throat in panic and he tried to wrench himself away from her.

She tightened her hand against his arm. "You are safe," She promised him, her voice uncharacteristically gentle.

His eyes locked on her face, and held her gaze for a long moment. He nodded slowly as he realized he was no longer there. He could feel the heaving of the boat and somewhere behind The Mage he could hear Bedivere. "Yeah," he gasped out the word and grimaced in pain.

He watched the Mage with a seriousness in his gaze that had not been there before. He had seen the truth and knew what he had to do. He was done running. He relaxed in her grip, trusting her, and she let him go. He groaned as he leaned back against the mast of the ship. She turned and lifted a small satchel of healing supplies she had packed.

Her throat felt dry and she licked her lips. "Did you see all you needed to see?" she asked as casually as she could manage. She knew he had seen the truth and not looked away, otherwise the Darklands would never have released him, but that wasn't the same as accepting it. She only hoped the dreams would stop after he had placed his trust in her.

"I saw enough," he said and his voice was low and raspy.

The Mage handed him a water skin to drink from as she began cleaning the cuts on his face. He was so close, she could feel the soft puff of his breath against her skin, but she forced herself to focus on tending his injuries. This close she could see every detail on his handsome face, every line and scar.

Arthur sat still beneath The Mage's gentle hands. There was something different about her now, something softer, though he wasn't sure what it was exactly. Her expression was just as shuddered as always but he got the distinct impression she maybe wasn't as guarded with him as she had been before. He watched her with calm eyes. His whole body ached but he was somehow more settled than he ever remembered. All those half remembered dreams and now he knew where he came from, who he was. He looked down at the scars that sliced through his palms and closed his hands into fists.

Arthur hated being hurt, and normally didn't like being around other people when he was. For some reason he didn't feel that way around The Mage. For some reason he didn't feel the need to hide behind his usual bravado with her. He trusted her to see him like this. Her hands were featherlight as they skimmed across his skin.

"The mage tower," he began after a few moments. "It's the same as the one in Camelot."

The Mage nodded, latching onto the subject to distract herself. "The higher Vortigern builds it, the more powerful he becomes..." she said and she dipped the rag in cool water and went back to dabbing at the cuts on his forehead.

Arthur watched her face as she worked. He liked the way her brow furrowed as she concentrated. She chewed on her plump lower lip and her dark eyes focused totally on him.

"When it is finished he will have the same power as Mordred," she said after a moment. "It is why the sword has revealed itself now, where there is poison, there is a remedy."

Arthur nodded as he processed all she was saying. She leaned closer to wrap a bandage around his head, holding the compress against the worst of his injuries. Her body pressed against his so she could reach around him. He tried not to notice how soft she felt against him. When she sat back there was a soft look in his eyes.

His hand came up, moving slowly, not out of pain, but to make sure The Mage saw it coming and didn't flinch back from him. He was always careful to not invade a woman's space without express permission, but he was careful to not touch her bare skin. His fingers were gentle as they touched the bronze bracelet on her wrist. He recognized it as the same design as the ones he saw on the skeleton remains in the Darklands.

"What happened to your people?" he asked gently. He moved his thumb over the pounded copper circlet The Mage had worn since she was accepted as Merlin's apprentice as a child.

She pressed her lips together and looked away as she fought to contain any of the emotions she might feel over his innocent question. "They were murdered by your uncle. Let me see your ribs," she commanded with a little more force than necessary.

Arthur could take a hint and didn't push her any harder about her people's history. He reached down and lifted the side of his shirt and The Mage sucked in a breath. His whole side was an ugly shade of purple. They had nearly lost him in there. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a poultice. She felt guilty for the use of the rope to get him on the ship. She was just thankful he had still been mostly unconscious. It would have been agony with the state of his ribs.

She hesitated just before she would have touched him. "This will hurt," she warned him, meeting his gaze for a brief moment before she nervously looked away.

"Being dropped into the cave by a giant bat hurt. I believe I can manage," he quipped and The Mage felt something loosen in her chest. It was the first he had sounded like himself since coming back.

She scooped a generous amount of poultice into her hand and moved it across his bruised skin. He flinched, but forced himself to hold still as she gently rubbed it into his skin. Despite the ugly bruising she could feel the warm ridges of muscle beneath her hands. Arthur went still beneath her hands. He watched her as she worked. A small frown of concentration formed between her eyes as she moved her hands over his skin.

As she worked, Bedivere stepped up behind her. She appeared totally engrossed in what she was doing so Bedivere finished the story. "It was Vortigern who started the wars. He was jealous of your father's throne. So he made a deal with Mordred. That they would share power once he defeated your father. Mordred murdered the mage King..." Bedivere dragged off, his eyes flickering to The Mage.

Arthur followed his look with a confused frown.

When Bedivere didn't elaborate The Mage looked up from his ribs and met his gaze from inches away. "My father," she said, a sad, faraway look in her eyes.

Bedivere nodded and rested a hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "He took the mage king's staff to their sacred tower. Where he unlocked the dark forces of the Darklands and enslaved them to his will...But what they didn't account for was the sword. Merlin stole his staff, he then forged a great sword Excalibur from it. He destroyed the ancient tower. The sword was then passed to the lady of the Lake who bound it to the Pendragon bloodline. Now, the sword is yours."

Arthur looked down and away, but instead of arguing with them, he just nodded slowly. Whatever he had witnessed in the Darklands had made him at least stop resisting them.

When she was done The Mage reached up and lowered the edge of his shirt. "Try to get some rest," she told him. His hand found hers and closed around it gently in thanks before he released her.

~<>~