[Open] Elvish Camp Log.

[scorchedevents]

Who: Anyone marked for dinner by the elves.
When: August 12th - 13th
Where: The Elvish Camp, in the far mist.
Format: Setup is Action. As for the rest, do what you like.
What: Welcome to Mist Camp. For lunch we're having... you.
Warnings: SEE THE ANSWER TO "WHAT

Comments

[calamitousnaiad]

[She nods.]

A crooked mustache.

[It's comforting to know that he's here. Maybe especially because he reminds her of Ned. But Arthur Pendragon must go home and become king. That is still ahead of him. No matter how bad this is, how terrifying if she allows herself to think about the fact that she is being held prisoner in a barbarian camp, things must turn out all right. He must escape this somehow. And if she is with him, she should be safe, too.

She has to concentrate to remember the words correctly, but somehow it comes to her.]

And through that strength the King drew in the petty princedoms under him, fought, and in twelve great battles overcame the heathen hordes, and made a realm and reign'd.

[Terrence wasn't the only one to take solace in Tennyson. The mere fact that these lines of verse exist at all is enough to get her down to the door, moving carefully, her hand still tight in his. Her smaller hand snakes outside of the cage, feeling along the edge of the rustic door.]

Maybe they've forgotten to lock us in as well.

[Hopeful, but unlikely. Even she knows that.]

[supercilious]

[ She's babbling, but he's not sure if it's Mist, shock, the drug, or all three. ]

[ Not that he minds. If her words are soothing her fears, it is Verity's presence that is driving him forwards, flying in the teeth of them. This is no place for somewhere like her, no matter the circumstances, and he resolves to get her safely free. ]

[ Though she may come up empty-handed, Arthur thinks the door might be the ticket to success. He carefully brings their hands up to a bar. ]

Hold on there a moment.

[ Once she's let go of his hand, Arthur proceeds to examine the door, finding the points furthest from the peg hinges, the way it's braced, the places it's weak. He thinks normally he might be able to knock this down... but he's weak too, the inspection a bumbling, fumbling affair, and for once his belief in his own physical ability is tenuous at best. ]

Anything?

[ As optimistic as she is, if not normally so desperately obvious about it. ]

[calamitousnaiad]

[At his instruction she holds onto the bar he indicates, continuing to feel outside of the door for whatever it is that fastens it. Mumbling, she remembers another passage. Recalling them helps her to keep her head clear and stops the shadows from growing into monsters and keeps random strawhats and crooked facial hair from appearing where they do not belong. Mumblingly, she recites.]

Merlin in our time hath spoken also, not in jest, and sworn though men may wound him that he will not die, but pass, again to come; and then or now utterly smite the heathen underfoot, till these and all men hail him for their king. Behold, thy doom is mine. Let chance what will, I love thee to the death!

[She finds it. A heavy iron latch with a pin pushed through it but she can neither reach the top of the pin nor pull it out from the base.]

Something. I can't quite... get it. My fingers feel like they've been asleep. Like... jelly with pins and needles.

[supercilious]

[ Merlin's name catches his attention, and Arthur listens, suddenly, to the light melody of her words. He knows this - well, he hasn't read it, or doesn't remember it, but he can chance a guess to place it. It's hard to resist books titled of your death, stories people wrote about a man they think is you. But Arthur has only glanced and glimpsed. It makes him strangely uncomfortably to see his life writ, wrongly no less, in books that anyone can read. He's a private man, and expectations tend to weigh heavier on his shoulders than his other burdens. ]

[ But- Verity isn't to know. He cannot tell her that none of it is certain and half is inaccurate. It seems irrelevant right now. She knows the men behind the myth, has met the boys, she doesn't mean to prickle goosebumps over Arthur as though there's a soft footstep upon his grave. ]

We were drugged.

[ Had he said that already? He can't remember. Arthur comes back to her, leaning heavy on the frame. ]

A lock?

[ It seems dubious that it should be at all gettable from within the cage, but perhaps their captors had not expected quick fingers and slender wrists, or human ingenuity. ]

Can we get it with something else?

[ Arthur starts to check his pockets - too fast. He sways, breathes heavy, and closes his eyes against sudden vertigo. ]

Keep trying.

[calamitousnaiad]

[Belatedly she thinks of Merlin himself. She owes it to the sluggishness of her mind with the thick mist and the heavy drugs weighing her down. The cages beyond theirs are full of people, too, though none she can see very well, even if she squints.]

I hope he's not here as well. Merlin.

[Even though he could probably use magic or something to get them out. Not that she knows how magic works. But even so, the thought of him possibly being stuck here as well is upsetting because he's sweet and sensitive and she still feels a little bit motherly towards him even though he's an adult again.]

[She leans into the bars, reaching her hand out as far as it can go and still she can't reach the top of the pin. She tries to get her fingers around it, but it feels rusty and she can't quite reach out far enough to get a good grip.]

A comb, maybe? Or a little blade? Something flat and a few inches long. I might be able to push it up from beneath if only I could reach just a bit further. Unless you think we could break it? It feels quite old and we might be able to push the nails loose. At least I think they're nails...

[supercilious]

Merlin can handle himself.

[ His tone is callous in its neutrality. Arthur cannot think of the possibilities of where Merlin is or he will be lost. There is no room for despair right now. ]

[ But when he opens his eyes to look at her, they put the lie to the calm of his tone and the blank expression on his face. They are troubled like a stormy sea, the blue almost black in the dim light. His jaw is set in bull-headed determination. ]

I don't have anything. But I can break it.

[ Even if they've dulled the strength that Anatole had given him and wearied his limbs, Arthur thinks he should be able to break a door. Point, counterpoint, the weight of his body, the way hurting himself in the process seems unimportant in the scheme of things. ]

Stand back.

[calamitousnaiad]

[She's quiet as she turns to him, seeing both the iron facade and the human depths, his turbulent eyes saying more than all the words of the Idylls put together. There is a delay before she nods, setting her mouth in as expressionless a line as she can manage just now.]

Yes, of course he can. Better than either of us, most likely.

[Or at least she hopes. She can't begin to contemplate right now who else might be in these cages with them - Aximili? Ichigo? Sebastian? no, she can't let herself start this - so instead she concentrates on first getting out.]

[She moves back a space, carefully. She is a little more sure on her feet now which hopefully meant that whatever drug their captors used on them was wearing off. Once she has moved clear of the door, she looks to Arthur again.]

Be careful not to hurt yourself.

[supercilious]

[ At that last, Arthur snorts, dismissive. ]

[ He is not careful. Turning one shoulder to the door, he takes his own step back and then throws himself at the bars which house the lock. They shudder, the cage creaks, and Arthus leans against them as he listens to make sure no-one heard, squints through the Mist to see if one of their captors is even now coming to drug them again. ]

[ When he is satisfied, he throws himself again at the bars, thrice in quick succession, giving a pained grunt as the wood cracks and gives but not enough, not far enough. Teeth grit, breathing like a racehorse, Arthur brings his frustration to bear once more. This time the lock splits. ]

[ Arthur swears, and then glances at Verity, clutching his shoulder, sheepish through the grimace of pain. ]

Sorry. Uncalled for.

[ Falling back against the solid bars beside the door swung slightly open, Arthur tilts his head in it's direction. His panting is audible. ]

Ladies... first.

[calamitousnaiad]

[She visibly winces when he throws himself at the door. There really isn't another option, she knows, and they can't let the people keeping them captive have a chance to do whatever they intended when they took all these people. Still, that can't be good for him.]

Arthur!

[She ignores the door for a moment and goes to him, a note of scolding mixed into the concern in her voice.]

I'm not leaving here until you do. Are you going to be all right?

[She doesn't really believe he'd say no even if it was true, but she offers her arm to him anyway.]

[supercilious]

[ Arthur bites his tongue rather than scream as he deliberately presses his weight back on his shoulder. He has no room for Verity, no room for anything but staying conscious as he lifts his arm and the joint pops back into place with an audible pop. Tears of pain sting his eyes - he is almost grateful for the adrenaline, the remnants of the drugs. ]

[ He has no idea how long it is before he becomes aware that Verity is still there. Eventually the question sinks through the fading haze of the ache, and he pushes himself up. ]

I'll be fine.

[ Putting his pride aside, he accepts Verity's arm: he'll need it to get down from the cage without dislocating his shoulder again. But only for that. ]

You cannot stay with me. You must- you must try and find your way back to the city, and fetch reinforcements.

[calamitousnaiad]

[Verity moves them toward the door, carefully and hops down ahead of him in order to support him better when he comes down.]

I haven't the first notion of how to get back to the city from here. If you let me go off on my own, I will more than likely get lost and recaptured. Or killed by some other thing. There are creatures out here, aren't there?

[She frowns at him, all fear chased from her face so that only stubbornness remains. She probably could manage to get back on her own if she could keep the Mist from seeping into her senses, but she would rather stay by Arthur's side.]

You're going to try to free everyone else, aren't you? Let me help you. Two sets of hands will be faster than one, and I shouldn't think we have much time before someone comes to check up on us.

[Besides, you're already injured she leaves off. No need to wound his pride by suggesting he need assistance.]

[supercilious]

[ Her argument is sound. Arthur's mouth twists in displeasure as he gingerly lowers himself down to the ground, careful with his shoulder but flinching when he lands all the same. ]

Fine. But the moment I find someone willing to escort you back, you're going.

[ This place is too dangerous. As though to underscore his thought, there is a sudden scream from somewhere past the cages, human but so filled with pain and terror as to be animalistic. It chokes off abruptly and the silence of the Mist seems more oppressive than ever. Arthur looks over at Verity, grim, confirming that she heard it too, that it wasn't some awful Mist-born hallucination. ]

Come on then.

[ He starts to move around their cage, away from the others. Explaining: ]

I thought I saw a sword on the waste pile.

[ Never mind his shoulder: he can fight just as well left-handed. But a weapon in his hand might help turn some of his bravado into bravery. ]

[calamitousnaiad]

Of course.

[In other words, she was planning to cross that bridge when they came to it. But she hasn't much time to consider a secondary excuse before that scream interrupts her. It's worse than anything she's ever heard, even on that night in Coventry when the city was burning and the planes were overhead, dropping shrieking incendiaries out of the sky. She moves closer to Arthur almost out of instinct, and stays near him even when he moves, barely giving it a second thought. She doesn't even wonder about the direction he's going until after he explains.]

On the waste pile? Who throws out something like that? Even if it belongs to a captive, I should think a barbarian camp - or whatever this is - would appreciate the value of a weapon, captured or no.

[supercilious]

Not if they have plenty of their own.

[ Or if they're not human after all, he thinks but does not say. Not everything with hands and fingers needs a sword to fight. ]

I may have been wrong. All we can do is look.

[ Sensing her trepidation, Arthur takes Verity's arm awkwardly, feigning a little more weakness than he feels. Their cage was right up against the refuse pile, so it's not far. The stench is overpowering as they get closer, and Arthur covers his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket, grimacing in disgust. Close up, it is obvious this is not simply the daily waste of camp life, and it is with a growing sense of horror that he recognizes a skull without a jaw, three jaggedly broken ribs, among the bones that make up a goodly amount of the pile. ]

[ This is a mass grave. ]

[ Given what the mist does to bodies and bones, Arthur is shocked by the amount. He turns the two of them around rapidly, hoping Verity hasn't noticed. He will not expose her to this for the sake of a weapon. As if it would do any good at all. ]

[calamitousnaiad]

[She's still frightened. What she had done to try to forget it, to focus on something else had been washed away by the scream which still echoes through her head. She can't allow herself to wonder, to try to puzzle out what is going on here. Why the cages, why so many people, the smell, that scream. She can't because she knows it will terrify her but she also can't help herself, her head spinning with theories that drop like stones into the pit of her stomach. Verity can't help but want to solve the mystery.]

[She gags. The smell is profoundly awful and with the arm not supporting Arthur she follows his example and covers her mouth and nose. she is not as quick as he is to pick out the origin of the remains, but as he turns them she catches sight of a skull, hollow sockets staring back at her unmistakable. Human.]

Arthur...

[Her voice trembles and she cannot even think to level it. Not now.]

What was that... those bones...?

[Her question dies before she can even finish speaking it. She already knows the answer.]

[supercilious]

[ She's seen. Arthur shakes his head and quickens his pace. ]

Best not to think about it, eh?

[ As though either of them can stop. ]

Recite something else.

[ It's not that he wants to hear it, and probably they should be quieter, skulking through the cages. But he can't concentrate enough to gather that hunting instinct that serves him so well in the unknown. And he can't let her dwell on questions that have answers that don't help the situation. ]