Title: Puissance: Prologue
Author: ArthurMerlin
Artist: blood_songs90
Pairings/characters: Arthur/Merlin (minor: OC/OC, Gwen/Lancelot)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 30,798
Warnings: None
Summary:The turbulent times of Prime Minister Arthur Pendragon, in which war looms, betrayal waits in the wings, and unexpected love blossoms.
Disclaimer: Neither ArthurMerlin nor blood_songs90 owns any aspect of Merlin. No copyright infringement is intended.
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Prologue
The ringing in his ears began to subside, and gradually Akeem could hear the muffled shouts of men and the movement of the branches as they ran through the undergrowth. Every now and then, spats of gunfire sliced through the noise and a few of the shouts would fall silent. It seemed like a dream; so distant, so far away. Why couldn’t his brain focus on it? He knew he should get up. He knew he should run away.
Slowly, Akeem began to push himself onto his elbows. He spat out the dirt that had lodged in his mouth when he’d been thrown to the floor and was surprised to see blood mingled with it; was he injured? He supposed he must be, why weren’t his legs moving?
Akeem grabbed at the ground in front of him and tried to drag himself forward. He didn’t know where he was trying to go, only away from where he was at the moment. The effort of dragging himself only half a foot left Akeem wheezing for breath. He turned his head to the right and opened his mouth to gulp in as much air as he could. It didn’t taste right on his tongue.
He opened his eyes and saw bodies lying on the ground around him, unmoving and silent. Scattered around them like a surreal collage were pieces of the building he’d been in only minutes before; bits of wood and concrete lying as if they’d been there for thousands of years and had decayed into ruins, mere vestiges of what they had been before. Amidst the wreckage several small fires burned, sending plumes of smoke into the sky like incense.
Finally the panic settled into Akeem’s stomach, which sent adrenaline surging through his body, giving him the strength to propel his body forward towards the treeline. He reached a tree and rolled himself over onto his back, panting heavily at the exertion, so that he could prop himself up against it and rest. He chanced a look down at his legs and was nearly sick; his legs had been badly mangled by whatever had happened and he could feel nothing below his waist. Akeem couldn’t help the distressed sob that escaped his lips, and he muttered a quick prayer for help.
He was still breathing heavily when movement in the clearing he’d just crawled from caught his attention. Somebody else was alive, and was trying to haul themselves into the treeline just as he had. The figure was so badly injured that Akeem couldn’t recognise him, but his lower half had fared better so he was able to pull himself tentatively onto his feet. One of his legs gave way, and he crashed to the ground again with a moan, but he hauled himself back up and began a slow but frantic limp towards the treeline on the opposite side of the clearing from Akeem.
Akeem wanted to call out; they would have a better chance of surviving together. He opened his mouth to shout, but coughed when he tried to speak. He tried to clear his throat and to call out again, but as he opened his mouth the second time, a shot rang out and the limping figure collapsed to the ground and was still. Akeem’s eyes widened in horror.
Something moved in the trees in the direction the limping man had been heading; Akeem couldn’t see what it was, only the rustling of the branches that gave away its presence. They were in the treeline, Akeem thought, had he crawled straight into their grasp? The dread of dying swamped Akeem’s senses and he tried to stand; but no response from his legs brought him back to reality. As Akeem frantically tried to think of another plan, the leaves of the trees around him rustled. Akeem’s heart-rate soared as he turned his head and looked up.
“You…” Akeem rasped, and then coughed, “it’s… it’s you.”
Then Akeem felt the cold metal of the gun being placed against his forehead. He stared up into the large greyish-blue eyes before him; they seemed like crystals set in a black iron crown, they sparkled with a light of their own that seemed to tell stories of frivolity and play and false innocence, they were seductive and beguiling, and strangely safe. Akeem felt safe, but so afraid. The iciness of fear cascaded down from the freezing bite of the gun’s metal barrel, until it enveloped Akeem’s every fibre.
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Introduction