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Taff couldn't help smiling at that; Lancelot tried to look on the positive side even during the worst of times.

He took the other end of the bag, lifting up his end as they made their way to the outter city. As it turns out, a bag filled with potatoes, swords, and daggers, was heavy. Very heavy.

They passed through the outter city without issue, Taff smiling reassuringly whenever he received glances questioning why he was helping carry that.

---

Mordred remained composed, although he couldn't help drawing a sharp breath.

"..Alright. As you were, Captain Martin." He started heading for where Martin had said Merthyr was, realising only now just how long he'd neglected to watch Merthyr.

"Yes, of course..." muttered Morgana not at all certain she had understood the queen but not about to question her further given she had claimed madness at the explanation of it all.

"Well if we cannot take out the sword willingly, I can always have the masons break the stone around it?" offered Gawain
"We cannot simply leave that lump and sword right in the middle of the way, the carriages and horses get inconvenienced by it!" pointed out Gawain as a matter of fact

---

Lancelot was ever so glad when they finally left the city gates behind and walked further into the nearing forest, leaving the sack of potatoes against a tree bark, taking out the three stolen swords and daggers and handing one to Merthyr and one to Taff keeping the last one for himself.

"Well if this is all Camelot can offer... so be it... Mercia, here we go...." smiled Lancelot doing his best to keep the dark thoughts and heartache concerning his sister away from his mind and concealed from the rest of them. He would mourn her in the darkness of night, away from hearing and sight

Morgause laughed once more at gawains suggestion.
"Tell me do any of you know a thing about the history of magical weponry?"
She asked looking around the room, only to receive silence in return.
"You can very well try my dear son, but that blade is the toughest opponent you'll ever face. After all, anything that Excalibur touches is very hard to kill. So instead, I suggest you have the stone moved to another place."

"Why is that sword even here? who brought it and for what purpose?" quizzed Gawain waving the strongest knights and masons to do just that and relocate the stone into the castle courtyard where it was a lesser hazard

---

Merthyr came out from his hiding bush, smiling broadly at seeing Taff and Lancelot
"Come on then, we better make haste to Mercia, for all I know your sister could be just another slave of theirs" prompted Merthyr walking onfoot for lack of a horse, it would take longer indeed, but they would get there all the same

---

Nimueh waited for Amber and Andrew to recover from casting the spell.
"You did rather well... my congratulations..." smiled the young looking sorceress

She smiled and walked into the town. "This is gonna be fun." She mumbled and walked around.

Taff nodded, following him as they traveled on foot. Careful to watch out for patrols, or else wild animals that could hinder their progress, and especially careful to look out for his companions.

They made impressive progress, luckily going without incident, at least for now. Fatigue was starting to set in, however, at least for Taff. As they made their way, he couldn't help glancing at Lancelot now and then. He couldn't help feeling there's more he could be doing, at least to magically see if Guinevere was still alright.

---

Mordred, finally outside the city, looked at his surroundings. Merthyr was no where he could see, at least not from his position. He realized, quite belatedly, that Merthyr was probably going to Mercia, as he had been before being sent to the stocks.

Merthyr was definitely quite some ways ahead of him, he presumed. He might be able to catch up on foot, but then that might end up being much further ahead than he preferred. Frowning to himself, he decided to return back into the city.

Mordred readied a horse, and supplies for a journey to Mercia, before making his way back out of the city and heading on the path to Mercia. It took a lot longer than perhaps trying to get Merthyr on foot, but he at least hoped it would be faster in the long run.

Merthyr and Lancelot looked at Taff and took pity upon the tired manservant, as usual Merthyr none the wiser about the warlock having such great powers, so set about pitching a camp for the night dutifully collecting wood and twigs for the fire

"I will get us something to eat..." muttered Lancelot bow and arrows to hand, venturing further away looking for some quails and rabbits, and certain as he had assumed, he soon returned with the prey ready for supper, collecting wild herbs to season the meat with.

"Taff... you're cooking... my arms are still very sore from the stocks" admitted Merthyr feeling sore at his arms, back and legs after being kept standing under the snow for such long time under such awkward position.

The more they walked, the less stiff he felt, but the more tired and sore he grew, so much so, he failed to pay attention to his surroundings thus failed to notice Mordred's arrival.

Taff nodded, getting the fire ready and preparing the meats. He was so occupied in this he failed to notice Mordred arriving on horseback, as well.

Mordred slowed his horse, dismounting and tying the reins to a tree. The horse had paid off, it seems. Approaching their camp, he was surprised to see that Merthyr wasn't alone.

"Merthyr," Mordred called out to him. "I've come to escort you, especially since you're supposed to be my squire," he said, before frowning at the sight of Lancelot and Taff.

"I hope you two have passage to leave the city." He doubted they did, but then, it also seemed somewhat pointless to try to hinder them anymore, seeing as Lady Morgana had given Merthyr passage. It wasn't his place to contest royalty, either.

"Safe passage... er... not really no, we don't really have permission to leave the city and we didn't have permission to take up arms either but we have... In the name of the king we have robbed the kingdom's armoury and broken the kingdom's laws, sir knight...." bowed Lancelot gracefully stating the crimes along with a respectful bow at his superior position of authority

"We are going to find Guinevere and king Conrad and Sir Percival in Mercia... are you joining our quest? or would you like to return to the city as if we had not crossed paths at all?" quizzed Lancelot somewhat cheekily

Mordred paused, thinking this over. He was supposed to watch Merthyr, and trying to keep him from going to Mercia did seem to be a futile task. But then, he definitely wasn't supposed to let such crimes slide. And he still despised Conrad.

In the end, he sighed and gave a nod. "I suppose I'll be joining you, then. Though I'll warn you, I won't be looking the other way anymore than this."

Seeing that they had the camp under way, he added, "I did bring travelling supplies with me, dry foods and bandages and such."

Taff, for his part, continued cooking, readying the meals quickly. Though, he couldn't say that he wasn't weary of Mordred's presence.

Lancelot dropped a knee to the ground before Mordred, lowering the head respectfully

"You are most merciful indeed sir Mordred" acknowledged Lancelot "We are ever so pleased to have a knight of your calibre accompany us. It will make the journey to Mercia all the less troublesome.

Since we get to indulge in your honourable company, allow us to take you as our rightful liege lord, to obey your commands henceforth and serve you well, sir knight, our swords are at your service indeed..." recited Lancelot formally, standing up and hurrying to set up a proper tent for the knight, his squire and two servants

"If only we had a mage we could ask about my sister... queen Morgause might have known whether she lives and whereabouts in Mercia she was taken to... if those rotten raiders have torn a limb from her... I´ll butcher them" muttered Lancelot, sitting by Taff and feeding more logs into the camp fire, watching the food cook too.

She smirked and looked around, noticing a small fire and walking towards it.

Taff nodded. "If we had someone who could use magic... maybe someone who knew a spell that could find her or find out how she is, it would certainly go a long way," he murmured, thoughtful. He didn't know any spell like the one Amber did, on the flower. But maybe he could try something anyway?

He didn't have anything that belonged to her, though. Although, she did seem to like Merthyr, and surely she was attached to her brother. Perhaps it was possible he could trace her through her connections?

Pondering this, he realized he hadn't been paying enough attention to the food. Quickly, he pulled it off the heat. It wasn't burnt, luckily, but it was definitely overdone. He got up, and began serving it out. He'd have to try the spell during the night, he figured.

"Looks delicious, thank you Taff, you certainly know how to make it appealing even in the wilderness" complimented Lancelot to praise the youth's effort.

Merthyr on the other hand barely acknowledged the food nor ate for the matter, his mind worried about his father's fate, every day delayed, was a day longer of torture and humiliation and perhaps his father's last. The thought of it all absorbing his mind into deep thoughts of worry and grief, barely aware of this surroundings, not to say now Guinevere was in danger because of him

If only... Merthyr had been kind to the girl, had ensured she was taken safely to his own chambers, now she would not be missing and Lancelot would still have his adorable sibling safe at the castle, labouring by Morgause. Morgause.... his aunt... how could he make her to endure such grieving heartache after all her attentions towards him and Morgana.

If only.... he had taken greater care of his companion at the feast and given her proper attentions as she deserved, as he had been commanded to do... she would not have been kidnapped at all... from his very fortress.... with him present at the ballroom no less. Such security lacking was cause for concern at his not good enough standards.

His father would have had Merthyr locked up and disciplined just for that alone, for allowing a servant girl, a maid, to be seized from Camelot fortress, all but a few feet away from him, without Merthyr being none the wiser about it till days later. This alone was reason enough for Camelot and Orkney to go to war too if the two kingdoms didn't have the same monarch in charge.

This and many self accusing thoughts haunted his mind and his face, which sported a clear look of regret and guilt. Words were redudant if one but stared at the prince's face.

As she neared the fire, she could here Lancelot's voice. She smiled smally and appeared through the trees.

Lancelot heard noises as did Merthyr and Taff and likely Mordred too.

He left Merthyr to tend to their liege, Sir Mordred, by serving him food and drinks as required, whilst Lancelot unsheathed his sword and personally came out to find out who or what was lurking at such late hour, surprised to stumble into Amber

"Oh... Amber... you startled us for a moment. We are ever so glad to find you safe and sound. Come, join us, you will be warmer and safer with us." invited Lancelot bringing her over

"Look Taff, your lady friend is here as well" teased Lancelot with a small smile looking at Amber briefly.

"Did the lady Morgana send you here to gather herbs for her?" asked Lancelot surprised Morgana would allow a maid leave the castle without the least armed escort, that alone prompting him to question the girl's presence and task at hand

To say Conrad was furious was underestimating the man's outrage and murderous feelings. If looks could kill there would be many dead men for sure.

How dared these Mercian raiders venture so far into Camelot and ambush him was beyond belief or comprehension. His previously well protected kingdom was clearly no longer so, and he had only one thing in mind to blame... magic. It must have been magic what had plunged the summer into a wintry blizzard that forced them to lower their guard and allow for these raiders to become bold and daring and clearly... successful too.

Conrad was wounded, beaten, tired, he was marching with his ankles shackled and the limited chain length between the manacles did not allow for a comfortable walk, often tripping if the men picked up the pace, simply out of disdain

To make matters worse, his arms were tightly bound by ropes behind his back, painfully so. The excessively restrictive binding biting into the flesh of his wrists and causing blisters and soreness even bleeding by the rope rubbing the skin at every step and gesture Conrad dared make.

To further his humiliation of having to walk on foot with little to no attire on, in fact, none but his braies, paraded like a common slave, he had also been gagged with a dirty clothing, unworthy of a beast, never mind royalty. The filthy gag left him unable to so much as curse these wretched dogs.

After days of walking with little rest, less water and no food, these Mercian vikings and raiders had finally decided to set up camp, much to Conrad's relief... or not... who knows what chores they would pile upon the royal simply out of spite.

Conrad stood still and upright, with Tristan who had fared no better, dutifully by his side.

He looked up at the leader and awaited further orders, for now, compliance was their only key to survival

"No. I come here upon my own will. I am searching for your sister actually." She said as she sat down.

The warband that lead the King and his men made sure to give the muddied Lord a hard case, often jerking the ropes forward with mighty force of their tree-trunk built arms into the dirt path of their horses. As they neared the end of the road that had lead to their raid, they cut off, moving towards the treeline, through murky swamplands that would come up to the Majesty's knees, at best. Slowly, they trudged, before the sound of distant drums and blasts of mighty horns could be heard. Celebration, but music of unknown culture. Further they moved into the trees, weaving along the birches, until there it was, before them. The Raider's Camp.

Approaching a large, haughty made wooden gate, crafted of mere spear-tipped logs that jurted outwards and tied together with thatch and rope, five more of the brutish foreigners looked to the approaching party, before cackling and throwing their arms out, speaking quickly and loudly in amusement. The gates were lowered to the dirt, before the line of prisoners were moved inside. Tents were already in place, shoddy curtains of Camelotian make, likely stolen from the villas about the kingdom they had struck, hung dirtied over tall, carved logs where many a man and woman, even some children, drank from curved horns and hefty mugs, laughing and rough housing. However, this brutish spectacle was not as spectacular as what was along the riverside, no. Large ships, easily larger than Frankish gliders, were docked onto the beaches. The heavy, thick oaken planks were nailed together with massive spiked and staples of iron, curving out-and-up. The prow of the ship did not end in the custom sense, but extended upwards and curved into a fetish of sorts. A raven, with wings out-stretched, glared with only a single eye, carved into the wood with precision and care. The sails were not left bare, but remained out and proud, brilliant cardinal cloth that was painted once more with the monocular avian, in distinct runic curves and intricate design unfit for such savage sailors that rode these mighty ships. Along the hull, shields, round and strong, proudly marked with colors of red, green, blue and yellows, outlying with more of the foreign designs to the natural Camelotian script.

It was not long before the slavers tugged the ropes once more, to force the line of prisoners before them, keeping the King in the middle. They knelt before a great tent, more Camelotian cloths sprawled over to make a war canvas escape. Inside, another, though this one clearly held importance. The brutes behind the chained prisoners gave a bellow in a foreign tongue, which caused the long, brown-braid-haired man to turn. As he faced them, he raised his chin, walking out of the tent, a large bear pelt dragging behind him, clinging to his shoulders by the paws, the flesh of the head pulled back to reveal his full, grisly visage. A long, deep scar, that traversed his brow, under his eye, and to his cheek twisted, blueish-black in color to contrast against his wind burned, dark skin. His lean figure twitched as he entered the sunlight, blue eyes glistening, as he looked down to the King and his servitors, before his bearded chin twitched. His right arm stretched out, pulling a crude axe from his belt. Slowly, he allowed the rough, cold iron press under the King's chin, putting enough pressure to cause the Lord to look up towards the supposed leader of this raiding party. Draped only in that Grizzly pelt, as well as heavy leather boots and hide pantaloons that carried a coat of ringmail, the Viking stood bare of chest, exposing his lean yet muscular form to the Camelotian prisoners. He tilts his head back to its apex, before giving a snort of amusement. It would be noted, the encampment was now silent. The skin-drums beat no more, nor did the horns blast their devilish bellows. All the roughhousing and chatter had dropped to an eerie silence. The camp had gathered around, at least three-hundred or more men, women, and children from what the King and his men could see. The Bear-Cloaked Man raised his head to look towards the people, before letting out a loud snort and raising his axe, face twisted in a sick grin as he hollers in a loud tone

"Skål!"

The camp hoot and holler at the proclamation, raising their frothing mugs and cackling, before returning to their business. The Bear-Cloaked Man now tilts his head down to the King, before snorting and turning back to walk into the tent. The slavers who had captured them force them to their feet once more, seperating the rest of the captured from the King, and moving the Lord to an iron cage within the War Tent, where some nobles were chained to the walls, stripped of clothing and beaten to near senseless drooling. The Bear-Cloaked Man stood, hands over a table as he muttered to a woman with long, braided blonde hair. After the hushed discussion, the woman leaves, and the man turns his head slowly to look towards the chained King. He had not been bound to the wall like the other noble's, but forced to his knees all the same. With a flick of his hand upwards, one of the guards roughly snapped the gag from the King's mouth, before walking off, leaving only the Ruler, the Raid Leader, and the wind.

The man looks down to the King, before his jaw slacks.

"Men tell me you sat in important home. An Earl, mm?"

His dialect was rough, and deep was his voice, like thunder. His tattooed form twitches as he crosses his arms, perking a furry brow expectantly towards the Lord of Camelot.

Conrad glanced at the room taking in the appauling treatment the prisoners received, rather too brutish for his own taste. One thing was burning witches but torturing nobles for the sake of being so was hardly an appealing thought.

He looked at the leader answering in the man's language.

"I am Conrad Tydfil of Camelot.. I was the king, the ruler of my people." informed Conrad weary, he was offended to have been lowered to the lower status of an earl but restrained his disgust rather well

---

Merthyr jumped to his feet alarmed to hear that.

"Sir Mordred, we are returning to Camelot at once. The lady Morgana will be most distressed if she finds that her own maid is missing, rumours of sorcery will spread even further that maidens are vanishing from the castle otherwise" gawked Merthyr wide eyed.

"Not to say an unmarried woman's presence, accompanying the crown prince will fare appaulingly for my own honor and reputation and infuriate Morgana all the more so. I already was made to court another damsel at the feast to her displeasure, I will not have her maid at this party and journey without Morgana's clear permission." refused Merthyr listing every issue found so far

"We are few, we cannot ensure your safety either and to make matters worse, I need my armour. The journey we are going to embark on is perillous, I definitely need a better sword, and full armour as does Lancelot.

Sir Mordred, please, return us to the lady Morgause to be reprimanded for running away, or, should we earn pardon through a duel, that we may be knighted to serve your lordship and the kingdom better, as well as stand better chances of surviving this journey" decided Merthyr having checked the swords Lancelot had stolen and found them heavily lacking in sharpness, in strength and endurance, good enough for a city guard behind heavy walls but nowhere enough for a journey into Mercia