for the @merlinmicrofic prompt "harvest" Gaius/Geoffrey, G , no warnings, 290 words, ao3 link
seedling
You'll want to wait for the grain to wither, to go brittle-dry, before you take the scythe to it. Not meant to be cut are stalks still full of sap, unless nature made them weak. Or so Death would reason if it had a voice.
By Uther's wrath though, old and young alike fell before the reaper. The king's most trusted were tasked to ensure bountiful yield. There were lists.
Gaius felt sick. He had sworn, he'd sworn to leave his old life behind and all that came with it. Magic. Tradition. Conscience? “I couldn't bear it,” the king had said, “if any harm came to you,” and Gaius had cowered before the threat.
There were lists, and Gaius felt sick. “So many souls.”
Geoffrey looked up, gaze sharp, quill idling. “Do you not love our king?”
“And do you not love me?”
It was as much as either of them could say out loud. The moment lingered, then something broke between them. The quill resumed its scratching. The reaper bound sheafs.
Sneaking out in the night was not something that came easily to Gaius. He cursed this bout of courage as fear constricted his throat, a premonition of the hangman's noose.
Up in the tower over the courtyard, there was a light in the window. The infant prince must be keeping his wet nurse up again. Would he one day have to pick the fruit grown from his father's bitterness, and choke on it? Had fate, moving its playing pieces into place, already entrapped him in its vines?
“Gaius?” The blonde girl's eyes shone bright with fear and magic both. “What of my sister?”
“Don't be afraid. She will be safe.” Gaius took her hand. “Come, Morgause, let's go.”