Assume The Position
Working late is rubbish. Also rubbish is talking to people in a professional context. I think I might actually have resorted to talking about shoes. THE SHAME OF IT!
As a result of working late I humbly and publicly beg for forgiveness for not having written new things, but I can now present the first part of the infamous epic. Beta'd by my lovely, if a little bit whip-happy, cienna and looked over by the agreeable to beer and MISSIONS IMPOSSIBLE j_apollo. Remaining mistakes are all the fault of my brother for giving me the Neverending Cold.
And so, I present:
Title:The World Under Heaven, Here All Is Lent (1/2)
Rating: Embarrassingly Un-pornographic
Word Count: Ridiculously Large
Summary: Arthur/Merlin. H/C. Arthur and Merlin survive.
Notes: This could be an essay considering all the ideas I took and adapted from everything from Arthurian romances to Monochrome Factor. I have no guilt about this as an English student friend of mine once told me there are no new stories, only re-written old ones. The internet was my researchy-friend. Many things are written to cienna's specification. I'm sure Bad Son had input somewhere. The title is shamelessly pilfered from an Old English poem called, somewhat appropriately, "The Wanderer". I shall not go into the meaning too much, but those who know of Japanese-y things will appreciate the thematic parallels between Old English literature and the on-going obsession of Japanese culture with transience. Sakura blah blah blah. STORY NOW.
.The World Under Heaven, Here All Is Lent (1/2).
It was raining.
It was raining and there was thunder somewhere in the distance and the vague flash of lightening casting unnatural shadows amongst the trees, cutting across the dulled afternoon light.
Merlin thought, I'm going to drown on land at this rate, and How stupid is that? and wondered momentarily if Gaius would laugh or cry when they told him. Except, Merlin remembered, if he didn't return there wouldn't be anyone to tell him. The guards were all dead. Merlin was sure of that. He'd seen their bodies, or what was left of them, strewn across the path for the past mile, or half a mile, or twenty miles, or however far he'd been running. He couldn't help them, and he wasn't sure there was any magic in the world that could, so he pressed on and tried not to think of them, of what they'd become, or of what manner of being could have done such a thing.
The path veered to the right, turning to run parallel with the river. It flowed so much faster than him that Merlin wished he knew a spell to get his feet to match its pace. Its waters were swelled by the rain and threatened to flood over its banks. Merlin's boots splashed in the puddles and the mud, not keeping out any water at all as the path became a stream of its own, brown water rushing against him as the path began to incline. He slipped, cursed and righted himself, slowing down in case he fell and broke his neck and considering how the day had gone so far Merlin thought that a very real possibility.
Earlier, hours ago, minutes ago, seconds before there had been cries and screams and the metal thud and clang of swords. Above the dull roar of falling rain Merlin could just about make out the sound of Arthur barking orders, then he tasted and smelt and felt in his very bones magic like he'd never felt before. It was so strong and so strange and unknown and so foul it made Merlin think of rotten food and the strongest poisons and potions Gaius kept on the highest shelves in his chambers; the ones he thought Merlin didn't know about. And it made him think of death.
Then there was silence.
For a second, for a minute, for hours the forest was silent around him, as though taking a great breath before diving under water. He'd strained his ears, muttered a spell to hear as a fox does, but there was just nothing, and Merlin did not think about what that meant.
Then sound had returned and the rain poured louder and harder than before, wind battered the trees and broke their branches and drove water into Merlin's eyes and clothes. And Merlin ran.
Merlin ran, battling up a steep hill which he was sure had only been a gentle slope before the rain started. He knew he had to hurry, he knew he wasn't running fast enough, he knew this whole running towards danger thing was a new habit he really had to get out of. But at least he knew, with the same certainty he knew the sun would rise, that his mother loved him, that he really really hated the rain, he knew that Arthur was alive.
Arthur was breathing, even if Merlin couldn't hear him. Arthur was somewhere, somewhere near, and there was only mud and rain and weird magic that Merlin didn't like the feel of at all between them. Which, all things considered, was more encouraging than it sounded.
In that moment or whatever when everything had gone still and quiet Merlin had thought, Arthur is dead. Then, nothing. Just a cold feeling heavy in his gut and the sour taste of complete failure and it's your fault in his mouth.
And Merlin didn't ever want to feel that again.
*
Merlin bound the cloth tighter over the wound, muttering, "Oh yes, Merlin, it'll be a nice trip to the countryside. Get out of the palace. Get some air." Arthur grunted but didn't open his eyes. "You'll love it, Merlin! It'll be like going back to your peasant roots. Oh very funny, Arthur, yes you're a real jester. I think you missed your true calling."
Wiping sticky hands on his soaked, muddy trousers, Merlin sat back on his heels and took a deep breath.
"Okay," he told himself. "Okay. This is really not the time to go actually insane."
He closed his eyes, relieved the bad feeling had receded, even if it had only been replaced by a sort of stomach-wrenching worry and fear and very wobbly legs. Arthur was alive, more or less, and they were dry if not exactly safe. Dryer, in any case, tucked away in the hollow base of a rotting grand old oak.
Outside, the rain still poured in torrents. It flooded the soft forest earth making the floor of their shelter a bit squishy, but it was better than nothing and was out of the wind, for which Merlin was grateful.
That wind, as Merlin dragged and pulled at Arthur's semi-conscious body, had lashed and whipped around them like it was out to get them, making Merlin wonder if it was magical at all. It had whispered too. Whispered so many words that Merlin couldn't make out a thing it had said. Not that he was listening because talking gales were a bit too far-fetched and disturbing even for Merlin.
So he had ignored it, just as he was ignoring the chill and discomfort of waterlogged fabric against skin and the rank smell of mould and rotting leaves and the constant dripping sound of water leaking into the hollow. He was tired and he was cold and he ached all over, but the blood flowing from the cut or gash or open gaping mortal injury, for all Merlin knew, on Arthur's thigh just wouldn't stop. Merlin resolved to pay more attention to Gaius when he attempted to school him in the arts of the physician from thereon. If he survived this. Because, his own health and the possibility of some evil magic thing way beyond what Merlin had ever come across before trying to kill them notwithstanding, Merlin didn't think the court would be too pleased if he returned to Camelot without its prince.
Not that that was going to happen. Ever.
He owed Arthur his life, and regardless of what some stupid crazy dragon said, Merlin didn't really mind his life as the prince's servant. It could be almost fun at times. Times that, obviously, were not like this one; knee-deep in mud, sneezing with every other breath and so very alone.
Merlin checked that Arthur was asleep or unconscious or whatever he was one last time before concentrating on the wound again. He tried to picture the wound closing in his mind, focused his eyes on the red-stained bandage he'd tied using his own scarf. When he felt nothing he lifted his hands, tried hovering them over the stain, tried moving aside the bloody fabric, wincing at the raw skin and thick, oozing blood, then placed his fingers gently on the wound itself, concentrating on sewing the flesh together. When that didn't work he tried door closing and object moving and mending shattered glass and finally he remembered how he used to annoy his mother by finishing her knitting for her when she turned her back, so he tried that. It made Arthur squirm and moan a bit so Merlin stopped, his eyes stinging from all the staring and concentrating and the not blinking. And it may have been his imagination or hope, or it may have been real, but the wound seemed smaller and not quite as eager to bleed as before.
*
"What happened?" Arthur said, his voice rough and breathy.
"We were attacked, sire," Merlin replied, shuffling away from Arthur so there was room for him to sit up in the enclosed space.
"I know that," Arthur ground out, pushing himself sort of sideways so that he could lean more or less upright against the wooden wall of the hollow. "I meant, how did we end up here?"
"I dragged you in here," Merlin replied, trying not to sound too pleased with himself. "And stop moving around so much or that," he pointed to Arthur's leg, screwed his face up a bit for effect. "Will start bleeding again."
"You dragged me," Arthur repeated, sounding decidedly unimpressed.
"Well I can't exactly carry you," Merlin huffed, not having the energy to even get more than mildly annoyed at the lack of appreciation. Not that Arthur ever appreciated him, so he folded his arms and added: "Don't appreciate the fact that I saved your life or anything, will you."
Arthur turned his head to look at Merlin, frowning. "You saved my life? How?"
"Okay," Merlin admitted after a moment of silence in which Arthur eyed him suspiciously and Merlin fidgeted. "I didn't exactly save your life. More like, prevented you from dying a horrible slow death from exposure and drowning and bleeding to death and probably getting eaten by large dangerous carnivorous forest animals too."
Arthur snorted. "Why thank you, Merlin," he said, then sobered, looking out at the rain. "The others?" he asked. Merlin shook his head.
"I don't know what could have killed them… like that," he said, looking away and doing his best not to remember.
"We didn't see it," Arthur said, still staring at the rain. Merlin noticed, he looked pale and unwell and Merlin had no idea how they were ever going to make it back to Camelot in one piece. "Not really," Arthur was saying. "It was like a shadow, or a ghost; there and then just not there." Then he stopped, wrapped his arms around himself, and Merlin didn't ask.
"Now you're awake I'll go and find some water," Merlin said instead, remembering that Gaius had once told him that water was good for people who had lost lots of blood.
Arthur looked at him incredulously. "You'll find plenty outside," he said flatly.
"You know what I mean. I dropped my pack somewhere." He unfolded himself from his corner of the hollow to crawl out, but Arthur stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"I know it's hard for you, but don't be such an idiot. It's raining and you don't know where you're going and we have no idea what is out there," he said, his hand shaking slightly where he gripped at Merlin's soggy shirt.
"I do know where I'm going and it's not far, I don't think this rain is ever going to stop and I'm pretty sure that thing is gone," Merlin replied. He watched Arthur's face as he seemed to mull this over, conflicted about something. Then Arthur nodded to himself, frowning and said, "Then I'm coming too."
"But," Merlin started, only for Arthur to grip his arm more tightly and speak over him, "I'm fine and you are not going out there on your own." Arthur had that annoying arrogant haughty look on his face he got when he was ordering people about so Merlin just shrugged, knowing there was no convincing Arthur to do anything when he got like that. "You could have thought to pick up my sword," he added, letting Merlin go so he could crawl out of the shelter.
Merlin decided it best not to reply to that.
*
The sky was such a thick, dull grey that there was no telling anymore what time of day it was or how long they had been stumbling along the path in an attempt to find their tools or their food, or maybe if they were really lucky, one of their horses. But the air was chilled and the ground was waterlogged and unstable beneath their feet and they did not find anything. Merlin didn't mention it, but he was sure they should have seen at least two of the soldier's bodies by now.
Beside him, Arthur seemed out of breath, which was just weird considering it was usually Merlin who was panting for his life after intense physical exertion. But Arthur was still looking a very unattractive shade of sickly pale and favouring his uninjured leg heavily.
"This is why," he ground out, "Peasants should not make the decisions."
"I didn't ask you to come," Merlin pointed out, pulling his jacket tighter around himself, trying not to be too obvious about watching Arthur closely to make sure he didn't fall and do himself another injury.
"You think I was going to let you wander around the forest with some... thing... on the loose on your own?" Arthur scoffed. "You wouldn't last five minutes."
Merlin rolled his eyes, contemplated ignoring Arthur then thought, no, why should he; he was cold and tired and he'd dragged Arthur's royal heavy carcass halfway across the forest and sort-of fixed his leg and servant or not this was most definitely not in his job description.
"I seem to be doing better than you," he replied a bit more venomously than he meant to.
"Ha!" Arthur laughed without any humour at all. "Says the idiot who got thrown by his horse at the first sign of trouble!"
"It's not my fault the horse got scared!" Merlin shot back, frowning and wondering why he even bothered. "And thanks for making sure I was alive, by the way," he added moodily. "It wasn't exactly a goose-feather mattress I was thrown onto back there you know." Merlin pointed to his back. "I'm sure I've been bruised for life."
"I didn't have time," Arthur retorted, sounding actually kind of irritated. It could just have been the incessant rain and the cold and the pain of his leg, which Arthur was trying to hide really very poorly, but the way Arthur was looking at him, glaring at him with an angry intensity Merlin had only seen Arthur use when he thought he was being insulted, made Merlin think that maybe Arthur was annoyed at the insinuation he didn't care.
Arthur shook his head and wiped at the rainwater dripping down into his eyes. "I knew you were alright anyway," he said dismissively, not looking at Merlin. His eyes widened and he sped up, limping away from Merlin towards a slight embankment bordering one side of the path as though he'd noticed something. He shuffled up the incline, carefully placing his feet to keep his balance, and Merlin was just about to ask what on earth he thought he was trying to do when Arthur turned back to him with a grin and announced, "Hey, I found my sword."
*
"It's coming back," Merlin said.
"What? Where?" Arthur said, turning around, peering into the shadows. "I can't see anything."
"It's… Look. Trust me. It's coming back and we need to move," Merlin snapped back, pulling on Arthur's arm.
"How do you know?" Arthur insisted. He was watching Merlin with something that looked very close to suspicion and this was exactly why Merlin was never going to tell Arthur about his magic. At least he wasn't resisting as Merlin tugged him along, back the way they had come.
"I just know," Merlin said, trying very desperately to make that sound final and not at all suspect.
Arthur frowned. "This is the wrong way," he said in his most pointed you-are-stupid voice. "We're supposed to be going towards Camelot not away from it."
"The horrible murdering nasty thing is that way," Merlin said. "We are not going that way."
Arthur snorted. "Horrible murdering nasty thing?"
"Yes," Merlin said, pulling Arthur along uncharitably fast. "The horrible thing that nastily murdered your guards and is now probably coming back to finish us off."
"If we go back that way," Arthur explained carefully, "We'll just be wasting our energy. We don't know how far it is to the next village and I don't have the map. We're better off heading back the way we came like we decided five minutes ago, then we know it's only two days at the most until we come across people." Arthur did stop walking then, pulling Merlin to a halt. "Merlin, listen to me," he paused, studying Merlin's face carefully. Merlin tried his very best not to fidget but they were standing still, and it was getting darker, and he could feel that thing getting closer and closer with every second and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his fingers and toes feel cold and numb. Although that could just have been the weather. "We have no supplies and no map and neither of us know these woods. We need to go the way we know. I know you're scared," he said slowly, and there was no way Merlin was going to let Arthur get away with that.
"I am not scared," Merlin said, crossing his arms and scowling. Arthur just raised an eyebrow at him.
"No?"
Merlin shifted, desperately wanting to move away but having no clue how he could express the urgency of the situation without looking completely crazy or giving himself away as a sometimes sorcerer. And even if he did try the honesty route there was no guarantee that Arthur wouldn't just assume he was crazy or panicked or something anyway.
"Maybe a little bit," he tried. "And so are you," he added, because he couldn't help himself. Arthur planted his hands on his hips, glaring in what Merlin supposed was meant to be menacing, but the dripping hair and pale skin and bags under the eyes made it look more like a slightly pathetic grimace. He looked as though he was about to say something too so Merlin said quickly, "I know we should go back, but you have to believe me that we shouldn't. I have really good... intuition about this kind of thing."
Arthur looked away, shaking his head.
"And as much as I'm sure your intuitive skills are renowned throughout the countryside, even if that evil thing is that way, we should still go." And with that he turned around and starting limping away.
"Arthur," Merlin tried, hurrying to catch up, thinking, This is the worst idea ever and We're going to die. Horribly.
"I have my sword, remember?" Arthur called back over his shoulder.
"Because that did you so much good last time," Merlin shot back, looking pointedly at his own scarf still wrapped around Arthur's leg.
"It's just a scratch," Arthur said, straightening up in an attempt to not limp quite so much.
Merlin rolled his eyes, because really, Arthur was such an idiot.
Watching Arthur hobble stubbornly beside him, Merlin thought, Maybe it is now, but he remembered the way it had bled and bled over his hands, and the purple flesh around the wound that he couldn't quite bring himself to look at, and how Arthur had mumbled and squirmed and frowned in pain back in their tree-shelter. He didn't like to think what had done that; what had managed to best Camelot's most skilled knight.
As he followed Arthur, and all his instincts told him to run away and turn back and hide and hide and never come out, fine rain turning to thick sleet around them and night closing in, Merlin could not help but feel that he was soon to find out.
*
Once upon a time there had been a great magician. He was young and tall and everyone said what a nice man he was and how kind and generous he was. He travelled the world, it was said, and as he passed through village after village he would heal the sick and he would bring the rains, he fixed houses and farm tools and for all of this he would ask for nothing and never took any payment. It was odd though, because once the great magician had left no one ever seemed to be able to remember his name.
Years later, the story went, in those villages the great magician had visited there would suddenly arrive a plague of misfortune. The sick would die and the rain would flood the crops, and great winds would come and rip the people's homes and farms and lives apart. Then the great magician would return, and he would be old and bitter and he would tell the villagers; "I have given you peace and wealth and you do not even remember my name."
The villagers would cry; "You are a curse! You have done this!" and they would kill him with fire or steel or rope or water. And once he was dead they would say; "All will be well again," and they were relieved.
But still the sick would die, and the rain would flood, and the winds would come, and still the villagers would blame the great magician. Never once did they consider that maybe they had brought disaster upon themselves.
*
"Your mother used to tell you that story when you were a child?" Arthur asked, his face screwed up in a very undignified look somewhere between awe and incredulity. Merlin frowned thoughtfully.
"I don't know why I thought of it." He shrugged. "It's a common tale."
"Cheery. You really managed to lighten the mood there," Arthur scoffed.
"Then you tell a story," Merlin retorted, then held up a hand to forestall Arthur from saying anything. "And no more stories about you and your heroic and manly deeds."
Arthur scowled at Merlin. "They're great stories," he grumbled, pulling his thick cloak around himself. Merlin spared a moment's energy to be deeply jealous of the thick wool lining of Arthur's coat and determined to demand a pay rise when they got home so that he would be able to afford such warm clothing too.
Home, he thought, and imagined he was in Gaius's chambers, helping him brew some foul-smelling potion. He thought of his bed, and how wonderful it would feel to sleep and not to walk and walk, with frozen ground beneath your feet, the damp thin fabric of your shirt and jacket not keeping you from feeling even the lightest gust of wind. He thought of food and how much his stomach hurt from lack of it, and how warm it could be, and how it could drive away the sick feeling of imminent doom that made his feet feel heavy and every step harder than the last.
Arthur stumbled on the uneven ground and cursed, his hand going to his thigh and his face drawn in pain.
Merlin hated this. This lying and this uncertainty. It meant that he hadn't healed Arthur's wound fully for fear of losing his head, and now Arthur was suffering for it. It meant he couldn't tell Arthur just exactly why they shouldn't go this way. He thought about telling Arthur about his magic. About everything. He really did, because this was wrong, wrong wrong and they shouldn't have gone this way, and if (when) they came face to face with the evil thing he would probably have to use magic anyway.
"Arthur?" Merlin asked, wondering if begging would get Arthur to turn around, away, any other way but this one. Arthur seemed to bristle beneath his warm, luxurious coat.
"What?" he replied moodily, but there was little strength behind it and Merlin wondered if they would really be able to walk the two days to the nearest village at all.
Merlin hesitated, decided to blame his increasing insanity on the cold and hunger and exhaustion, and asked, "Do you think all magic is evil?"
Arthur raised an eyebrow at Merlin. "Why on earth do you ask that?" he said.
Merlin shrugged, going for casual even though his insides felt like they were tied in knots and his heart beat so fast against his chest that Merlin thought he could hear his teeth rattling. "That thing is magic," he said.
"Is it?" Arthur inclined his head, thinking.
"I don't think anything else could have done," Merlin shook his head, shivered at the memory. "That." When Arthur looked at him questioningly, Merlin remembered that Arthur hadn't seen what had become of his guards. And he was about to say, "You saw the thing yourself didn't you?" and "You said it was like evil in human form", but suddenly his gut clenched and Merlin thought for a moment he was going to be actually sick. All over Arthur's boots. Suddenly that dark dark feeling was there, worse than ever before, like it was inside his head instead of lingering, somewhere in the distance, in the woods.
Arthur started to say something, his mouth forming sound and his eyes, looking somewhere over Merlin's head, went wide with something that looked a lot like fear. He stopped, and Merlin watched as Arthur grit his teeth, then he grabbed Merlin's arm viciously, throwing him to the ground somewhere behind him.
There was a sound like steel hitting stone as Merlin pulled himself back to his feet, trying to ignore the horrible feeling in his head and his body, like drowning, but slowly, disappearing into darkness and nothingness. And finally, and finally he saw it, him, the evil thing; tall, dressed in dirtied rags, hair wild and black and skin as white as bleached linen like one of those powerful, malevolent wizards from an ancient fairy tale. Its eyes burnt black and blue, it looked at Merlin and smiled, and Merlin stepped back. Then those eyes turned back to Arthur and it didn't smile at all.
Arthur elbowed Merlin back further, lifted his sword, tried to thrust forward but the evil thing easily dodged the attack. It barked out a noise that Merlin suspected was supposed to be a laugh, and Merlin realised then that it was playing with them. It could kill them anytime it liked, Merlin knew that. But it was enjoying itself, dancing around Arthur's assaults, lashing out at him but never getting too close.
Merlin watched as Arthur drove forward again and again with his sword. He was breathing heavily, getting angry, and he was slower than Merlin had ever seen him. The cold and the exhaustion were slowing him down, and Merlin knew he had to help but couldn't think how without revealing his magic, and anyway, what could he do?
The evil thing, and Merlin thought, We really need to think of a better name for it, batted Arthur's sword away with its hand, and there was that dull sound of stone against steel again. It stretched out its hand, fingers spread wide, and words began to form on its lips that Merlin didn't like the sound of at all.
"We have to go, Arthur," Merlin said urgently, tugging at Arthur's sleeve. "We have to go, now." Arthur tensed, and Merlin could imagine exactly what he was going to say; "I don't run away," and, "I'm not a coward", and "I stand and fight." But Merlin knew, "This is not something you can fight. Not like this."
Merlin took hold of Arthur's arm, feeling magic crackle through the air as the evil thing drew breath to form words, pulled desperately at him, and he had just about decided to use magic to force his idiot master to move when Arthur turned to him, nodded briskly and let himself be drawn away.
They ran.
Not daring to look back, not daring to let go of Arthur in case he decided to change his stupid mind and go wave his sword at the darkness, Merlin ran as fast as he could go. His feet pounded over rocks and roots and at least he wasn't that cold anymore, but instead he felt dizzy and maybe a bit panicked because he was quite sure neither of them stood a chance against that thing.
The ground was hard, then damp, then wet, and they slowed. Arthur was limping heavily and Merlin could see his breath in mists, short and shallow.
"It's following," he panted, and Merlin nodded and was thankful that even completely oblivious princes could feel it now.
It was coming, slowly but steadily, in no hurry to kill them but sure of itself and gleeful besides.
"We can't run forever," Arthur said, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. "Actually, we can't run for much longer at all."
It was raining heavily again, so that Arthur almost had to shout to be heard and really, if he looked half as bad as Arthur did Merlin thought that Arthur's much longer might sound a bit ambitious. Arthur looked about ready to drop, though Merlin knew he never would. And Merlin wouldn't let him.
So it was decided then, he supposed. To save Arthur (and his own) life he would have to use magic and suffer whatever the consequences would be. It was just, now he had to think of something that would be useful.
The evil thing's magic was strong, Merlin knew. Deep-seated and old and coated with rage and insanity and loneliness, bitterness, resentment, hatred. All these things and Merlin knew; this had once been a man. So he could be tricked and he could tire and he could be killed.
"We just have to outthink him," Merlin told Arthur, because he couldn't think what to do at all.
"Just?" Arthur snorted. And Merlin was almost worried, because a comment like that would normally have invited a whole slew of insults. "I suspect we're going to die then, Merlin, if all we have are your brains to go on", Arthur should say, but he didn't.
Following Arthur deeper into the woods, further and further from the path, the trees grew closer, branches twined together and roots wrapped around each other making it hard work to move forward. Merlin thought, Show us a way, and then he imagined he could hear the branches draw back and the trees creakily move aside, and Arthur pushed through a wall of thick vines and branches that snagged their clothes and cut at their skin to see a narrow, clear path before them.
"Huh," he said and paused for a moment before pressing on along the narrow path. "An animal trail?"
Merlin murmured a non-committal reply, not quite believing he'd got away with that. But then, it wasn't like Arthur was at his sharpest.
Even with their way clear, they stumbled every few steps, tired and cold and finding it harder to focus. They found it easier to just lean on each other and Merlin was glad for the proximity; it meant Arthur was alive beside him, warm(ish) and determined even now. That surety and strength Merlin drew on, focused on it instead of that repugnant taste and smell of hate and malevolence.
It was quickly turning to night now too; dull sky shifting to the darkest of greys, and Merlin thought hopefully, We need light, we need day, but was not surprised when he was ignored and the shadows of twilight continued to draw longer across the forest.
They were too tired to talk and too tired to think and almost fell into a fast-running river, swollen by the rains, when the forest and the path ended abruptly at its banks.
Thanks, Merlin though acerbically to whatever great power had deigned to lead them somewhere completely useless.
"Great," he said, and Arthur nodded his agreement, then pointed along the river's edge.
"After you," he gestured, and it was with something like relief that Merlin bowed slightly and began picking his way along the riverbank. If Arthur could still be a complete arse then at least they weren't dead yet.
"So is it close?" he heard Arthur ask somewhere behind him. Merlin slipped, grabbed at the nearest branch he could to right himself.
"Oh," he said. "You trust my instincts now."
"They may have been proven not entirely unreliable," Arthur agreed, ignoring Merlin's scornful tone. Merlin slipped again; rain water running off the ground and through his boots and into the river and he couldn't feel his feet at all anymore.
"He's close," he said. "Getting closer," was all he had energy for.
Then he heard, "You I don't need," deep, whispered words on the wind, and he knew, he hadn't been the one that had made that path.
The ground slid away from beneath his feet, his hands grasped at air. He thought he heard Arthur shout something, then there was water rushing in his ears. It wasn't until his vision was blurred and he felt the current against his skin and water in his lungs that Merlin realised he was underwater and he was cold. He kicked out, forced his arms to move, concentrated; Swim, float, breathe underwater, do something that prevents drowning until he broke the surface, gasping and slapping at the water in the hopes that he might find purchase somewhere. He was floating, at least, rain and river splashing in his face. His body heavy and with every second he was losing control of his limbs, losing feeling all over.
And the last two things Merlin would never remember thinking were, I hope Arthur is safe. Then, By all that ever lived, I wish it would just stop raining.
And it did.
*
It was mostly cold and a bit painful when Merlin woke up, rather wishing he hadn't. It didn't help that the first thing he heard was Arthur shouting in his ear.
"Merlin, you will wake up this second and you will not die! That is an order." He sounded so angry that Merlin couldn't help laughing. Or at least, he tried to, but it turned into a hacking cough that felt like his lungs being ripped apart, clawed to pieces from the inside out. He reached out blindly, grabbed onto the first thing he found and held on until he could breathe again.
"You know, you're very close to strangling me," he heard Arthur say conversationally, his voice low but close. Merlin cautiously opened his eyes and realised he was sort of hanging onto Arthur's jacket collar. There wasn't much light but he could just about make out Arthur's face, close and unhappy, his eyes oddly bright in the gloom.
"Uh," he said, and wondered at why his throat felt raw and his stomach felt heavy and it hurt to breathe. "What happened?" he tried to ask and was not a little bit disturbed to hear his own words slurred and stuttered.
"You fell in the river, you idiot," Arthur replied, then he paused and leaned in closer to Merlin, his brow drawn in a frown. "You don't remember?"
Merlin remembered: lots of water. Which, he supposed explained why his hair felt flat and drenched against his skin, dripping down his face and into his eyes. Also: he was so cold it hurt, and now that he thought about it he noticed he was shivering and he couldn't seem to convince any of his limbs to move. The muscles in his arms and legs and back felt bunched together, drawn tight like a tanner's skins stretched between poles. His fingers and toes felt as though the cold was burning into them, and Merlin wondered if this was what fire felt like against skin.
"Remember..." he said, and grimaced at the way his teeth chattered together. "Didn't want to though." Arthur looked like he was torn between laughing and frowning even more, but instead he just shrugged, and Merlin was confused for a moment when he felt the movement himself. Then he realised, he was still hanging onto Arthur's jacket, and he was lying, half-curled up, in Arthur's lap.
"What...?" Merlin tried to pull himself up, but only managed to slump even more closely against Arthur's chest. Arthur shifted his legs, his arms tightening around Merlin, drawing his cloak more snugly around him.
"You were, and possibly still are, freezing to death," Arthur sniffed, looking away. And it really was as luxurious a coat as Merlin had imagined; soft and fluffy against his bare skin. "I don't know what else to do," Arthur was saying to the floor, looking decidedly put upon. "You were as cold as a dead fish when I dragged your sorry carcass out of the river. I thought you were dead."
"At least," Merlin breathed, trying desperately to lighten the mood because it was just too weird to see Arthur like this; worried and unsure of himself and fidgeting uncomfortably and didn't he realise Merlin could feel that? "You didn't bury me." He tried a smile. "Wouldn't have helped."
Arthur shook his head and said, "Of course I wouldn't do that."
He looked back at Merlin, eyes fierce, then looked away again at something in the distance. "I'm not a physician though," he said. "You have to tell me what I can do to make you better because we can't stay here forever and I'm not going to let you die."
"Not a physician either." Merlin tried to move again, managed to get his legs to shift a bit and felt the soft wool under his legs, only then realising he wasn't actually wearing very much. And he would have been embarrassed or annoyed if he hadn't been intensely grateful that Arthur hadn't left him wearing his certainly ice-cold waterlogged clothes. "Clothes off is good," he said, trying to sound encouraging and not realising what he'd said until Arthur choked a laugh and looked at him with an amused grin and a raised eyebrow.
"Not what I meant!" Merlin protested feebly, and hated that he felt so weak he couldn't even argue back properly. "Gaius said."
"That just makes it sound worse, you realise," Arthur laughed. Merlin chose to ignore him.
"Need to get warm," he said instead and decided that he didn't care if he was cuddling against Arthur and trying to cuddle closer because he was freezing and his stomach was roiling and his head hurt and he just wanted to go to sleep. So he closed his eyes and thought he would just rest for a minute, that he'd be fine after he'd rested for a bit, except then Arthur flicked his cheek and shook his shoulder roughly.
"Oi. No going to sleep. It was enough trouble waking you up the first time round." Arthur's fingers pressed almost painfully into Merlin's shoulders. "Wake up!" he said again in his most annoyingly arrogant commanding voice. And Merlin almost went back to sleep just to spite him. "You said you need to get warm," Arthur was saying. "I guessed that much. Look, I'm even letting you," Arthur paused and Merlin could just imagine the pained look he would have on his face. "Close. I'm losing feeling in my legs. Not much more I can do about that." Then Arthur shook him again, demanding, "Merlin, will you wake up." He really wished Arthur would stop doing that because it made him feel a million times worse. And if he was sick all over Arthur then the idiot would completely deserve it.
"Awake," Merlin groused because he got the feeling that Arthur was not going to stop harassing him anytime soon so he might as well give in. "Start a fire," Merlin suggested, thinking that if Arthur was distracted he might possibly be able to get some sleep.
But Arthur said, "That's a terrible idea," and prodded at Merlin's neck with fingers that didn't feel much warmer than Merlin's own.
"Is not," Merlin replied defensively.
"Yes, it really is," Arthur said slowly. "I make a fire and that thing will know where we are." Merlin considered this, coming to the conclusion that he must be worse off than he had imagined because he hadn't even thought to ask where they were, how Arthur got away. He opened his eyes and shifted his head away from Arthur's chest to see stone walls beyond him. It struck him then that the floor was dry.
"Where... are we?" he asked. "What happened?" feeling even more disoriented than he had when he'd first woken up. Unless this was all a horrible dream and he was still drowning, trapped beneath water or crushed by the fast-moving flow against rocks, and maybe he'd died and gone to hell. Hell, with a cuddly Arthur.
"A cave I found." Arthur was peering down at Merlin curiously. "It was strange," he said. "One minute I thought I heard that thing, or maybe not so much heard as felt it." Merlin felt Arthur shiver. "Then you were gone, and I saw you in the river, so I ran after you. And then it was as though that maniac disappeared too." Arthur shrugged. "We were lucky. You were lucky."
Arthur didn't explain anymore just looked up, towards the entrance of the cave Merlin supposed. It was dark, and Merlin wondered if Arthur could actually see much. The moon was bright at least, and Merlin could see its silvery half-light spread across the walls and Arthur's face and neck. He must have slept for a long time for it to be so far into the night and the moon so high. And there was no rain, just the rustle of the wind through the trees, the distant sound of the river, the chatter of insects.
"It stopped," Merlin said. "The rain." Arthur hummed agreement, but said nothing, so Merlin tried moving again, tried to get more comfortable because he was starting to be able to feel the cave's stony floor and his legs and back and arms were starting to ache. Arthur shifted with him, but continued to look away from it, his eyes narrowed, closely watching the shadows.
"He's not close," Merlin told Arthur, because the tension and the uncertainty written all over Arthur's face was just too much. Arthur looked down at Merlin again.
"Oh yes, I forgot. You know about these things," he said dryly. Merlin fidgeted.
It was still there, the knowledge of that thing's existence, somewhere deep in his head and Merlin wondered if it would ever go away. But it was not as strong as it had been before, like a wool blanket had been wrapped around his ears so that it wasn't so loud or intrusive anymore. Then Merlin realised with a start, that was him. He was doing that. This was his magic and he hadn't even noticed and how was he hiding them anyway because that would be a very handy spell to know?
"What is it?" Arthur said, looking sort of concerned even though he sounded mostly annoyed. "What's wrong? Is it back?" He gripped Merlin tighter, his head snapping up to look outside as though he were expecting the evil thing to jump out at them from the entrance that very second.
"No, no," Merlin said, his much-slower-than-usual brain desperately trying to think of some excuse. Go with what you know best, Gaius had always said (when he was trying to sound wise, but it was really a rather unfortunate thing to say to someone who knew magic best).
So, "Cold." Which was not a lie in any case.
"Hm," Arthur said, frowning. "That's my warmest cloak you're wrapped in there."
"I's very nice," Merlin agreed and couldn't help rubbing his fingers against the wool lining. Arthur sighed and shifted about a bit.
"If you tell anyone about this I'll have you killed," he said, then started rubbing at Merlin's arm not pressed against his own stomach.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Merlin said, starting to feel a lot more normal and a lot warmer with Arthur's hands massaging down his hands, and then his back and then his thigh. "Really wouldn't."
"I'm only doing this because you look sort of blue-coloured," Arthur said.
"I like blue." Merlin thought he heard Arthur huff a laugh.
"Well it doesn't suit you at all."
"And red doesn't suit you," Merlin lied. "Guess I'll keep the cloak." He tried to burrow deeper into the material, quite sure he was feeling every bruise he had and every tired and pulled and abused muscle as he shifted about. Arthur stopped rubbing at his side, flicked his ear and said, "Stop fidgeting." He sighed, sounding as weary as Merlin felt.
"You should sleep," Merlin said. "We can't," he took a breath, was relieved when his lungs filled and his teeth almost stopped chattering. "Go anywhere in this dark."
"I don't know if you've noticed," Arthur hissed. "But neither of us is doing very well, and the longer we are out here the less chance of us surviving at all."
"If we go out now," Merlin replied, trying to sound reasonable. "We'll only trip and break our legs or something." He considered it very discouraging that Arthur didn't think he was in much better shape than Merlin. "And where are we going to go anyway? I doubt we can find the path in the dark." And even if Merlin could find the right incantation to find their way, he could still feel the magic of a spell he couldn't fathom and couldn't control but was still his own, drawing from him with every heartbeat. He didn't know: could he do two spells at the same time? Did he have the strength for that? If there was one thing he knew at that moment, apart from being quite sure that sleep was a very very good thing, he knew that without the spell hiding them they would not last long at all.
"I thought we could follow the river," Arthur shrugged. "It should lead us to a village sooner or later."
Merlin thought, Aren't I the insane one? and studied Arthur's face carefully for signs of delirium.
"Don't look at me like that," Arthur snapped.
"Sooner or later…" Merlin shook his head, feeling the material of Arthur's shirt against his cheek. "It could take days. Or," and Merlin paused, making sure that he had Arthur's full attention, because this was important, because they were not dying here, because they had a destiny to fulfil, lives to lead, mistakes to make, arguments to have. "The river could lead us somewhere worse. Like to a cave of monsters, or to nowhere, or to the edge of the world."
"I doubt we're capable of walking that far," Arthur replied wryly.
Merlin tried to sit up, annoyed, but succeeded only in tangling himself in Arthur's cloak and arms and legs and drawing a hiss of pain from Arthur. And it was only then he remembered;
"Your leg…" He tried to scramble off of Arthur's lap because, seriously, his weight on a slightly-less-than-gaping wound had to hurt.
But Arthur held him tightly and said, "It's fine." He gripped Merlin tightly, almost painfully, again. "Keep still, then. We'll stay until dawn."
So Merlin relaxed, trying not to feel guilty about lying on Arthur's leg too much. He remembered: Arthur liked to regularly beat him up under the flimsy guise of weapons training, and Arthur liked to make him wear stupid clothes and do boring jobs like polishing his boots and his crown, and liked to order him to fetch and carry and Get this, Merlin, Get that, Merlin, Look, I'm so royal I don't even know how to undo my own trousers, Merlin. It really helped negate the guilt.
"Sleep," Merlin said, seeing that Arthur was looking out at the dark woods beyond the cave again, his eyes overly wide as though he were forcing them to stay open. "It won't come." Merlin grimaced. "Probably."
Then there was that look again; Arthur staring at him like he was a stranger he didn't quite believe he could trust. He seemed to come to a decision then.
"How do you know that?" Arthur asked.
Merlin sighed, shaking his head. "I told you. Intuition." It was close enough to the truth anyway, but Arthur was looking put-upon and betrayed and pouty and Merlin was, apparently, feeling suicidal. "Arthur, you don't want me to tell you," he said.
Arthur looked at him for a long moment, staring into Merlin's eyes as though he could know the truth of everything just by looking long and hard enough. Which Merlin supposed he could, but he was tired and he wanted that vague dark feeling in his stomach that felt heavy and left a sour taste in his mouth to just go away. So if Arthur wanted to ask then he wouldn't lie, and if Arthur wanted to kill him then fine. At least he wouldn't have to deal with the evil thing, or walk who-knew-how-far in the cold and the rain or snow or sudden and unseasonable storm that was sure to greet them the next morning. He would never again have to collect the underwear off the floor of Arthur's chambers. For that, Merlin might actually considering Arthur killing him a great mercy.
He closed his eyes, waiting to see what Arthur would do, except he wasn't really because as soon as his eyes closed Merlin was asleep.
*
He dreamed of water. It was snow and it was rain, and then it was a river and then a stream running lazily over mountain tops, winding its way around great rocks and tiny pebbles, gently, slowly wearing away at the stone.
And then it was soup. Really nice, really warm soup.
*
The rising winter sun burned red in the sky, the grey clouds of the previous day gone, now thin purple lines across an orange sky. The chilled air fresh, clean instead of thick and rotting and oppressive. Merlin imagined the sun warming him, drying the icy dampness from his clothes still heavy with rainfall and river water. He shuddered, remembered being shoved out of Arthur's warm cloak and forced back into them and swore that he would hate Arthur forever for doing that to him. He had to concede though, walking around naked did not appeal. The forest was still all sharp pointed branches and tangled undergrowth that made even the horror of putting his boots back on bearable. And Arthur had let him keep the coat.
Merlin fought weariness and ignored the shivers that ran up his back and down his legs, muscles so tight it became hard to move, to walk through water-logged mud, to step over ancient roots grown thick and solid. He ignored the gnawing in his stomach and the unease that lingered in the back of his mind like a bad hangover that wouldn't let him forget; they were not safe, something more powerful than either of them still walked the woods and Merlin knew it meant to kill them.
It should have been easy to forget in the light of day, Merlin thought, the despair and the desperation of the night, and Arthur seemed happy enough. But it was still there and Merlin found himself on edge, distracted, and cold in a way that no sun or fire could warm.
"And traps," Arthur said, and Merlin remembered he was supposed to be listening. "It would be bad," Arthur was saying in his slightly unconvincing lecturing tone. "If you got your bare foot trapped in one of those..." Arthur trailed off and pulled his face into a very ignoble and exaggerated grimace. Merlin had absolutely no idea where he was finding the energy.
"I get it," Merlin said, because Arthur was looking at him with that scrunched up face and lifted eyebrow and Merlin really wanted him to stop. "Boots are necessary for not getting bare flesh ripped to shreds by animal traps."
"No need to get tetchy," Arthur sniffed, turning away and hacking with a little more force than was needed at some low branches in their path.
"Well I put them on didn't I?" Merlin groused. "Even though they are cold and wet and falling to pieces because they were really not made for going swimming in."
Arthur tilted his head. "They really didn't seem to be made for much of anything," he commented. "How can you stand to wear such flimsy things?"
"It's not like I can afford new fancy ones," Merlin bristled. "And what were you doing looking at my boots anyway?"
"They were kind of hard to not notice," Arthur replied slowly. "When I was taking them off your feet." He paused and gestured towards the river running along beside them as they picked their way along its bank. "Careful, it looks slippery here and I do not want to have to fish you out of the water again."
Merlin ignored the comment and said, "Okay. Let us never speak of the undressing me thing ever again."
Arthur laughed and looked back at Merlin again and this time his mouth was set in what looked to Merlin disturbingly like a leer.
"Oh but Merlin, your cold corpse-like skin was just so appealing."
Merlin actually stopped dead, clutching at a thin birch, and wondered if Arthur had been possessed. Or hit his head.
"Are you possessed?" Merlin asked. "Or did you hit your head? Because that was very creepy, and now let's go back to talking about something else. Like hunting. You like hunting. We can talk about hunting."
Arthur shot him a grin then grabbed his arm. "Come on," he said. "We're making good progress."
Which Merlin thought was probably a lie because the trees grew densely even up to the water's edge, and any route between them was thick with vines and old roots as thick as the trunks and sharp, thorned thicket. It felt as though they had to fight for every inch, for every step. But there was nothing else to be done, so Merlin followed Arthur and pushed at the branches and thorn bushes and tangled undergrowth in his path and really wished he had gloves.
*
"They're spiky and kind of cute," Merlin explained. "And make really good pie. Without the spikes, obviously." The thought of food made his stomach growl and made him wonder if any of the berries or leaves or twigs were edible, but Arthur was smiling a bit and Merlin was actually starting to feel almost like they might actually survive this.
"Obviously," Arthur repeated dryly. He hacked at a thicket in front of them, pulled at the branches to clear a path. "This would be a lot quicker if you had a knife or a sword or something too," Arthur commented. He took Merlin's arm and pulled him along behind him, through the newly cut path that scratched at them and tried to trip them. Still, Merlin trusted it more than if they had found a clearer path because he could see Arthur make it.
It was an odd feeling, like finding out there was evil magic, or that people lied, or that people died, but for the first time since he could remember Merlin did not trust his magic. He wondered if maybe it was the exhaustion or the cold or the hunger or the evil thing but he couldn't tell what he was doing and what he wasn't; couldn't feel it as clearly as he usually did. It was confusing and disorienting and it made Merlin nervous. So he talked.
"You know I'm rubbish with a sword," Merlin said, and Arthur laughed and nodded.
"I had noticed." He disappeared into a dense thicket, and Merlin stopped and waited.
"I'm not going that way!" he called after him, and Arthur shouted back. "Fine!" because even if he didn't quite trust his magic he still trusted his instincts and Arthur was starting to as well.
"Mushrooms," Merlin said, when he couldn't stand not being able to hear Arthur any more. "We can eat mushrooms." He knew mushrooms. He had collected them for his mother and for Gaius and sometimes for Arthur if he was feeling charitable and Arthur hadn't been a complete bastard to him for a while.
"They could be poisonous," Arthur remarked from somewhere ahead of him.
"I know what I'm doing," Merlin replied defensively. Because he did. "Do you take me for an idiot?"
Arthur appeared at his side. "I do, actually," he said, and before Merlin could muster the proper indignation for a response, Arthur said, "That way is flooded. River must have burst its banks. So then, O Wise One, which way now?"
Merlin thought for a moment. "We should try to go around," Merlin said, and pointed to his left. "That way."
"That way it is," Arthur agreed, taking the lead. "If we had time," he said, squeezing between two particularly close trees. "I would hunt."
Merlin scoffed. "Oh so now you want to talk about hunting."
"There's rich hunting in this forest," Arthur said.
"Who'd want to hunt somewhere they could be killed by a crazy evil thing?" Merlin argued, and Arthur frowned, helped pull Merlin between the trees without getting his long, thick coat snagged.
"You know, I've never heard of anything like that in these woods before."
"That's because you're you." At Arthur's offended look Merlin waved his hand and went on, "Because you're the king's son. Not because you're stupid or anything." Which Merlin was not going to discuss with his supposed master for fear of losing his job and possible imprisonment.
"So?" Arthur prompted when Merlin didn't say anything more. "What have you heard?"
It was, Merlin supposed, relevant, if a little close to home. But the previous night he remembered more clearly than he would have liked and he had said some things and maybe Arthur had heard too much. Despite that though, Arthur had still held him, let him close. And Arthur was still here, walking beside him, talking to him as though nothing had changed, letting him keep his cloak.
"One of the guards," Merlin said. "He told me that he'd heard there was some kind of hermit who lived in these woods." Merlin shrugged, didn't really want to say anymore because they had never talked about this kind of thing; about Uther's law. Merlin wasn't sure he wanted to know what Arthur would think.
"And?" Arthur prompted again, sounding slightly irritated. Arthur did not, Merlin reminded himself, attend the executions of those charged with witchcraft. He did not sneer at the very mention of magic as his father did. He listened to Gaius when he insisted magic was necessary to defeat magical beings. And they had a destiny, the dragon had said. They would be together for a long time, the dragon had laughed. Considering the life he led, Merlin knew it was only a matter of time before Arthur knew of his magic, if he didn't already. So, he decided, this was as good a time as any.
"He said the hermit had once been a local… sorcerer," Merlin said. "His wife had been burnt as a witch, and he went into hiding."
Arthur sighed and frowned.
"I sometimes wonder," he said softly, sounding decidedly uncomfortable. "If that law of my father's isn't more trouble than it's worth."
Merlin thought for a moment, wondering how much it had cost Arthur to say that, and at how much trust Arthur was placing in Merlin by telling him that. Still, he was just a servant so who would believe him anyway?
"I wouldn't know," he replied.
*
Continue to Part 2
Comments and concrit are your, my, Merlin and Arthur's special friend.
p.s. I hate coding like I hate milky tea.
As a result of working late I humbly and publicly beg for forgiveness for not having written new things, but I can now present the first part of the infamous epic. Beta'd by my lovely, if a little bit whip-happy, cienna and looked over by the agreeable to beer and MISSIONS IMPOSSIBLE j_apollo. Remaining mistakes are all the fault of my brother for giving me the Neverending Cold.
And so, I present:
Title:The World Under Heaven, Here All Is Lent (1/2)
Rating: Embarrassingly Un-pornographic
Word Count: Ridiculously Large
Summary: Arthur/Merlin. H/C. Arthur and Merlin survive.
Notes: This could be an essay considering all the ideas I took and adapted from everything from Arthurian romances to Monochrome Factor. I have no guilt about this as an English student friend of mine once told me there are no new stories, only re-written old ones. The internet was my researchy-friend. Many things are written to cienna's specification. I'm sure Bad Son had input somewhere. The title is shamelessly pilfered from an Old English poem called, somewhat appropriately, "The Wanderer". I shall not go into the meaning too much, but those who know of Japanese-y things will appreciate the thematic parallels between Old English literature and the on-going obsession of Japanese culture with transience. Sakura blah blah blah. STORY NOW.
.The World Under Heaven, Here All Is Lent (1/2).
It was raining.
It was raining and there was thunder somewhere in the distance and the vague flash of lightening casting unnatural shadows amongst the trees, cutting across the dulled afternoon light.
Merlin thought, I'm going to drown on land at this rate, and How stupid is that? and wondered momentarily if Gaius would laugh or cry when they told him. Except, Merlin remembered, if he didn't return there wouldn't be anyone to tell him. The guards were all dead. Merlin was sure of that. He'd seen their bodies, or what was left of them, strewn across the path for the past mile, or half a mile, or twenty miles, or however far he'd been running. He couldn't help them, and he wasn't sure there was any magic in the world that could, so he pressed on and tried not to think of them, of what they'd become, or of what manner of being could have done such a thing.
The path veered to the right, turning to run parallel with the river. It flowed so much faster than him that Merlin wished he knew a spell to get his feet to match its pace. Its waters were swelled by the rain and threatened to flood over its banks. Merlin's boots splashed in the puddles and the mud, not keeping out any water at all as the path became a stream of its own, brown water rushing against him as the path began to incline. He slipped, cursed and righted himself, slowing down in case he fell and broke his neck and considering how the day had gone so far Merlin thought that a very real possibility.
Earlier, hours ago, minutes ago, seconds before there had been cries and screams and the metal thud and clang of swords. Above the dull roar of falling rain Merlin could just about make out the sound of Arthur barking orders, then he tasted and smelt and felt in his very bones magic like he'd never felt before. It was so strong and so strange and unknown and so foul it made Merlin think of rotten food and the strongest poisons and potions Gaius kept on the highest shelves in his chambers; the ones he thought Merlin didn't know about. And it made him think of death.
Then there was silence.
For a second, for a minute, for hours the forest was silent around him, as though taking a great breath before diving under water. He'd strained his ears, muttered a spell to hear as a fox does, but there was just nothing, and Merlin did not think about what that meant.
Then sound had returned and the rain poured louder and harder than before, wind battered the trees and broke their branches and drove water into Merlin's eyes and clothes. And Merlin ran.
Merlin ran, battling up a steep hill which he was sure had only been a gentle slope before the rain started. He knew he had to hurry, he knew he wasn't running fast enough, he knew this whole running towards danger thing was a new habit he really had to get out of. But at least he knew, with the same certainty he knew the sun would rise, that his mother loved him, that he really really hated the rain, he knew that Arthur was alive.
Arthur was breathing, even if Merlin couldn't hear him. Arthur was somewhere, somewhere near, and there was only mud and rain and weird magic that Merlin didn't like the feel of at all between them. Which, all things considered, was more encouraging than it sounded.
In that moment or whatever when everything had gone still and quiet Merlin had thought, Arthur is dead. Then, nothing. Just a cold feeling heavy in his gut and the sour taste of complete failure and it's your fault in his mouth.
And Merlin didn't ever want to feel that again.
*
Merlin bound the cloth tighter over the wound, muttering, "Oh yes, Merlin, it'll be a nice trip to the countryside. Get out of the palace. Get some air." Arthur grunted but didn't open his eyes. "You'll love it, Merlin! It'll be like going back to your peasant roots. Oh very funny, Arthur, yes you're a real jester. I think you missed your true calling."
Wiping sticky hands on his soaked, muddy trousers, Merlin sat back on his heels and took a deep breath.
"Okay," he told himself. "Okay. This is really not the time to go actually insane."
He closed his eyes, relieved the bad feeling had receded, even if it had only been replaced by a sort of stomach-wrenching worry and fear and very wobbly legs. Arthur was alive, more or less, and they were dry if not exactly safe. Dryer, in any case, tucked away in the hollow base of a rotting grand old oak.
Outside, the rain still poured in torrents. It flooded the soft forest earth making the floor of their shelter a bit squishy, but it was better than nothing and was out of the wind, for which Merlin was grateful.
That wind, as Merlin dragged and pulled at Arthur's semi-conscious body, had lashed and whipped around them like it was out to get them, making Merlin wonder if it was magical at all. It had whispered too. Whispered so many words that Merlin couldn't make out a thing it had said. Not that he was listening because talking gales were a bit too far-fetched and disturbing even for Merlin.
So he had ignored it, just as he was ignoring the chill and discomfort of waterlogged fabric against skin and the rank smell of mould and rotting leaves and the constant dripping sound of water leaking into the hollow. He was tired and he was cold and he ached all over, but the blood flowing from the cut or gash or open gaping mortal injury, for all Merlin knew, on Arthur's thigh just wouldn't stop. Merlin resolved to pay more attention to Gaius when he attempted to school him in the arts of the physician from thereon. If he survived this. Because, his own health and the possibility of some evil magic thing way beyond what Merlin had ever come across before trying to kill them notwithstanding, Merlin didn't think the court would be too pleased if he returned to Camelot without its prince.
Not that that was going to happen. Ever.
He owed Arthur his life, and regardless of what some stupid crazy dragon said, Merlin didn't really mind his life as the prince's servant. It could be almost fun at times. Times that, obviously, were not like this one; knee-deep in mud, sneezing with every other breath and so very alone.
Merlin checked that Arthur was asleep or unconscious or whatever he was one last time before concentrating on the wound again. He tried to picture the wound closing in his mind, focused his eyes on the red-stained bandage he'd tied using his own scarf. When he felt nothing he lifted his hands, tried hovering them over the stain, tried moving aside the bloody fabric, wincing at the raw skin and thick, oozing blood, then placed his fingers gently on the wound itself, concentrating on sewing the flesh together. When that didn't work he tried door closing and object moving and mending shattered glass and finally he remembered how he used to annoy his mother by finishing her knitting for her when she turned her back, so he tried that. It made Arthur squirm and moan a bit so Merlin stopped, his eyes stinging from all the staring and concentrating and the not blinking. And it may have been his imagination or hope, or it may have been real, but the wound seemed smaller and not quite as eager to bleed as before.
*
"What happened?" Arthur said, his voice rough and breathy.
"We were attacked, sire," Merlin replied, shuffling away from Arthur so there was room for him to sit up in the enclosed space.
"I know that," Arthur ground out, pushing himself sort of sideways so that he could lean more or less upright against the wooden wall of the hollow. "I meant, how did we end up here?"
"I dragged you in here," Merlin replied, trying not to sound too pleased with himself. "And stop moving around so much or that," he pointed to Arthur's leg, screwed his face up a bit for effect. "Will start bleeding again."
"You dragged me," Arthur repeated, sounding decidedly unimpressed.
"Well I can't exactly carry you," Merlin huffed, not having the energy to even get more than mildly annoyed at the lack of appreciation. Not that Arthur ever appreciated him, so he folded his arms and added: "Don't appreciate the fact that I saved your life or anything, will you."
Arthur turned his head to look at Merlin, frowning. "You saved my life? How?"
"Okay," Merlin admitted after a moment of silence in which Arthur eyed him suspiciously and Merlin fidgeted. "I didn't exactly save your life. More like, prevented you from dying a horrible slow death from exposure and drowning and bleeding to death and probably getting eaten by large dangerous carnivorous forest animals too."
Arthur snorted. "Why thank you, Merlin," he said, then sobered, looking out at the rain. "The others?" he asked. Merlin shook his head.
"I don't know what could have killed them… like that," he said, looking away and doing his best not to remember.
"We didn't see it," Arthur said, still staring at the rain. Merlin noticed, he looked pale and unwell and Merlin had no idea how they were ever going to make it back to Camelot in one piece. "Not really," Arthur was saying. "It was like a shadow, or a ghost; there and then just not there." Then he stopped, wrapped his arms around himself, and Merlin didn't ask.
"Now you're awake I'll go and find some water," Merlin said instead, remembering that Gaius had once told him that water was good for people who had lost lots of blood.
Arthur looked at him incredulously. "You'll find plenty outside," he said flatly.
"You know what I mean. I dropped my pack somewhere." He unfolded himself from his corner of the hollow to crawl out, but Arthur stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"I know it's hard for you, but don't be such an idiot. It's raining and you don't know where you're going and we have no idea what is out there," he said, his hand shaking slightly where he gripped at Merlin's soggy shirt.
"I do know where I'm going and it's not far, I don't think this rain is ever going to stop and I'm pretty sure that thing is gone," Merlin replied. He watched Arthur's face as he seemed to mull this over, conflicted about something. Then Arthur nodded to himself, frowning and said, "Then I'm coming too."
"But," Merlin started, only for Arthur to grip his arm more tightly and speak over him, "I'm fine and you are not going out there on your own." Arthur had that annoying arrogant haughty look on his face he got when he was ordering people about so Merlin just shrugged, knowing there was no convincing Arthur to do anything when he got like that. "You could have thought to pick up my sword," he added, letting Merlin go so he could crawl out of the shelter.
Merlin decided it best not to reply to that.
*
The sky was such a thick, dull grey that there was no telling anymore what time of day it was or how long they had been stumbling along the path in an attempt to find their tools or their food, or maybe if they were really lucky, one of their horses. But the air was chilled and the ground was waterlogged and unstable beneath their feet and they did not find anything. Merlin didn't mention it, but he was sure they should have seen at least two of the soldier's bodies by now.
Beside him, Arthur seemed out of breath, which was just weird considering it was usually Merlin who was panting for his life after intense physical exertion. But Arthur was still looking a very unattractive shade of sickly pale and favouring his uninjured leg heavily.
"This is why," he ground out, "Peasants should not make the decisions."
"I didn't ask you to come," Merlin pointed out, pulling his jacket tighter around himself, trying not to be too obvious about watching Arthur closely to make sure he didn't fall and do himself another injury.
"You think I was going to let you wander around the forest with some... thing... on the loose on your own?" Arthur scoffed. "You wouldn't last five minutes."
Merlin rolled his eyes, contemplated ignoring Arthur then thought, no, why should he; he was cold and tired and he'd dragged Arthur's royal heavy carcass halfway across the forest and sort-of fixed his leg and servant or not this was most definitely not in his job description.
"I seem to be doing better than you," he replied a bit more venomously than he meant to.
"Ha!" Arthur laughed without any humour at all. "Says the idiot who got thrown by his horse at the first sign of trouble!"
"It's not my fault the horse got scared!" Merlin shot back, frowning and wondering why he even bothered. "And thanks for making sure I was alive, by the way," he added moodily. "It wasn't exactly a goose-feather mattress I was thrown onto back there you know." Merlin pointed to his back. "I'm sure I've been bruised for life."
"I didn't have time," Arthur retorted, sounding actually kind of irritated. It could just have been the incessant rain and the cold and the pain of his leg, which Arthur was trying to hide really very poorly, but the way Arthur was looking at him, glaring at him with an angry intensity Merlin had only seen Arthur use when he thought he was being insulted, made Merlin think that maybe Arthur was annoyed at the insinuation he didn't care.
Arthur shook his head and wiped at the rainwater dripping down into his eyes. "I knew you were alright anyway," he said dismissively, not looking at Merlin. His eyes widened and he sped up, limping away from Merlin towards a slight embankment bordering one side of the path as though he'd noticed something. He shuffled up the incline, carefully placing his feet to keep his balance, and Merlin was just about to ask what on earth he thought he was trying to do when Arthur turned back to him with a grin and announced, "Hey, I found my sword."
*
"It's coming back," Merlin said.
"What? Where?" Arthur said, turning around, peering into the shadows. "I can't see anything."
"It's… Look. Trust me. It's coming back and we need to move," Merlin snapped back, pulling on Arthur's arm.
"How do you know?" Arthur insisted. He was watching Merlin with something that looked very close to suspicion and this was exactly why Merlin was never going to tell Arthur about his magic. At least he wasn't resisting as Merlin tugged him along, back the way they had come.
"I just know," Merlin said, trying very desperately to make that sound final and not at all suspect.
Arthur frowned. "This is the wrong way," he said in his most pointed you-are-stupid voice. "We're supposed to be going towards Camelot not away from it."
"The horrible murdering nasty thing is that way," Merlin said. "We are not going that way."
Arthur snorted. "Horrible murdering nasty thing?"
"Yes," Merlin said, pulling Arthur along uncharitably fast. "The horrible thing that nastily murdered your guards and is now probably coming back to finish us off."
"If we go back that way," Arthur explained carefully, "We'll just be wasting our energy. We don't know how far it is to the next village and I don't have the map. We're better off heading back the way we came like we decided five minutes ago, then we know it's only two days at the most until we come across people." Arthur did stop walking then, pulling Merlin to a halt. "Merlin, listen to me," he paused, studying Merlin's face carefully. Merlin tried his very best not to fidget but they were standing still, and it was getting darker, and he could feel that thing getting closer and closer with every second and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his fingers and toes feel cold and numb. Although that could just have been the weather. "We have no supplies and no map and neither of us know these woods. We need to go the way we know. I know you're scared," he said slowly, and there was no way Merlin was going to let Arthur get away with that.
"I am not scared," Merlin said, crossing his arms and scowling. Arthur just raised an eyebrow at him.
"No?"
Merlin shifted, desperately wanting to move away but having no clue how he could express the urgency of the situation without looking completely crazy or giving himself away as a sometimes sorcerer. And even if he did try the honesty route there was no guarantee that Arthur wouldn't just assume he was crazy or panicked or something anyway.
"Maybe a little bit," he tried. "And so are you," he added, because he couldn't help himself. Arthur planted his hands on his hips, glaring in what Merlin supposed was meant to be menacing, but the dripping hair and pale skin and bags under the eyes made it look more like a slightly pathetic grimace. He looked as though he was about to say something too so Merlin said quickly, "I know we should go back, but you have to believe me that we shouldn't. I have really good... intuition about this kind of thing."
Arthur looked away, shaking his head.
"And as much as I'm sure your intuitive skills are renowned throughout the countryside, even if that evil thing is that way, we should still go." And with that he turned around and starting limping away.
"Arthur," Merlin tried, hurrying to catch up, thinking, This is the worst idea ever and We're going to die. Horribly.
"I have my sword, remember?" Arthur called back over his shoulder.
"Because that did you so much good last time," Merlin shot back, looking pointedly at his own scarf still wrapped around Arthur's leg.
"It's just a scratch," Arthur said, straightening up in an attempt to not limp quite so much.
Merlin rolled his eyes, because really, Arthur was such an idiot.
Watching Arthur hobble stubbornly beside him, Merlin thought, Maybe it is now, but he remembered the way it had bled and bled over his hands, and the purple flesh around the wound that he couldn't quite bring himself to look at, and how Arthur had mumbled and squirmed and frowned in pain back in their tree-shelter. He didn't like to think what had done that; what had managed to best Camelot's most skilled knight.
As he followed Arthur, and all his instincts told him to run away and turn back and hide and hide and never come out, fine rain turning to thick sleet around them and night closing in, Merlin could not help but feel that he was soon to find out.
*
Once upon a time there had been a great magician. He was young and tall and everyone said what a nice man he was and how kind and generous he was. He travelled the world, it was said, and as he passed through village after village he would heal the sick and he would bring the rains, he fixed houses and farm tools and for all of this he would ask for nothing and never took any payment. It was odd though, because once the great magician had left no one ever seemed to be able to remember his name.
Years later, the story went, in those villages the great magician had visited there would suddenly arrive a plague of misfortune. The sick would die and the rain would flood the crops, and great winds would come and rip the people's homes and farms and lives apart. Then the great magician would return, and he would be old and bitter and he would tell the villagers; "I have given you peace and wealth and you do not even remember my name."
The villagers would cry; "You are a curse! You have done this!" and they would kill him with fire or steel or rope or water. And once he was dead they would say; "All will be well again," and they were relieved.
But still the sick would die, and the rain would flood, and the winds would come, and still the villagers would blame the great magician. Never once did they consider that maybe they had brought disaster upon themselves.
*
"Your mother used to tell you that story when you were a child?" Arthur asked, his face screwed up in a very undignified look somewhere between awe and incredulity. Merlin frowned thoughtfully.
"I don't know why I thought of it." He shrugged. "It's a common tale."
"Cheery. You really managed to lighten the mood there," Arthur scoffed.
"Then you tell a story," Merlin retorted, then held up a hand to forestall Arthur from saying anything. "And no more stories about you and your heroic and manly deeds."
Arthur scowled at Merlin. "They're great stories," he grumbled, pulling his thick cloak around himself. Merlin spared a moment's energy to be deeply jealous of the thick wool lining of Arthur's coat and determined to demand a pay rise when they got home so that he would be able to afford such warm clothing too.
Home, he thought, and imagined he was in Gaius's chambers, helping him brew some foul-smelling potion. He thought of his bed, and how wonderful it would feel to sleep and not to walk and walk, with frozen ground beneath your feet, the damp thin fabric of your shirt and jacket not keeping you from feeling even the lightest gust of wind. He thought of food and how much his stomach hurt from lack of it, and how warm it could be, and how it could drive away the sick feeling of imminent doom that made his feet feel heavy and every step harder than the last.
Arthur stumbled on the uneven ground and cursed, his hand going to his thigh and his face drawn in pain.
Merlin hated this. This lying and this uncertainty. It meant that he hadn't healed Arthur's wound fully for fear of losing his head, and now Arthur was suffering for it. It meant he couldn't tell Arthur just exactly why they shouldn't go this way. He thought about telling Arthur about his magic. About everything. He really did, because this was wrong, wrong wrong and they shouldn't have gone this way, and if (when) they came face to face with the evil thing he would probably have to use magic anyway.
"Arthur?" Merlin asked, wondering if begging would get Arthur to turn around, away, any other way but this one. Arthur seemed to bristle beneath his warm, luxurious coat.
"What?" he replied moodily, but there was little strength behind it and Merlin wondered if they would really be able to walk the two days to the nearest village at all.
Merlin hesitated, decided to blame his increasing insanity on the cold and hunger and exhaustion, and asked, "Do you think all magic is evil?"
Arthur raised an eyebrow at Merlin. "Why on earth do you ask that?" he said.
Merlin shrugged, going for casual even though his insides felt like they were tied in knots and his heart beat so fast against his chest that Merlin thought he could hear his teeth rattling. "That thing is magic," he said.
"Is it?" Arthur inclined his head, thinking.
"I don't think anything else could have done," Merlin shook his head, shivered at the memory. "That." When Arthur looked at him questioningly, Merlin remembered that Arthur hadn't seen what had become of his guards. And he was about to say, "You saw the thing yourself didn't you?" and "You said it was like evil in human form", but suddenly his gut clenched and Merlin thought for a moment he was going to be actually sick. All over Arthur's boots. Suddenly that dark dark feeling was there, worse than ever before, like it was inside his head instead of lingering, somewhere in the distance, in the woods.
Arthur started to say something, his mouth forming sound and his eyes, looking somewhere over Merlin's head, went wide with something that looked a lot like fear. He stopped, and Merlin watched as Arthur grit his teeth, then he grabbed Merlin's arm viciously, throwing him to the ground somewhere behind him.
There was a sound like steel hitting stone as Merlin pulled himself back to his feet, trying to ignore the horrible feeling in his head and his body, like drowning, but slowly, disappearing into darkness and nothingness. And finally, and finally he saw it, him, the evil thing; tall, dressed in dirtied rags, hair wild and black and skin as white as bleached linen like one of those powerful, malevolent wizards from an ancient fairy tale. Its eyes burnt black and blue, it looked at Merlin and smiled, and Merlin stepped back. Then those eyes turned back to Arthur and it didn't smile at all.
Arthur elbowed Merlin back further, lifted his sword, tried to thrust forward but the evil thing easily dodged the attack. It barked out a noise that Merlin suspected was supposed to be a laugh, and Merlin realised then that it was playing with them. It could kill them anytime it liked, Merlin knew that. But it was enjoying itself, dancing around Arthur's assaults, lashing out at him but never getting too close.
Merlin watched as Arthur drove forward again and again with his sword. He was breathing heavily, getting angry, and he was slower than Merlin had ever seen him. The cold and the exhaustion were slowing him down, and Merlin knew he had to help but couldn't think how without revealing his magic, and anyway, what could he do?
The evil thing, and Merlin thought, We really need to think of a better name for it, batted Arthur's sword away with its hand, and there was that dull sound of stone against steel again. It stretched out its hand, fingers spread wide, and words began to form on its lips that Merlin didn't like the sound of at all.
"We have to go, Arthur," Merlin said urgently, tugging at Arthur's sleeve. "We have to go, now." Arthur tensed, and Merlin could imagine exactly what he was going to say; "I don't run away," and, "I'm not a coward", and "I stand and fight." But Merlin knew, "This is not something you can fight. Not like this."
Merlin took hold of Arthur's arm, feeling magic crackle through the air as the evil thing drew breath to form words, pulled desperately at him, and he had just about decided to use magic to force his idiot master to move when Arthur turned to him, nodded briskly and let himself be drawn away.
They ran.
Not daring to look back, not daring to let go of Arthur in case he decided to change his stupid mind and go wave his sword at the darkness, Merlin ran as fast as he could go. His feet pounded over rocks and roots and at least he wasn't that cold anymore, but instead he felt dizzy and maybe a bit panicked because he was quite sure neither of them stood a chance against that thing.
The ground was hard, then damp, then wet, and they slowed. Arthur was limping heavily and Merlin could see his breath in mists, short and shallow.
"It's following," he panted, and Merlin nodded and was thankful that even completely oblivious princes could feel it now.
It was coming, slowly but steadily, in no hurry to kill them but sure of itself and gleeful besides.
"We can't run forever," Arthur said, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. "Actually, we can't run for much longer at all."
It was raining heavily again, so that Arthur almost had to shout to be heard and really, if he looked half as bad as Arthur did Merlin thought that Arthur's much longer might sound a bit ambitious. Arthur looked about ready to drop, though Merlin knew he never would. And Merlin wouldn't let him.
So it was decided then, he supposed. To save Arthur (and his own) life he would have to use magic and suffer whatever the consequences would be. It was just, now he had to think of something that would be useful.
The evil thing's magic was strong, Merlin knew. Deep-seated and old and coated with rage and insanity and loneliness, bitterness, resentment, hatred. All these things and Merlin knew; this had once been a man. So he could be tricked and he could tire and he could be killed.
"We just have to outthink him," Merlin told Arthur, because he couldn't think what to do at all.
"Just?" Arthur snorted. And Merlin was almost worried, because a comment like that would normally have invited a whole slew of insults. "I suspect we're going to die then, Merlin, if all we have are your brains to go on", Arthur should say, but he didn't.
Following Arthur deeper into the woods, further and further from the path, the trees grew closer, branches twined together and roots wrapped around each other making it hard work to move forward. Merlin thought, Show us a way, and then he imagined he could hear the branches draw back and the trees creakily move aside, and Arthur pushed through a wall of thick vines and branches that snagged their clothes and cut at their skin to see a narrow, clear path before them.
"Huh," he said and paused for a moment before pressing on along the narrow path. "An animal trail?"
Merlin murmured a non-committal reply, not quite believing he'd got away with that. But then, it wasn't like Arthur was at his sharpest.
Even with their way clear, they stumbled every few steps, tired and cold and finding it harder to focus. They found it easier to just lean on each other and Merlin was glad for the proximity; it meant Arthur was alive beside him, warm(ish) and determined even now. That surety and strength Merlin drew on, focused on it instead of that repugnant taste and smell of hate and malevolence.
It was quickly turning to night now too; dull sky shifting to the darkest of greys, and Merlin thought hopefully, We need light, we need day, but was not surprised when he was ignored and the shadows of twilight continued to draw longer across the forest.
They were too tired to talk and too tired to think and almost fell into a fast-running river, swollen by the rains, when the forest and the path ended abruptly at its banks.
Thanks, Merlin though acerbically to whatever great power had deigned to lead them somewhere completely useless.
"Great," he said, and Arthur nodded his agreement, then pointed along the river's edge.
"After you," he gestured, and it was with something like relief that Merlin bowed slightly and began picking his way along the riverbank. If Arthur could still be a complete arse then at least they weren't dead yet.
"So is it close?" he heard Arthur ask somewhere behind him. Merlin slipped, grabbed at the nearest branch he could to right himself.
"Oh," he said. "You trust my instincts now."
"They may have been proven not entirely unreliable," Arthur agreed, ignoring Merlin's scornful tone. Merlin slipped again; rain water running off the ground and through his boots and into the river and he couldn't feel his feet at all anymore.
"He's close," he said. "Getting closer," was all he had energy for.
Then he heard, "You I don't need," deep, whispered words on the wind, and he knew, he hadn't been the one that had made that path.
The ground slid away from beneath his feet, his hands grasped at air. He thought he heard Arthur shout something, then there was water rushing in his ears. It wasn't until his vision was blurred and he felt the current against his skin and water in his lungs that Merlin realised he was underwater and he was cold. He kicked out, forced his arms to move, concentrated; Swim, float, breathe underwater, do something that prevents drowning until he broke the surface, gasping and slapping at the water in the hopes that he might find purchase somewhere. He was floating, at least, rain and river splashing in his face. His body heavy and with every second he was losing control of his limbs, losing feeling all over.
And the last two things Merlin would never remember thinking were, I hope Arthur is safe. Then, By all that ever lived, I wish it would just stop raining.
And it did.
*
It was mostly cold and a bit painful when Merlin woke up, rather wishing he hadn't. It didn't help that the first thing he heard was Arthur shouting in his ear.
"Merlin, you will wake up this second and you will not die! That is an order." He sounded so angry that Merlin couldn't help laughing. Or at least, he tried to, but it turned into a hacking cough that felt like his lungs being ripped apart, clawed to pieces from the inside out. He reached out blindly, grabbed onto the first thing he found and held on until he could breathe again.
"You know, you're very close to strangling me," he heard Arthur say conversationally, his voice low but close. Merlin cautiously opened his eyes and realised he was sort of hanging onto Arthur's jacket collar. There wasn't much light but he could just about make out Arthur's face, close and unhappy, his eyes oddly bright in the gloom.
"Uh," he said, and wondered at why his throat felt raw and his stomach felt heavy and it hurt to breathe. "What happened?" he tried to ask and was not a little bit disturbed to hear his own words slurred and stuttered.
"You fell in the river, you idiot," Arthur replied, then he paused and leaned in closer to Merlin, his brow drawn in a frown. "You don't remember?"
Merlin remembered: lots of water. Which, he supposed explained why his hair felt flat and drenched against his skin, dripping down his face and into his eyes. Also: he was so cold it hurt, and now that he thought about it he noticed he was shivering and he couldn't seem to convince any of his limbs to move. The muscles in his arms and legs and back felt bunched together, drawn tight like a tanner's skins stretched between poles. His fingers and toes felt as though the cold was burning into them, and Merlin wondered if this was what fire felt like against skin.
"Remember..." he said, and grimaced at the way his teeth chattered together. "Didn't want to though." Arthur looked like he was torn between laughing and frowning even more, but instead he just shrugged, and Merlin was confused for a moment when he felt the movement himself. Then he realised, he was still hanging onto Arthur's jacket, and he was lying, half-curled up, in Arthur's lap.
"What...?" Merlin tried to pull himself up, but only managed to slump even more closely against Arthur's chest. Arthur shifted his legs, his arms tightening around Merlin, drawing his cloak more snugly around him.
"You were, and possibly still are, freezing to death," Arthur sniffed, looking away. And it really was as luxurious a coat as Merlin had imagined; soft and fluffy against his bare skin. "I don't know what else to do," Arthur was saying to the floor, looking decidedly put upon. "You were as cold as a dead fish when I dragged your sorry carcass out of the river. I thought you were dead."
"At least," Merlin breathed, trying desperately to lighten the mood because it was just too weird to see Arthur like this; worried and unsure of himself and fidgeting uncomfortably and didn't he realise Merlin could feel that? "You didn't bury me." He tried a smile. "Wouldn't have helped."
Arthur shook his head and said, "Of course I wouldn't do that."
He looked back at Merlin, eyes fierce, then looked away again at something in the distance. "I'm not a physician though," he said. "You have to tell me what I can do to make you better because we can't stay here forever and I'm not going to let you die."
"Not a physician either." Merlin tried to move again, managed to get his legs to shift a bit and felt the soft wool under his legs, only then realising he wasn't actually wearing very much. And he would have been embarrassed or annoyed if he hadn't been intensely grateful that Arthur hadn't left him wearing his certainly ice-cold waterlogged clothes. "Clothes off is good," he said, trying to sound encouraging and not realising what he'd said until Arthur choked a laugh and looked at him with an amused grin and a raised eyebrow.
"Not what I meant!" Merlin protested feebly, and hated that he felt so weak he couldn't even argue back properly. "Gaius said."
"That just makes it sound worse, you realise," Arthur laughed. Merlin chose to ignore him.
"Need to get warm," he said instead and decided that he didn't care if he was cuddling against Arthur and trying to cuddle closer because he was freezing and his stomach was roiling and his head hurt and he just wanted to go to sleep. So he closed his eyes and thought he would just rest for a minute, that he'd be fine after he'd rested for a bit, except then Arthur flicked his cheek and shook his shoulder roughly.
"Oi. No going to sleep. It was enough trouble waking you up the first time round." Arthur's fingers pressed almost painfully into Merlin's shoulders. "Wake up!" he said again in his most annoyingly arrogant commanding voice. And Merlin almost went back to sleep just to spite him. "You said you need to get warm," Arthur was saying. "I guessed that much. Look, I'm even letting you," Arthur paused and Merlin could just imagine the pained look he would have on his face. "Close. I'm losing feeling in my legs. Not much more I can do about that." Then Arthur shook him again, demanding, "Merlin, will you wake up." He really wished Arthur would stop doing that because it made him feel a million times worse. And if he was sick all over Arthur then the idiot would completely deserve it.
"Awake," Merlin groused because he got the feeling that Arthur was not going to stop harassing him anytime soon so he might as well give in. "Start a fire," Merlin suggested, thinking that if Arthur was distracted he might possibly be able to get some sleep.
But Arthur said, "That's a terrible idea," and prodded at Merlin's neck with fingers that didn't feel much warmer than Merlin's own.
"Is not," Merlin replied defensively.
"Yes, it really is," Arthur said slowly. "I make a fire and that thing will know where we are." Merlin considered this, coming to the conclusion that he must be worse off than he had imagined because he hadn't even thought to ask where they were, how Arthur got away. He opened his eyes and shifted his head away from Arthur's chest to see stone walls beyond him. It struck him then that the floor was dry.
"Where... are we?" he asked. "What happened?" feeling even more disoriented than he had when he'd first woken up. Unless this was all a horrible dream and he was still drowning, trapped beneath water or crushed by the fast-moving flow against rocks, and maybe he'd died and gone to hell. Hell, with a cuddly Arthur.
"A cave I found." Arthur was peering down at Merlin curiously. "It was strange," he said. "One minute I thought I heard that thing, or maybe not so much heard as felt it." Merlin felt Arthur shiver. "Then you were gone, and I saw you in the river, so I ran after you. And then it was as though that maniac disappeared too." Arthur shrugged. "We were lucky. You were lucky."
Arthur didn't explain anymore just looked up, towards the entrance of the cave Merlin supposed. It was dark, and Merlin wondered if Arthur could actually see much. The moon was bright at least, and Merlin could see its silvery half-light spread across the walls and Arthur's face and neck. He must have slept for a long time for it to be so far into the night and the moon so high. And there was no rain, just the rustle of the wind through the trees, the distant sound of the river, the chatter of insects.
"It stopped," Merlin said. "The rain." Arthur hummed agreement, but said nothing, so Merlin tried moving again, tried to get more comfortable because he was starting to be able to feel the cave's stony floor and his legs and back and arms were starting to ache. Arthur shifted with him, but continued to look away from it, his eyes narrowed, closely watching the shadows.
"He's not close," Merlin told Arthur, because the tension and the uncertainty written all over Arthur's face was just too much. Arthur looked down at Merlin again.
"Oh yes, I forgot. You know about these things," he said dryly. Merlin fidgeted.
It was still there, the knowledge of that thing's existence, somewhere deep in his head and Merlin wondered if it would ever go away. But it was not as strong as it had been before, like a wool blanket had been wrapped around his ears so that it wasn't so loud or intrusive anymore. Then Merlin realised with a start, that was him. He was doing that. This was his magic and he hadn't even noticed and how was he hiding them anyway because that would be a very handy spell to know?
"What is it?" Arthur said, looking sort of concerned even though he sounded mostly annoyed. "What's wrong? Is it back?" He gripped Merlin tighter, his head snapping up to look outside as though he were expecting the evil thing to jump out at them from the entrance that very second.
"No, no," Merlin said, his much-slower-than-usual brain desperately trying to think of some excuse. Go with what you know best, Gaius had always said (when he was trying to sound wise, but it was really a rather unfortunate thing to say to someone who knew magic best).
So, "Cold." Which was not a lie in any case.
"Hm," Arthur said, frowning. "That's my warmest cloak you're wrapped in there."
"I's very nice," Merlin agreed and couldn't help rubbing his fingers against the wool lining. Arthur sighed and shifted about a bit.
"If you tell anyone about this I'll have you killed," he said, then started rubbing at Merlin's arm not pressed against his own stomach.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Merlin said, starting to feel a lot more normal and a lot warmer with Arthur's hands massaging down his hands, and then his back and then his thigh. "Really wouldn't."
"I'm only doing this because you look sort of blue-coloured," Arthur said.
"I like blue." Merlin thought he heard Arthur huff a laugh.
"Well it doesn't suit you at all."
"And red doesn't suit you," Merlin lied. "Guess I'll keep the cloak." He tried to burrow deeper into the material, quite sure he was feeling every bruise he had and every tired and pulled and abused muscle as he shifted about. Arthur stopped rubbing at his side, flicked his ear and said, "Stop fidgeting." He sighed, sounding as weary as Merlin felt.
"You should sleep," Merlin said. "We can't," he took a breath, was relieved when his lungs filled and his teeth almost stopped chattering. "Go anywhere in this dark."
"I don't know if you've noticed," Arthur hissed. "But neither of us is doing very well, and the longer we are out here the less chance of us surviving at all."
"If we go out now," Merlin replied, trying to sound reasonable. "We'll only trip and break our legs or something." He considered it very discouraging that Arthur didn't think he was in much better shape than Merlin. "And where are we going to go anyway? I doubt we can find the path in the dark." And even if Merlin could find the right incantation to find their way, he could still feel the magic of a spell he couldn't fathom and couldn't control but was still his own, drawing from him with every heartbeat. He didn't know: could he do two spells at the same time? Did he have the strength for that? If there was one thing he knew at that moment, apart from being quite sure that sleep was a very very good thing, he knew that without the spell hiding them they would not last long at all.
"I thought we could follow the river," Arthur shrugged. "It should lead us to a village sooner or later."
Merlin thought, Aren't I the insane one? and studied Arthur's face carefully for signs of delirium.
"Don't look at me like that," Arthur snapped.
"Sooner or later…" Merlin shook his head, feeling the material of Arthur's shirt against his cheek. "It could take days. Or," and Merlin paused, making sure that he had Arthur's full attention, because this was important, because they were not dying here, because they had a destiny to fulfil, lives to lead, mistakes to make, arguments to have. "The river could lead us somewhere worse. Like to a cave of monsters, or to nowhere, or to the edge of the world."
"I doubt we're capable of walking that far," Arthur replied wryly.
Merlin tried to sit up, annoyed, but succeeded only in tangling himself in Arthur's cloak and arms and legs and drawing a hiss of pain from Arthur. And it was only then he remembered;
"Your leg…" He tried to scramble off of Arthur's lap because, seriously, his weight on a slightly-less-than-gaping wound had to hurt.
But Arthur held him tightly and said, "It's fine." He gripped Merlin tightly, almost painfully, again. "Keep still, then. We'll stay until dawn."
So Merlin relaxed, trying not to feel guilty about lying on Arthur's leg too much. He remembered: Arthur liked to regularly beat him up under the flimsy guise of weapons training, and Arthur liked to make him wear stupid clothes and do boring jobs like polishing his boots and his crown, and liked to order him to fetch and carry and Get this, Merlin, Get that, Merlin, Look, I'm so royal I don't even know how to undo my own trousers, Merlin. It really helped negate the guilt.
"Sleep," Merlin said, seeing that Arthur was looking out at the dark woods beyond the cave again, his eyes overly wide as though he were forcing them to stay open. "It won't come." Merlin grimaced. "Probably."
Then there was that look again; Arthur staring at him like he was a stranger he didn't quite believe he could trust. He seemed to come to a decision then.
"How do you know that?" Arthur asked.
Merlin sighed, shaking his head. "I told you. Intuition." It was close enough to the truth anyway, but Arthur was looking put-upon and betrayed and pouty and Merlin was, apparently, feeling suicidal. "Arthur, you don't want me to tell you," he said.
Arthur looked at him for a long moment, staring into Merlin's eyes as though he could know the truth of everything just by looking long and hard enough. Which Merlin supposed he could, but he was tired and he wanted that vague dark feeling in his stomach that felt heavy and left a sour taste in his mouth to just go away. So if Arthur wanted to ask then he wouldn't lie, and if Arthur wanted to kill him then fine. At least he wouldn't have to deal with the evil thing, or walk who-knew-how-far in the cold and the rain or snow or sudden and unseasonable storm that was sure to greet them the next morning. He would never again have to collect the underwear off the floor of Arthur's chambers. For that, Merlin might actually considering Arthur killing him a great mercy.
He closed his eyes, waiting to see what Arthur would do, except he wasn't really because as soon as his eyes closed Merlin was asleep.
*
He dreamed of water. It was snow and it was rain, and then it was a river and then a stream running lazily over mountain tops, winding its way around great rocks and tiny pebbles, gently, slowly wearing away at the stone.
And then it was soup. Really nice, really warm soup.
*
The rising winter sun burned red in the sky, the grey clouds of the previous day gone, now thin purple lines across an orange sky. The chilled air fresh, clean instead of thick and rotting and oppressive. Merlin imagined the sun warming him, drying the icy dampness from his clothes still heavy with rainfall and river water. He shuddered, remembered being shoved out of Arthur's warm cloak and forced back into them and swore that he would hate Arthur forever for doing that to him. He had to concede though, walking around naked did not appeal. The forest was still all sharp pointed branches and tangled undergrowth that made even the horror of putting his boots back on bearable. And Arthur had let him keep the coat.
Merlin fought weariness and ignored the shivers that ran up his back and down his legs, muscles so tight it became hard to move, to walk through water-logged mud, to step over ancient roots grown thick and solid. He ignored the gnawing in his stomach and the unease that lingered in the back of his mind like a bad hangover that wouldn't let him forget; they were not safe, something more powerful than either of them still walked the woods and Merlin knew it meant to kill them.
It should have been easy to forget in the light of day, Merlin thought, the despair and the desperation of the night, and Arthur seemed happy enough. But it was still there and Merlin found himself on edge, distracted, and cold in a way that no sun or fire could warm.
"And traps," Arthur said, and Merlin remembered he was supposed to be listening. "It would be bad," Arthur was saying in his slightly unconvincing lecturing tone. "If you got your bare foot trapped in one of those..." Arthur trailed off and pulled his face into a very ignoble and exaggerated grimace. Merlin had absolutely no idea where he was finding the energy.
"I get it," Merlin said, because Arthur was looking at him with that scrunched up face and lifted eyebrow and Merlin really wanted him to stop. "Boots are necessary for not getting bare flesh ripped to shreds by animal traps."
"No need to get tetchy," Arthur sniffed, turning away and hacking with a little more force than was needed at some low branches in their path.
"Well I put them on didn't I?" Merlin groused. "Even though they are cold and wet and falling to pieces because they were really not made for going swimming in."
Arthur tilted his head. "They really didn't seem to be made for much of anything," he commented. "How can you stand to wear such flimsy things?"
"It's not like I can afford new fancy ones," Merlin bristled. "And what were you doing looking at my boots anyway?"
"They were kind of hard to not notice," Arthur replied slowly. "When I was taking them off your feet." He paused and gestured towards the river running along beside them as they picked their way along its bank. "Careful, it looks slippery here and I do not want to have to fish you out of the water again."
Merlin ignored the comment and said, "Okay. Let us never speak of the undressing me thing ever again."
Arthur laughed and looked back at Merlin again and this time his mouth was set in what looked to Merlin disturbingly like a leer.
"Oh but Merlin, your cold corpse-like skin was just so appealing."
Merlin actually stopped dead, clutching at a thin birch, and wondered if Arthur had been possessed. Or hit his head.
"Are you possessed?" Merlin asked. "Or did you hit your head? Because that was very creepy, and now let's go back to talking about something else. Like hunting. You like hunting. We can talk about hunting."
Arthur shot him a grin then grabbed his arm. "Come on," he said. "We're making good progress."
Which Merlin thought was probably a lie because the trees grew densely even up to the water's edge, and any route between them was thick with vines and old roots as thick as the trunks and sharp, thorned thicket. It felt as though they had to fight for every inch, for every step. But there was nothing else to be done, so Merlin followed Arthur and pushed at the branches and thorn bushes and tangled undergrowth in his path and really wished he had gloves.
*
"They're spiky and kind of cute," Merlin explained. "And make really good pie. Without the spikes, obviously." The thought of food made his stomach growl and made him wonder if any of the berries or leaves or twigs were edible, but Arthur was smiling a bit and Merlin was actually starting to feel almost like they might actually survive this.
"Obviously," Arthur repeated dryly. He hacked at a thicket in front of them, pulled at the branches to clear a path. "This would be a lot quicker if you had a knife or a sword or something too," Arthur commented. He took Merlin's arm and pulled him along behind him, through the newly cut path that scratched at them and tried to trip them. Still, Merlin trusted it more than if they had found a clearer path because he could see Arthur make it.
It was an odd feeling, like finding out there was evil magic, or that people lied, or that people died, but for the first time since he could remember Merlin did not trust his magic. He wondered if maybe it was the exhaustion or the cold or the hunger or the evil thing but he couldn't tell what he was doing and what he wasn't; couldn't feel it as clearly as he usually did. It was confusing and disorienting and it made Merlin nervous. So he talked.
"You know I'm rubbish with a sword," Merlin said, and Arthur laughed and nodded.
"I had noticed." He disappeared into a dense thicket, and Merlin stopped and waited.
"I'm not going that way!" he called after him, and Arthur shouted back. "Fine!" because even if he didn't quite trust his magic he still trusted his instincts and Arthur was starting to as well.
"Mushrooms," Merlin said, when he couldn't stand not being able to hear Arthur any more. "We can eat mushrooms." He knew mushrooms. He had collected them for his mother and for Gaius and sometimes for Arthur if he was feeling charitable and Arthur hadn't been a complete bastard to him for a while.
"They could be poisonous," Arthur remarked from somewhere ahead of him.
"I know what I'm doing," Merlin replied defensively. Because he did. "Do you take me for an idiot?"
Arthur appeared at his side. "I do, actually," he said, and before Merlin could muster the proper indignation for a response, Arthur said, "That way is flooded. River must have burst its banks. So then, O Wise One, which way now?"
Merlin thought for a moment. "We should try to go around," Merlin said, and pointed to his left. "That way."
"That way it is," Arthur agreed, taking the lead. "If we had time," he said, squeezing between two particularly close trees. "I would hunt."
Merlin scoffed. "Oh so now you want to talk about hunting."
"There's rich hunting in this forest," Arthur said.
"Who'd want to hunt somewhere they could be killed by a crazy evil thing?" Merlin argued, and Arthur frowned, helped pull Merlin between the trees without getting his long, thick coat snagged.
"You know, I've never heard of anything like that in these woods before."
"That's because you're you." At Arthur's offended look Merlin waved his hand and went on, "Because you're the king's son. Not because you're stupid or anything." Which Merlin was not going to discuss with his supposed master for fear of losing his job and possible imprisonment.
"So?" Arthur prompted when Merlin didn't say anything more. "What have you heard?"
It was, Merlin supposed, relevant, if a little close to home. But the previous night he remembered more clearly than he would have liked and he had said some things and maybe Arthur had heard too much. Despite that though, Arthur had still held him, let him close. And Arthur was still here, walking beside him, talking to him as though nothing had changed, letting him keep his cloak.
"One of the guards," Merlin said. "He told me that he'd heard there was some kind of hermit who lived in these woods." Merlin shrugged, didn't really want to say anymore because they had never talked about this kind of thing; about Uther's law. Merlin wasn't sure he wanted to know what Arthur would think.
"And?" Arthur prompted again, sounding slightly irritated. Arthur did not, Merlin reminded himself, attend the executions of those charged with witchcraft. He did not sneer at the very mention of magic as his father did. He listened to Gaius when he insisted magic was necessary to defeat magical beings. And they had a destiny, the dragon had said. They would be together for a long time, the dragon had laughed. Considering the life he led, Merlin knew it was only a matter of time before Arthur knew of his magic, if he didn't already. So, he decided, this was as good a time as any.
"He said the hermit had once been a local… sorcerer," Merlin said. "His wife had been burnt as a witch, and he went into hiding."
Arthur sighed and frowned.
"I sometimes wonder," he said softly, sounding decidedly uncomfortable. "If that law of my father's isn't more trouble than it's worth."
Merlin thought for a moment, wondering how much it had cost Arthur to say that, and at how much trust Arthur was placing in Merlin by telling him that. Still, he was just a servant so who would believe him anyway?
"I wouldn't know," he replied.
*
Continue to Part 2
Comments and concrit are your, my, Merlin and Arthur's special friend.
p.s. I hate coding like I hate milky tea.