[fic] The Ivy Crown, 9d/9
Hoofbeats drummed on the mossy ground and his pulse thundered in his ears, but as they raced through the forest as if chased by hellhounds, Gwaine couldn't help the mad, exhilarated grin that spread across his features.
All around them, the forest was changing. Bushes shrank back to make room for their cantering horses, retreating into gaps between suspiciously flexible, helpful trees. Low-hanging branches bent out of their way, and a shapeless, roaring blast of wind seemed to race ahead of them, tearing leaves from the trees and shaking their rustling crowns until they undulated like green waves in the sunlight.
They had skidded down the hill to find their horses exactly where they'd left them. The doe had been nowhere in sight, but a new sandy path wound away through the trees for them, the sturdy yet yielding ground perfect for a prolonged canter. And when they had mounted hastily, the wind started up, a whistling, insistent gale that seemed to want to hurry them along even as it cleared the way for them, alerting the forest to their passage.
Ahead of him, Arthur was ducked low over Llamrei's flying dark mane, almost disappearing in the cloud of dust and dried mud that her hooves kicked up. From the corner of his eye, Gwaine could see Merlin cling to his horse for all he was worth, bouncing around on its back as he fought to hold on. But the horse didn't seem to mind the clumsiness of its inexperienced rider-it probably sensed the insistence in the air, because it ignored Merlin's feeble attempts to urge it forward. Eyes firmly fixed on Llamrei's flying tail for guidance, it just put its head down and ran.
Whenever Gwaine chanced a look over his shoulder, he saw the forest closing up behind them, huge oaks shuddering as their roots dragged them just a couple of steps to the side, just enough to obscure their path. Blades of grass shot from the ground to hide the hoof prints, and all around them the woods were waking, with a roaring, rumbling shudder that reverberated through his bones.
The Green Knight had promised to hold off the Mercians, and right then, racing through the forest with his hair whipping around his face, Gwaine knew that the soldiers were in for an uneven fight. With all of his power belonging to him once more, the Green Knight would call for his servants to chase the intruders from his lands. He would have the very earth to aid him, the skies at his disposal to rain down destruction on Morgana's patrols, and Gwaine could all but see the large black hunting dogs, their golden eyes glinting with eager, predatory glee as they raced to meet their master.
The path rounded a sudden bend, and Gwaine felt Gryngolet's muscles tremble with tension between his knees as the great stallion fought not to lose any speed as he threw his weight to the side. Two pine trees bent out of the way with a labored creak of bark, stretching their branches at an unhealthy angle to avoid whipping them in the face, and Gryngolet effortlessly jumped through the gap after Llamrei.
He heard Merlin's startled yelp behind him as his horse jumped after the white stallion, and an ominous, stunned silence behind them as the others caught sight of the accommodating pines. Gwaine looked over his shoulder just in time to see Leon's horse squeeze itself through the gap, dragging the two packhorses behind him, and then the trees whipped back into their original position with a relieved shudder of their bark.
"Are you doing that, Merlin?" Percival shouted from behind them, sounding torn between stunned awe and something else, something that Gwaine couldn't quite place-it wasn't fear, not even close, but more like caution.
"No," Merlin shouted back, and when Gwaine glanced at him, he looked equal parts worried and confused, like he didn't know what to make of Percival's tone either. In spite of the exhilarated energy that rushed through his veins, Gwaine felt a stirring of protectiveness. If Percival so much as looked at Merlin differently, now that he knew about his magic- but no, Gwaine thought, the tall knight wouldn't do that, and besides, they had other things to worry about right now.
Through the rushing whistle of air in his ears, Gwaine heard the rough caws and the fierce, shrill cries before he even saw the birds. He had long since given up steering Gryngolet's explosive energy anywhere, since the stallion seemed exhilarated at the chance to run for all he was worth after months of slow traveling. And so he allowed himself to tilt his head back and look up through the branches above them, through the storm of tumbling leaves that the wind had torn free.
Black and brown silhouettes flitted past the sun, and it took Gwaine a moment to recognize the hawks and ravens that flew eastwards to the Chapel, following the beckoning call that ripped through the woods like a contained storm. Come, the trees whispered as they rushed past in a blur, in a voice like rustling leaves. By the wind beneath your wings, I bid you come, and Gwaine couldn't help the short, exhilarated laugh that burst out of him. Yes, the Mercians wouldn't know what hit them.
Ahead of him, Arthur seemed to slow Llamrei for a moment, reining her in for a more controlled canter than the reckless, breakneck run from before. Even with his back turned to him, Gwaine saw the prince hesitate, but then he urged his mare to pursue a thin, overgrown trail to their left.
"To Grænn's house!" Arthur called back over his shoulder. Just as surprised as his rider by the sudden change of direction, Gryngolet nearly barreled into a tree in his haste to follow Llamrei-Gwaine gritted his teeth and clung to the saddle for dear life, feeling his horse shift underneath him. The stallion stumbled and almost fell, throwing his great weight to the side to avoid the tree, and hurled himself along on the path that Llamrei had taken.
"What?!" Merlin shouted, voice rising an octave when his horse almost bumped into Gryngolet's rear and the stallion jumped forward with an indignant snort. "Arthur-"
"Ragnelle!" Arthur yelled back, his voice muffled by the trees-he was clearly not going to let Merlin argue with him about this. "We can't just leave her there!"
Gryngolet's hooves kicked up a spray of mud as he skidded through a puddle and found his footing again, and a moment later, he was smoothly cantering along behind Llamrei once more. Gwaine ducked low over his neck, letting the white mane whip into his face, and barely suppressed a stir of guilt.
He had been so preoccupied with everything that had happened today-his own challenge, and whatever brightly glowing magical thing Merlin had done to free the Green Knight-that he had outright forgotten about her. He wondered if the unearthing shudders of the waking forest reached as far as Grænn's mansion. The two of them must be quite scared if they could hear the groaning of bark and the faint trembling of the earth beneath their home.
They rode in silence until their surroundings started to look vaguely familiar. Gwaine thought he recognized the thinning woods and the numerous birches, and before long, they broke through the treeline overlooking Grænn's small valley.
Shock made Gwaine pull on Gryngolet's reins until the stallion tossed his head in discomfort, but he wasn't the only one-ahead of him, Arthur had already slowed Llamrei to a trot, and they exchanged a stunned glance when Gwaine rode up beside him. As one, they resumed staring at the spectacle in front of them, and Gwaine barely heard Merlin's startled gasp behind him.
The mansion had always been beset with greens, moss growing in between the cracks in the masonry and tangled vines climbing up the walls between the windows. But now, it looked just like the houses of the dead noblemen they had seen during the past few weeks. Ivy covered the walls as if it had always been there, big, dark green leaves swaying lazily in a slight breeze. It engulfed the house like a rustling cloak, leaving only the windows uncovered, small panes of glass amidst a sea of green that glinted in the sunlight.
Nobody spoke when they rode up to the house, and apprehension mingled with the confusion that stirred in Gwaine's gut. For a moment, he wondered if Grænn had been another noble to kill on the Green Knight's agenda-but even if that had been the case, he surely would have mentioned something to them during their three-day stay. Not once had Grænn told them that he'd been challenged to a beheading game by a strange visitor, no matter how jovial and friendly their dinner conversations had been.
By an unspoken agreement, they spread out into a loose half-circle before they dismounted, and Gwaine had his hand on his dagger before he could second-guess his own wariness. The sight before him made no sense at all-there was no reason for the house to be overgrown with ivy. He had no idea why he was so sure about it, but he just knew that Grænn hadn't been one of those unfortunate men who had accepted the Green Knight's challenge without truly thinking about its implications.
Merlin shakily climbed off his horse and ended up sprawled on the ground. Even from a distance, Gwaine could see the slight tremble in his legs as he tugged himself upright on the saddle again-along with whatever magic he'd done at the Chapel, the short, hard ride must have exhausted him. But before Gwaine could step over to him and ask him if he was alright, Arthur beat him to it.
He helped Merlin up, his gaze flickering back and forth between his manservant and the mansion. Gwaine noticed that he wasn't quite as deathly pale as he'd been in the clearing anymore; the rush of their flight had pushed some color back into his cheeks. But he still looked tense, every nerve strung tight as a bowstring ready to fire.
"Merlin," Arthur said in a hushed voice, most likely not wanting to alert the attention of whoever-or whatever-was still in the house. The front door was slightly ajar, like someone had left the mansion seconds before the ivy had grown. "Merlin, are you-"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Merlin hastened to reply, sounding a bit shaken, but more or less steady. He gave Arthur a strained, reassuring smile when he pushed himself away from his horse, stumbling only slightly when his wobbly legs suddenly had to support all of his weight. "I don't know what he did exactly, but- in the clearing, the Green Knight gave something to me that protects my mind."
Gwaine blinked at them in confusion, not quite understanding the implications of that. Arthur seemed pacified, though; he nodded tensely and stepped back, giving Merlin his space, but staying close enough to support him if he fell. If they hadn't been in front of a probably deserted, ivy-covered house, Gwaine might have walked over to them and asked what Merlin's mind needed to be protected from. But as it was, he just watched when Merlin looked up at the sprawling green with a shiver, and even though Gwaine didn't have a magical bone in his body, he could guess at the waves of power that probably rolled off the walls.
Something creaked from above, a rattling, alien sound that didn't come from the forest, and Gwaine's head jerked up on its own accord. One of the windows on the first floor was moving, pulled inwards by an unseen hand. He had to squint against the reflected flash of sunlight for a moment, but even then, he wasn't even all that surprised to see Ragnelle's head poking out of the gap in the ivy.
Ragnelle, on the other hand, did seem surprised. She jerked back a little at first, like she hadn't expected to see her husband's guests all lined up in front of the house, and blinked down at them in confusion. There was wariness in her eyes, and maybe a bit of fear-it was as if she expected them to ask her what in the hell had happened to her house, while she knew that she didn't have an answer.
"We just came to check on you," Arthur called up to her, obviously trying to sound reassuring-he had picked up on the note of anxiety as well. "Are you alright?"
"Yes, of course, I-," Ragnelle began, but broke off once more, her puzzled gaze traveling from Arthur to the others and back. It seemed to rest on someone beside him for a moment, and for the first time, Gwaine noticed that Percival had stepped forward and looked ready to squeeze his tall form through the tangled twines that guarded the open door. "I- what are you doing here?"
"Just stay where you are, we'll come in and get you," Arthur replied, and Gwaine almost laughed at his tone-he sounded so placating, like he thought that Ragnelle was still suffering from the shock that must have gripped her when the entire house had suddenly been engulfed by magical greenery.
Like he'd just waited for Arthur's words, Percival moved towards the door and unsheathed his dagger, and Gwaine felt a stir of apprehension as he watched him eye the ivy like he was seizing up an opponent. He had no idea what would happen if Percival attacked the green twines with his weapon, but he had a feeling that he didn't want to know.
Ragnelle craned her neck to watch Percival, looking just as worried as Gwaine felt. "What?" she muttered to herself, sounding puzzled, but then sudden comprehension dawned on her features. She seemed to realize that they had just come to rescue her, and weren't going to ask any questions about the house just yet.
Determination replaced the anxiety on her pale features when she shook her head, waving Percival back before he could take a step further. For a moment she bent down, and Gwaine knew that she had hoisted up her skirts when her face reappeared amidst the swaying sea of leaves. "Don't be ridiculous, I can climb down."
And she moved to do just that, swinging herself out of the window with a surprising agility that looked quite at odds with the stiff gracelessness that Gwaine had become used to seeing from her. Her hands found just the right tangles and sturdy leaves to hold on to, and her feet settled securely into little cracks and gaps within the masonry. Within just a minute, she had reached a window sill on the ground floor, and tested its solidness with her feet before she pushed herself away from the wall and landed amidst the swaying grass in a crouch.
Gwaine realized that his mouth was slightly open, and hurried to close it when Ragnelle straightened up and dusted off her skirt like she climbed down walls every day. She stepped towards them, looking guarded, as if she still had no idea what they wanted from her, now that she'd gotten out of the house. She gave Percival a quick, unreadable look before her eyes came to rest on Gwaine, and for a moment, her gaze seemed to linger on the cut in his neck. For the first time, Gwaine realized with a start that his shirt was still gaping open from the cut of the Green Knight's axe, exposing the girdle that was still wound around his stomach.
"Where's Grænn?" he asked, not really because he was wondering about their former host's whereabouts, but mostly to distract her. Unease crawled down his spine when her eyes stayed on the girdle for a moment longer, and with a sudden, sick feeling, he wondered if she knew-if she knew that while his life had been spared, he had still been dishonest.
Ragnelle just blinked at him for a moment, her confusion firmly back in place. "Gone," she said, like she'd expected him to have figured that out by himself, but then her eyes widened and, for some reason, darted from Gwaine to Merlin and back. "Wait, you- you don't know who he was?"
"We didn't get the chance to tell everyone yet," Merlin put in, cutting Gwaine off before he could inquire further. He was once again paler than normal when Gwaine looked at him, and he kept glancing into the trees like he feared that a bunch of stray soldiers would break out of the woods at any moment. "Can we please talk about this later-"
"Of course," Arthur interrupted decisively, shaking his head like he had to remind himself that no matter how calm and untroubled the forest around Grænn's house seemed, they still wouldn't be out of danger until they were back in the Northern Plains.
He turned to Ragnelle, and Gwaine only saw the hasty urgency in his eyes because he knew it was there-his features were schooled into an expression of reassuring politeness. "Don't be scared. We're going to take you home."
"I'm not scared," Ragnelle replied blankly, but still allowed Arthur to steer her towards one of the packhorses with a gentle grip on her elbow.
She still seemed bewildered half an hour later, when they were riding beneath a canopy of leaves once more. The forest had mostly calmed around them, the trees now standing stock still along the path like silent guardians. Aside from occasional sharp gusts of wind, the woods weren't urging them on anymore, but Gwaine thought he heard a faint rumbling from the east, like the ominous gathering of a faraway thunderstorm. Even up on Gryngolet's back, he could feel the tiny shudders that rippled through the ground once in a while, and he didn't really want to think about the kind of earthquakes that the Green Knight was probably creating to keep away their pursuers.
They rode in tense silence, and Gwaine could practically feel Ragnelle's puzzled gaze on his back where she rode along on the packhorse, which had been relieved of most of its burden to accommodate her weight. Arthur had urged them into a quick trot, although Gwaine could tell just from the tense set of his shoulders that he wanted to go faster, but only refrained from returning to their previous breakneck canter for fear of intimidating Ragnelle. Sure, she didn't seem particularly scared just now, but Gwaine knew that she might panic when she learned that the only thing that stood between them and the Mercian soldiers was an ancient forest spirit's protection.
The sky darkened above them, huge, rain-laden gray clouds speeding off into the east with unnatural speed. Llamrei's trot got gradually faster until she kept breaking into a canter to accommodate her rider's urgency, and Gwaine saw Gryngolet's ears flatten again and again as he picked up on the shift in the atmosphere. As calm as Merlin's horse usually was, now it kept tossing its head hard enough to tear the reins from his grip-the horses clearly felt the supernatural storm that was gathering behind them.
"Why are you in such a hurry?" Ragnelle asked eventually, her voice a bit timid, like she wasn't sure if any of the grim-faced knights would answer. Branches cracked around them, and from the corner of his eye, Gwaine saw Merlin twitch whenever the sound of creaking bark broke the hush. Although he wilted slightly in his saddle, he kept darting quick glances around them, as though he was preparing to protect them if any soldiers broke through the trees.
There was a short, tense silence, only interrupted by the hoofbeats, until Arthur let out an impatient sigh ahead of Gwaine, like he didn't really want to tell her the truth, but knew he had to. "Mercian soldiers," he said curtly, still reluctant to divulge that much information, although he did try not to sound as tense as he felt, probably in an effort to keep her from panicking. "We're trying to get out of the forest before they find us."
He didn't elaborate on what the consequences would be if they were indeed found in these parts. But judging from the way Ragnelle gasped in surprise, he didn't need to. "What?" she exclaimed, loudly enough for a flock of birds to take flight from a nearby tree.
When Gwaine turned around in his saddle, he saw that she had stopped the packhorse with a decisive yank on the reins; behind her, Leon, Lancelot and Elyan quickly stopped their horses as well to avoid bumping into her. She stared around at the knights, her incredulous gaze skimming all of them. "Are you mad? What are you carting me around for, then? Stop wasting your time with me and get out of Mercia!"
Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again, disbelief written across his features. Ragnelle waved his confusion away, and Gwaine suddenly thought that the impatient, almost irritated spark in her eyes suited her far better than the awkward discomfort he had felt rolling off of her during those three days they had spent together. "I know you're from Camelot," she said impatiently, almost glaring at Arthur by now. "If the soldiers find you- I can't believe you even came back to the mansion for me, you should have just fled! I could have found my way home by myself!"
Nobody seemed to want to tell her that basic courtesy had simply demanded them to go back to Grænn's house and check on her. Arthur shifted in his saddle, a trifle uneasy, and finally offered, "We wanted to make sure you get back to Torpelei safely."
Ragnelle just stared at him, unimpressed, and didn't even ask how he knew where she was from. The urgency hadn't left her eyes, and Gwaine thought she looked almost angry that they were standing around in the forest and looking at her, instead of fleeing. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she demanded, snapped almost, but then something occurred to her and she leaned forward in her saddle, making as if to slide down to the ground. "Right, your packhorse-"
"No, no, keep the horse," Arthur cut in hastily, looking relieved that he could do at least that much for her, now that she'd made it quite clear that she wasn't going to let them escort her back to Torpelei. In any other situation, Gwaine might have laughed at the expression on the prince's face-he seemed completely out of his depth, like he had no idea what to do with a woman who outright refused his protection.
"Will you and Erik be alright?" Merlin suddenly interrupted, a worried frown creasing his forehead. Gwaine glanced at him in surprise, and couldn't help but admire his friend's quick thinking. With everything that had happened today, Ragnelle's brother was just about the farthest thing from his mind right now, even though they had originally promised him to look out for his sister.
For a moment, Ragnelle looked like she wanted to throw up her hands in sheer exasperation. "Yes," she said, torn between impatience and incredulity, like she couldn't believe that they were wasting their time worrying about her when there were Mercian patrols to run away from. "We'll be alright, I'll think about what you said to me at Grænn's house-," Gwaine blinked at that, looking at Merlin, but Merlin didn't notice the inquisitive gazes that were suddenly turned on him.
"Go!" she insisted, steering the packhorse off the path and into the high grass to make room for them to urge their horses back into a canter. "I promise I can find my way home alone, and if I meet any soldiers along the way I'll tell them I've never even heard of Camelot's crown prince-just go, quickly!"
That seemed all Arthur needed to come to a decision-he gave her a curt, somewhat relieved nod, and finally loosened Llamrei's reins. The mare immediately darted forward a few steps, glad to find an outlet for her nervousness. It couldn't have been all that reassuring to stand still while a magical thunderstorm was brewing in the east and her sensitive ears could hear patrols crawling through the forest around them.
Gryngolet broke into a light trot without prompting, and only sped up when his rider pressed encouraging heels to his flanks. Still, Gwaine didn't miss the way Percival's gaze lingered on Ragnelle for a long moment before he urged his horse onwards as well. She stared back at him in silence, her uneven features pinched and aloof, like she didn't want to react to whatever she saw in his gaze. But there was something undefinable in her eyes, a glimmer of something bewildered and vaguely hopeful that she couldn't suppress, no matter how calm and collected she tried to be in the face of the obvious concern in Percival's expression.
When Percival rode past Gwaine, Merlin's horse had already darted after Llamrei, apparently just as eager to resume their mad race for safety. Abruptly deciding that now was not the time to tease his fellow knight, Gwaine turned back around in his saddle and ducked low over Gryngolet's back to give him the chance to stretch his legs a bit.
Soon enough, the stallion's hoofbeats settled back into the fast, rhythmic canter they had kept up earlier. Percival was silent beside him, although Gwaine saw his gaze dart backwards once more, and Ragnelle disappeared behind a bend in the path.
They reached the edge of the forest by nightfall, crossing the Mercian border back into the Northern Plains, and Arthur couldn't help but think of how thoroughly lost they must have been before, when they'd ridden through the forest for nearly two weeks, whereas they had reached its edge within mere hours now.
But well, they hadn't had the Green Knight's support back then. He had probably picked out the fastest route for them, just as set on getting them out of Mercia as they were on escaping the patrols. And they had escaped, if only by a hair's breadth. Time and time again, Arthur had thought he'd caught glimpses of silver through the trees, flashes of sunlight glinting on armor-but not a single soldier had stepped out into the path to stop them. The trees had seemed to grow thicker and thicker around them, shielding them from sight as they raced towards safety, and the forest eradicated all traces of their passage behind them, like waves reclaiming a long-lost shore.
Next to him, Gwaine tumbled off Gryngolet's back with an undignified groan, collapsing on the ground in a heap. He leaned his head back against his horse's shoulder and let out a long sigh, simply glad to be back on solid ground once more, and the stallion seemed to pick up on his mood, because he didn't step on Gwaine's hand where his fingers were idly sifting through the grass.
Still, not everyone shared Gwaine's relief. Leon urged his horse forward to look out at the unfamiliar field that sprawled out in front of them in the dimming light, his gaze sharp and alert in spite of the tired slump of his back. "Did we cross the border?" he said, more to himself than to the others, and narrowed his eyes as he scanned the horizon in search of any village or settlement that might look familiar. "We're not near Cogeltone anymore, though, are we?"
Arthur responded by sliding off Llamrei's back, grimacing only slightly when his feet touched the ground. Even his legs were sore after a day of reckless riding. He rummaged around in his saddlebag and produced the map, walking over to Leon while he unfolded it, and Leon dismounted as well.
They pored over the map for a moment, talking quietly and searching for any hills or other landmarks that could have told them where they were. The fields didn't look as well-tended as Cogeltone's surroundings had, and they didn't see any hint of civilization on the horizon, no trails of smoke in the evening sky that pointed to a village. In front of them, the grassy slope led down to a valley. But no matter how hard Arthur squinted against the setting sun, he couldn't make out any houses, not even glittering rivers that they might have found on their map as well.
By an unspoken agreement, the others began to set up camp while Arthur and Leon were preoccupied with the map. Lancelot and Elyan ducked back beneath the trees to collect some firewood, glancing around warily all the while. Gwaine dragged himself back up to a standing position with some difficulty, but his hands were quick and efficient when he made short work of Gryngolet's saddle and bridle and moved on to tend to Llamrei next.
It was a struggle to keep his eyes firmly fixed on the map and not let his gaze stray towards Merlin, who looked more gaunt and tired every minute, but was still doing his best to help Percival unload their supplies from the remaining packhorse's back. Arthur couldn't hear their quiet conversation from this distance, but Percival seemed to try to convince Merlin to just sit down for a while and let him do the work. Eventually, he managed to crowd Merlin back enough to gently coax him into sitting down on a mossy, fallen log. Arthur suppressed a smile and turned his attention back to the map, a little of the tension easing out of his shoulders.
"Well," Leon said at last, staring down at the map with a mildly offended expression, like he hadn't thought it would ever fail them. He tugged it out of Arthur's grip and folded it, with a presumptuousness that would have gotten him a quizzical look and a raised eyebrow in any other situation, but now, Arthur just let it happen.
He blinked up at Leon when the taller knight's eyes focused on him, earnest and almost entreating. "I suggest we just rest for now, sire. We can figure out where we are tomorrow."
The words needed a long moment to trickle through the vague fog that had settled into Arthur's mind, but finally he nodded. Leon had sounded cautious, like even now, he was trying to spare Arthur's pride by not calling him out on how exhausted he probably looked. He mustered up a smile for his knight's quiet thoughtfulness, and Leon readily smiled back, seeming relieved that Arthur hadn't argued with him.
Despite the fatigue that weighed down his muscles, Arthur moved to help Lancelot and Elyan when they returned with armfuls of firewood, glad for the chance to do something. Before long, a fire crackled merrily amidst the grass, and they all crowded around it, keeping the dancing flames between themselves and the forest.
Percival and Gwaine had already spread out their bedrolls in a half-circle, but they all settled down on the log instead. The firelight reflected in Merlin's eyes when he looked up just in time to see Arthur sit down next to him, but he already looked a bit better, color slowly returning to his cheeks.
They finished off most of their remaining field rations, but after their flight, nobody wanted to venture into the forest again to hunt. Arthur had to force himself to choke down the first thick slice of bread, but then his stomach started rumbling with hunger, like it suddenly remembered that none of them had eaten since they'd ridden out to find the Green Chapel in the morning.
The dried fruit already tasted way better, but he fought to rein in his hunger, although he was well aware that nobody would have said anything if he'd eaten more. But next to him, Merlin seemed to experience the same shift from indifference to a sudden, ravenous need for food. Mouth full of cheese, he leaned forward to take one of the waterskins, and didn't even have to steady himself with a hand on the log when he shifted back.
He could see that the food did wonders for Merlin's sapped energy, straightening his posture and kindling a gleam of renewed awareness in his eyes. Arthur sneaked a gleaming red apple into his lap when he wasn't looking, and didn't second-guess the relief that coursed through him at the sound of Merlin's first crunching bite.
Later, when they'd all eaten their fill and were mostly lounging back on the log, too tired after the long day to keep up a conversation, Arthur declared that he would take the first watch.
Ignoring the scandalized glare that Merlin shot him, Arthur herded the others off to their bedrolls, pretending not to hear Leon's objections or Gwaine's appreciative comments about how a sovereign lord should always put his knights first. They all needed their sleep, and Arthur's limbs felt just as sore and heavy after a day spent racing through the forest, but somehow he didn't want to go to sleep just yet. It wasn't that he didn't trust any of the others to watch over their sleep, but just now, he felt more comfortable taking on that duty himself.
It was a sign of how tired they all were that even Leon's protests trailed off to an unintelligible murmur as soon as he caught sight of his bedroll. When all of them had settled down, the other knight rose up on his elbows in his nest of blankets just for long enough to tell Arthur to wake him in time for the next watch. Then Leon flopped back down like a puppet whose strings had been cut, and went to sleep almost instantly, if the deep, rasping breaths from his general direction were anything to go by.
Arthur suppressed a tired smile as he settled more comfortably on the log, taking out his daggers to line them up next to himself as he'd always done on his watches, just for something to keep his mind alert. The dancing flames made the steel look golden, and Arthur weighed the short throwing knife in his palm as he took the whetstone from his pouch.
None of the daggers had been used much during their quest-not in defense against bandits or other foes, at least. Mostly, the blades had just served to skin and cut up the various game they'd hunted. Now that the end of their journey was coming closer and closer, Arthur found it almost ironic that the daggers had originally just been part of their disguise. Their group had been supposed to look like an ordinary hunting party, and in the end, hunting was all they had done during the past month.
It was surreal to think of, that they had only been gone from Camelot for little more than five weeks. It felt like much longer, especially with all those days of aimlessly traipsing around in the forest before they'd been herded off to Grænn's mansion. Or well, the Green Knight's mansion, Arthur amended-although he still didn't quite understand what purpose that short interlude had served.
And now the whole adventure was supposed to be over, just like that, with no grand battle and no fanfares to herald his heroic return to what would one day be his kingdom. Arthur snorted mirthlessly and ran his thumbnail along the short blade in search of flaws. Just then, sitting on a mossy log and watching over his companions' sleep, Arthur didn't feel very heroic. All he had done, when he'd finally found and confronted Morgana, was run away.
Well, there might still be an adventure of a different kind in store for him when they returned to Camelot. Arthur found himself frowning, his nail catching on a tiny nick, and he lifted the knife to examine the flaw from a closer angle. It was strange to think of everything else now-of finding the squires, of the fact that they would send word to his father if they weren't back soon-when they had just barely escaped the Mercian soldiers.
They had about two weeks left, Arthur thought, as he slowly ran the whetstone down the gleaming metal. First they would have to find Gaheris and Dagonet, and then send a messenger racing back to the citadel to assure his father that they were alright and would return soon, and even that seemed difficult. He glanced up at the black, looming treeline-hopefully they would encounter a village tomorrow, or at least a stray traveler who could tell them where they were.
And somewhere along the line, Arthur thought sourly with a vicious screech of stone on metal, he would have to figure out what to tell the king. It seemed impossible enough to report to him that the Green Knight-the same forest spirit who had haunted Camelot a year into the Great Purge-was responsible for the deaths of the noblemen. But Arthur didn't even want to think of what his father's reaction would be if Arthur revealed to him that Morgana had sent him.
The whetstone stilled on the blade, but Arthur didn't notice the tired inaction of his hands. He stared sightlessly into the fire, the dancing flames leaving bright afterimages, and tried to steer his thoughts away from the numb stupor that had held Uther's mind in its death grip for so long. Maybe he would erupt into thoughtless rage if he learned of Morgana's involvement in the whole thing. But he might just retreat further into himself and go to a place where even Arthur would not be able to reach him anymore, roaming the echoing halls of his castle like a ghost.
There was a rustling noise behind him, followed by a crack of snapping twigs. Moss and springy grass muffled the sound of footsteps, and Arthur wasn't even surprised when Merlin suddenly appeared next to him, so busy stifling a huge yawn that he tripped over the log and almost careened headfirst into the fire.
Merlin plopped down on the log next to him, closer than he would have dared if any of the others had been awake. He shivered a little in the cold night air, stretching his hands towards the fire even as he huddled closer to Arthur for warmth. Their thighs and arms pressed together in a snug, warm line, and the tiny tremors that ran through Merlin's muscles stilled almost right away. He sighed happily, like sitting next to Arthur on a log looking sleep-deprived was all he'd wanted to do tonight.
Arthur sighed deeply, and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose to stave off the headache he felt coming. Anyone else would have realized that he needed to think, alone, when he had offered to take the first watch, but of course the hint had sailed right past his manservant's enormous ears. As it was, he resolutely resumed sharpening his knife, and inquired, "Don't you ever sleep?"
"Not right now I don't," Merlin pointed out reasonably, stifling another yawn with his palm, but his eyes were clear and alert when he looked at Arthur, taking in his posture-there was probably a defeated slump in his shoulders, Arthur thought vaguely, but didn't have the heart to straighten up now that Merlin was watching. "Are you alright?"
He wanted to snap at Merlin to stop asking redundant questions and go back to sleep-he even wanted to say yes, he really did, but somehow even that single word wouldn't come out. Annoyed with himself, Arthur settled for staring at the dancing flames that were reflected by the polished steel in his hands. "Right," Merlin said after a moment, and stretched languidly like a cat to shake himself more awake, clearly thinking that Arthur required his full attention. "Stupid question."
The corner of Arthur's mouth twitched on its own accord, but he didn't reply, and the silence that settled over them like a comforting blanket didn't need breaking anyway. It was surprisingly peaceful, and the small spark of indignation that had risen in him when his solitude had been disrupted already died down again.
He wanted to ask Merlin if he was alright, if he had recovered from the assault of the forest's magic-but somehow, he could picture the guileless, innocent look Merlin would give him if Arthur tried to talk to him about what he'd done. The thought almost made Arthur scoff. Sure, he didn't know much about magic, but what he did know was that it had been a close call for Merlin today. He still remembered the scared, apologetic look Merlin had given him in the glade when he'd let go of the ivy leaf. And, Arthur thought with a shiver, the bright, raw storm of primal magic that had engulfed the lithe form of his manservant wasn't anything he thought he would ever forget.
Still, even Merlin's silence told him that he had his mind set on talking about Arthur's well-being now, not his own. Arthur sighed, leaning away from Merlin for a moment to retrieve one of his bigger knives in the hope that it would need sharpening. He could always just order his manservant back to his bedroll, but he was too tired to deal with the bickering match that would ensue. And he was surprised how peaceful it felt to just sit in silence with Merlin's body heat slowly seeping through their clothes and mingling with Arthur's own.
Next to him, Merlin hummed thoughtfully, like Arthur's persistent silence had been answer enough to his earlier question. He took a deep breath, bracing himself-for the backlash of what he was about to say, Arthur thought, and felt himself tensing-and asked, quietly, "Would you feel different now if the Green Knight had killed Morgana?"
The whetstone slipped on the longer dagger, and he only just halted the flinch of his hands before the blade could embed itself in his palm. He jerked back to stare at Merlin, a sick sense of shock washing through him at the blunt words. The image of his sister's fallen form flashed through his mind, and he didn't even think about the words when they burst out of him, perhaps more defensively than they would have been if he'd allowed himself to think. "I don't want her to die!"
"But you want her to pay," Merlin said smoothly, not looking surprised at Arthur's reaction. His eyes held none of the righteous anger that Arthur had thought he felt towards Morgana. It was like he was keeping a tight leash on his own reactions, holding them back to leave Arthur enough room to sort out his own.
"I-" Arthur broke off, carelessly dropping dagger and whetstone in his lap to run his fingers through his hair. "It's not-" Merlin just watched him, his stare calm but adamant, like he would sit there until dawn if it took that long for Arthur to answer, and so he finally blurted out a frustrated, "Yes, but-"
"No buts, Arthur," Merlin countered, effortlessly cutting through the tumult of thoughts in Arthur's mind. Arthur stared at him in disbelief-it wasn't even that he'd just been silenced by his manservant that startled him; after the three years he'd known Merlin, he was kind of used to that.
It was the look in Merlin's eyes that made him pause, because now the spark he hadn't seen before was there, a smoldering burn of slow fury that looked like it had been building up for far longer than Arthur knew. His features were hard and unforgiving, and for a second Arthur thought he looked taller, his back straighter, his eyes golden with something more than the firelight.
"She would have seen you dead," Merlin said, with a quiet, vicious anger that sent an involuntary shiver down Arthur's spine, "killed by Mercian soldiers for her revenge on your father. Have you forgotten how readily she once took the crown-your crown?"
"I remember, thanks," Arthur snapped back, irritation coming to his aid. For some reason, the memory of Morgana stealing Arthur's birthright from him seemed to ignite Merlin even more, and Arthur almost thought he felt a crackle in the air around them, a shivering pulse of magic that must be still close to the surface for Merlin, after what he'd done in the forest.
Waving away the little flash of contrition that flitted through Merlin's eyes, Arthur took a deep breath. "I know I should want her gone," he said, forcing down the knot of conflicting, cutting emotions that pulled tight in his chest, and he was glad when his voice remained mostly steady. "I know I should chase her to the edge of the earth for everything she's done-"
He broke off when the enormity of his own words hit him, and felt himself grow cold all over. He knew all the possible ends to that sentence, and shied away from all of them, because something was making his throat close up, the same choking, betrayed sense of bewilderment that had gripped him when he'd first seen the gleaming crown on Morgana's head all those months ago.
He should want her dead, hell, he should want to kill her himself, just for what she'd done to his- their father. The journey had come to an abrupt almost-end, but nothing was resolved. Morgana was still out there, unconscious and mad and bereft of her magic, but alive, and as long as she still breathed, Arthur should have felt mad with the desire to hunt her down like a dog. But he couldn't.
"She's your sister," Merlin finished for him, with a little mirthless smile like he knew exactly what thoughts were running through Arthur's head. "And you can't hate her."
The fight went out of Arthur like Merlin's words had cut the last string that tied him. He nodded; there was nothing else to do. Hatred was something that feasted on infected wounds like sickly yellow pus, and with the memory of an entire life with Morgana stretching out behind him like a winding road, Arthur couldn't summon the energy to let it fester.
And even at the Green Chapel, Morgana had not looked like the triumphant conqueror she'd been in the throne room, but more like the frightened orphan she'd once been, the young girl that had hidden her too-fresh grief behind a haughty shroud when Uther had first brought her home. Remembering the madness in her golden eyes disarmed him, and that was something Arthur hated, something that he wished he could hunt down and kill. But he couldn't hate Morgana.
The strange hardness had melted out of Merlin's eyes, and he leaned closer to Arthur, pressing their shoulders together with reassuring warmth. There was still something troubled lurking behind his gaze, but the small smile tucked in the corner of his mouth spoke of relief. It was like he had just wanted to drive Arthur to this edge, to force him to admit this to himself, probably figuring that it could be dealt with best if it was dragged out in the open first.
"I just don't know what to tell my father," Arthur confessed quietly, figuring that if he had revealed so much already, this was almost easy to say.
Merlin sighed a little at the defeat in his voice, but didn't try to spout halfhearted reassurances about how they might even return to find Uther hale and hearty in both body and mind. "Maybe you could just tell him about the Green Knight first," he ventured, "and leave out the part with Morgana until he... feels a bit better."
There was a short silence, and Arthur was sure that they were wondering about the same thing-asking themselves, without much hope, whether Uther would ever recover enough to deal with this new betrayal. The numb silence in his chest cracked a little, allowing a strange, clenching pain to bleed through, and he tried to breathe deeply through it, suddenly so grateful for Merlin's close warmth that it almost hurt.
Not trusting himself to speak, he just nodded in reply, and went back to staring into the flames. The fire didn't seem to dim, crackling merrily although it had been at least an hour since Lancelot and Elyan had come back with the firewood. An absent, unoccupied part of his mind wondered if Merlin was doing that or if it might even be the Green Knight, but somehow he didn't think it was important.
"He trusted her," Arthur found himself saying at last, almost too quietly even for himself to hear. He didn't even try to hide the way his voice cracked-there was no one but Merlin to hear it, after all.
Even more than the sight of Morgana's mad, broken eyes at the Chapel, that was what his mind kept coming back to, the old, gnarled knot of rage and sympathy on his father's behalf. That was what he couldn't work around, what felt like a rusty knife in his gut whenever he thought about it. It didn't make him want to deny what Uther had done-if Morgana had tried to take Arthur's birthright, then their father had certainly deprived her of hers. But no matter how often his mind circled the issue like a hungry crow, he couldn't understand how that had been enough to change her into the person he'd seen at the Chapel, gone brittle and twisted under the weight of hatred and grief.
Merlin gave him a look of mingled sympathy and exasperation, like he knew very well that Arthur was taking the easy way out by making this about Uther rather than himself. He shrugged lightly, the movement rubbing their shoulders together, and said, "You trusted her too."
Arthur said nothing, his jaw clenching on its own accord. Merlin was right, in a way, but for some reason, the issue of his own sense of betrayal was easier to work around. Maybe it was because he was still fighting, still changing and fluctuating like a mountain stream, unlike Uther, who had let himself be frozen into a stupor by his sorrow. Arthur was still there.
There was a long, wordless silence. A light breeze ruffled their hair and sent the flames crackling higher, blowing eastwards the way they had come. Although clouds had been racing across the sky when they had still been in the forest, the sky was clear now, the canopy of darkness only disrupted by twinkling stars. The sound of slow rolling thunder drifted along from far away, seeming to shudder through the earth beneath their feet.
Breathing got a little easier after a while, and although Arthur was aware of Merlin's gaze resting on him, he didn't feel watched or even pressed to say anything. His manservant seemed content to just sit in front of the fire with him for as long as he wanted to. And all of a sudden, Arthur was unbearably grateful that save for where their arms and thighs pressed together, Merlin didn't try to touch him. He kept himself almost eerily still, for fear of disrupting Arthur's thoughts, although Arthur saw his hands twitch in his lap like he secretly wanted to reach out and smooth the frown from his brow.
When the sound of thunder rumbled through the silence again, Merlin did move, a slight twitch that pressed him closer to Arthur's side, like he'd suddenly noticed that his foot had fallen asleep. His hand slid over his leg until he could press the warm back of it to Arthur's knee. "Arthur," he said, his voice hushed with infinite gentleness. "Please, let it go. Don't take his grief for yours."
Arthur shook his head, not in denial, but simply because he knew he wouldn't be able to swallow down the hot, jagged lump in his throat even if he tried. But Merlin seemed to understand. He shifted to curl his fingers around Arthur's knee, just a little-not a demand for his attention, but a simple, anchoring touch.
They sat in silence while the moon wandered slowly across the dark sky, the knights snoring in their bedrolls and the fire crackling in front of them, the flames never fading. After a while, the breeze started to carry the scent of rain, and if Arthur strained his ears, he could still hear distant thunder, a faraway storm blowing itself out somewhere in the forest.
The night air was chilly, but Merlin warmed him, and by the time his manservant fell asleep drooling on Arthur's shoulder, Arthur could almost feel the edges of the frozen knot in his chest begin to thaw.
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