Merlin Big Bang Fic part 4/4

[snarkydame]

Title: They Howl in Dreams of Winter
Warnings: explicit sex, of the slash variety.
Summary: An enemy sorcerer invades Merlin's dreams, seeking to foment betrayal and ruin a great destiny. There's a cave, and monsters, and a glowing sword (no, really).
Length: 20919 words. I'll have to post it in two or three parts on LJ . . .
Disclaimer: Merlin and its characters do not now, nor will they ever, belong to me. No infringement is intended.
Notes: Thanks again, L, for printing this whole thing out and sharpening your red pencil! I still appreciate it!

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

Arthur grinned. The sun picked fire from his hair, and threw his face into shade, turned his blue eyes dark. Entranced, Merlin watched a drop of water slide, incandescent, down the line of his neck where sun met shadow, and felt his mouth go slack.

"How much," Arthur asked, "do you like freckles?" He leaned in, nosing at the tender skin behind Merlin's jaw.

"Oh!" Merlin exclaimed, voice cracking. "Lots. I like them very much." Arthur licked experimentally at his earlobe, and Merlin's wrists jumped in Arthur's steady grip.

"Careful!" he said, breathless. "You'll send us down the hill!"

Arthur chuckled lazily, and lifted his bare feet from the hillside to slide them along Merlin's legs, until the whole, solid weight of him rested on top.

The long grass slipped beneath his shoulders, and Merlin yelped as Arthur rode him like a sled down the hill. They ended up tangled sideways, in a dip in the ground just deep enough to hold them.

"Better," Arthur declared, picking bits of grass from Merlin's hair. Merlin glared at him, and kicked at his ankle.

"Have you gained weight, sire?" Merlin asked, pushing futilely at his chest.

"I don't know. What do you think?" he answered, and wriggled bonelessly closer, digging the point of his chin into the dip of Merlin's shoulder. He closed his eyes and let go a great, contented sigh.

Grass, warm and dry under the sun, tickled at Merlin's ears and the back of his neck. He wriggled, but Arthur's weight had him pinned.

"Come on! The grass tickles. Arthur, damn you, I know you aren't asleep!"

He could feel Arthur laughing, soundless, the muscles of his stomach twitching helplessly against his own.

With a vengeful little smirk, Merlin felt the heat of magic light his eyes. He stripped Arthur of his trousers, and flung him off to the grass bare arsed. He smiled down at Arthur's astonished face.

"There, then. How do you like it?"

Arthur paused, and then stretched, as though he were sprawled out on his own smooth bed.

"Not bad," he drawled. "A little rustic. Still, that has its own charms, I suppose."

Merlin opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur turned his hip, just so, and he was thoroughly distracted.

He was hallucinating. He was so starved for light he was pulling it from his memories. But the hallucination drifted along at his side, darting in front of him now and then, as if to catch his attention. But when he looked, it would drift off, and he would return his attention to the path.

It seemed almost real. He could even see the path ahead of him, as thought the hallucination actually lit the way. But he sternly kept testing the ground -- he could hardly afford to let a memory of light send him tumbling into a hole.

Still, it was company of sorts. Like a stray dog, tagging along on an afternoon's ride.

Arthur couldn't help but try to touch it, hallucination or not. But, again, when he turned his attention towards it, it drifted back the way he'd come, just out of reach.

It wasn't until the fourth time the little ball of light stopped and flared in front of his face that Arthur considered that it might not, in fact, be a hallucination. He blinked at it, bemused. It bobbed in what he could only think of as a frustrated manner, and, again, moved off up the path.

"You're real," he told it flatly, feeling a tiny thread of hope expanding in his heart. "Merlin sent you?" At this point -- after the hideous quiet of the cave, whose only sound, the drip of water into the pool, brought him thoughts of drowning -- he didn't feel it odd at all to talk to a ball of light.

However, being a ball of light, it didn't answer. But it stopped a few steps up the path, waiting for him, and this time he followed.

"You'll lead me to him, won't you?" he asked, plaintive as a child. He would have been embarrassed, displaying vulnerability so clearly, but there was no one to hear.

Arthur raised his arm, and closed his hand around the laces of his tunic, toying with them. "Merlin," he said. And he tugged, slowly, at the laces, drawing him into a kiss as sweet and long and lazy as a summer afternoon.

Merlin sank into his kiss with a need that surprised him, edged with a strange desperation. But Arthur's broad hands stroked over his shoulders, holding him against him tenderly. The kiss, so gentle, eased away that desperation, until all Merlin felt was the sun-drenched ease of Arthur's touch.

Arthur's hands slid under his tunic, tracing the curve of his back with his fingertips. Back and forth he stroked them, and Merlin heard his breathing quicken when he ran them, feather light, over the base of his spine.

Merlin pulled back, feeling Arthur's teeth catch at his bottom lip. He sat up, straddling Arthur's hips, and pulled his tunic off over his head.

Arthur's hands tightened at his waist, and slid up his ribs as Merlin bent down again to nuzzle at Arthur's throat.

Merlin mouthed his collarbone, and his breath stuttered. Merlin could feel the heat of him, rubbing against his trousers. He rocked his hips in a slow circle.

Arthur tugged at Merlin's trousers, pulling them down, just under the curve of his buttocks. The summer air felt cool against the tip of his swollen cock, and Merlin gasped, sharply.

Arthur pushed him back, and sat up beneath him, until Merlin was sitting in his lap. Arthur held him tightly, trapping his wrists between them, and wrapped a hand around both Merlin's cock and his own. He held him there, leaning his forehead against his, and Merlin could feel every muscle in his body tighten, waiting.

Then Arthur's mouth was on his, insistent, and his hand was moving. The calluses were rough and dry around him, almost painful, and the friction of Arthur's cock, twisting against his, built a fire deep in Merlin's gut. He dropped his head and pressed his forehead into Arthur's chest. He whined, deep in his throat.

But Arthur had found his rhythm, relentless, and Merlin quivered with the force of it. He opened his mouth to cry out, and Arthur drove faster. Helpless, Merlin felt his magic sliding free, in stuttering, rising waves.

Then he could feel slick dampness easing the friction, and Arthur's hand moved faster, pulling harder.

He felt Arthur shudder, the hard muscles of his chest and shoulders shaking, and Merlin felt the fire in his gut spill over.

Arthur pulled his chin up and swallowed his cry. They came together, and the grass all around them was flattened to the ground. The dragonflies took to the sky in a jeweled cloud that shattered the sun into coloured shards.

Arthur was sure he was dreaming. The light hovered now unmoving, illuminating the figure sitting against the rock. Long limbs crossed in a startling tangle, skin too pale and hair too dark in the magical light, Merlin looked almost inhuman.

He moved closer, stumbling, and crouched over him. His hands hovered over his bowed head. He wanted to see his face, but was afraid to touch him, lest he vanish into the dark again.

But then Merlin's head rose, and he was squinting tiredly through the light at Arthur. A slow smile warmed his pale face, and Arthur's hand came to rest on Merlin's shoulders.

They tightened, and Merlin winced. Arthur shook him.

"If you ever run away from me again . . ." Desperate threats and pleading hovered at the tip of his tongue, but Arthur choked them off, pulling Merlin into a fierce and angry hug. "Don't," he said simply. "Don't ever."

Merlin lay on his back, looking up at the very blue sky. Arthur held his wrist with a slack hand, dozing with his head on his lap. They'd gathered their clothes, and the cloth smelled like clover.

But Merlin chewed at a grass stem and frowned thoughtfully. He felt again that odd angry anxiety, as if something was missing.

"Arthur," he asked, trying to pinpoint the feeling, "how did you get away from the Court?"

"Hmmh? I rode, you idiot, just like you. Our horses are just there, by the lake." His voice was warm and lazy, half-asleep.

Merlin's frown deepened, slightly. "But how did you find the time? Didn't your knights object to you going out alone?"

Arthur shook his head, and nestled more comfortably into the grass. "Why should they mind? There's nothing of any threat here."

But the thread of anxiety, cold beneath the summer warmth, refused to dissipate. Merlin, worrying at it, felt the grass stem break between his teeth.

It left a bitter taste.

Arthur pulled away to study Merlin, taking in the dark shadows under his eyes, made darker by the magical light, and the faint trembling in his hands.

"What happened?" he demanded, "Why did you run off like that?"

Merlin's voice was as tired as his face, but there was a note of triumph there. "You were in danger - the sorcerer could find me, through my magic. But I got him first. He won't be of any threat to you now."

"You idiot!" he said, and cuffed him on the shoulder. "I could have handled it. I thought you had gone mad."

"Sorry," Merlin offered. "I was too tired to explain things properly." He looked up at Arthur through dark lashes, half a smile on his lips, and Arthur felt his relief turn into something more intense. He stood abruptly. This was hardly the place.

"So the sorcerer's dead?" he asked, looking at the light.

"As good as," he answered, and Arthur looked at him sharply. He shrugged. "He'll never leave this cave."

There was such a dark satisfaction in those words that Arthur blinked. Merlin was never so vindictive. "And you're sure you're all right."

Merlin stood, legs unfolding slowly. He cocked his head at Arthur. "I told you I'm fine. Just exhausted." He turned and nodded further down the cave. "There's a way out, down this way."

And Arthur followed him, trying to dismiss the odd intonation in Merlin's voice.

There were clouds coming in. They piled up on the horizon, building higher and higher, as though some force kept them fenced away from the sunny clearing where Merlin lay with Arthur. He frowned, absently stroking through Arthur's hair.

How long had they lain here? The sun was still so high in the sky.

Arthur snored, a light, comfortable sound. Merlin felt his own eyes closing in response, and he forced himself to sit up, shaking his head. Something didn't feel right.

Arthur murmured, protesting his movement, and blinked up at him. "What are you doing?" he asked petulantly. "You don't make a very good pillow."

"I'm sorry," he said, distracted. He stared at the clouds. They were a dark wall now, threaded with lightning. "There's a storm coming."

Arthur propped himself up on his elbows, looking. "Merlin," he said, voice suspicious. "The sky is clear."

Following Merlin closely, Arthur saw him stiffen. "What is it?" he asked, sword raised as he listened for the sound of anything following them in the dark.

Merlin didn't answer right away. He looked back at him, sharply, and Merlin met him with a sheepish smile.

"Sorry. Just deciding which way I should go."

"If you get us lost down here, after everything else. . ."

"No, I wouldn't dare." Merlin's voice sounded strangely hostile, and Arthur's eyes narrowed.

"What's going on in your head, Merlin? You're acting very strangely."

"Am I?" Merlin raised his chin, eyes glittering dangerously, and Arthur felt a new, hideous suspicion tighten his spine.

Merlin stood in the middle of the clearing, feeling a cold storm wind whipping at his face. But the grass was still.

Arthur stared up at him, confused.

"Can't you feel this?" he asked him, pleading. "Don't you see?"

"Merlin, there's nothing there!" Irritation warred with fear in Arthur's face. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Merlin's skin was crawling, and the storm clouds piled higher, seething behind the barrier. "But something's very, very wrong here."

Arthur got to his feet and grabbed Merlin's arm. "You're not making any sense," he said, worry thinning his voice. "You're seeing things. Come with me. We'll get you to Gaius."

Merlin shrugged him off. Seeing things . . . yes. "Oh yes," he breathed, fury building fast within him. "Oh, you utter bastard."

And the storm poured over the barrier. The sky turned black.

"I had hoped," Merlin said, "to keep this going a little while longer." He smiled merrily as Arthur, but Arthur felt his heart stop at the coldness in his eyes. They looked at him with the same indifference that the water beast had.

"Merlin, what are you doing?" He found that he'd pointed his sword at Merlin, instinctively. He jerked it down, horrified.

"Oh, no!" Merlin assured him. "You're going to need that."

Arthur stared, not breathing.

"You didn't really think there was a sorcerer, did you?" Merlin asked, tauntingly. "Getting into the castle, past all the guards. Attacking the king himself without leaving a trace?" He laughed. "How could it have been anyone but me?"

"No," Arthur choked out. "It wasn't you." He raised his sword, this time deliberately, and his back straightened. His voice went glacial with rage.

"It wasn't Merlin. Who the hell are you?"

The storm whipped across the clearing like a demon unleashed. All the dragonflies were swept away, and the grass whipped across his legs like supple knives. He hardly noticed.

There was no sign of Arthur.

Merlin swallowed a ragged skewer of loss, and yelled through the howling storm. "I know what you're doing! And I'll tear you apart, for using him!"

The spectral howl of the wolves rose to match the wind. He snarled back at them and clawed for his magic, too angry to feel fear.

The storm spat lightning, and the little clearing fell away in burning chunks, until he stood on nothing. Saw nothing, but the lightning that shredded the darkness all around him.

He closed his hands around the slender threads of his magic, and he pulled.

Thunder drowned out the wolves.

Merlin, no, the sorcerer, staggered. He recovered almost immediately, but his eyes, when he again met Arthur's, had lost their indifference. An impatient temper burned there in its place.

"Don't be stupid," the imposter growled. "Are you too dense to recognize treachery when it spits in your face?"

His sword didn't waver. "Merlin promised me. He'd never use his magic to harm me. He'd never use it against my father. Nor against my knights."

The sorcerer laughed, just a little wildly. "You put such faith in promises! It's amazing, really, that your faith hasn't broken before now." He raised his hand, power crackling across his fingers. "But it really was Merlin's magic. His power, his skill. He really could be this much of a threat."

"But he never will be."

The sorcerer scowled at the bedrock certainty in Arthur's voice. But then his face cleared. Once more, he smiled, Merlin's infectious grin. It sent chills through Arthur.

"Well," the sorcerer said, a bitter edge to his voice. "I don't suppose it matters now. One way or another, the two of you will never be together again. That should be enough."

The storm winds tore at Merlin's hair, brought tears streaming from his eyes. He could feel the magic all around him, huge and terrifying, but he couldn't hold it. He could barely touch it at all, through the barriers the sorcerer threw against him.

Wolves ran at Merlin, snapping as they passed. He struck at them, barehanded, almost berserk with frustration. They kept coming. Blood seeped from countless small slashes on his arms and legs.

Still, thread by thread, he pulled his magic from the storm, unraveling the sorcerer's hold on him.

"I told you not to touch him!" he screamed into the wind. "I warned you!"

Thread by thread, his reeled his magic in. It began to smolder, deep within him, and he grinned, a fierce baring of teeth, as the wolves came again, in numbers.

Arthur dodged the first strike, and the second, sliding behind an outcropping of stone on the cave wall. He could feel it shattering to gravel at his back, and rolled away.

The sorcerer looked ill. His hands shook, constantly, and a grimace kept breaking his smile, pulling his face into something feral and cold. The power coiling around his hands stuttered and sparked.

Arthur worked his way closer, running from rock to rock. The sorcerer's attacks flared through the cave in strobing light, until it seemed to Arthur like he was running through a lightning storm. He felt horribly exposed.

But he kept coming, taking advantage of the sorcerer's seeming distraction to get closer. And he did seem distracted. Half of the attacks seemed utterly random, flung no where near Arthur, breaking up the cave all around.

The fallen stones, still hot to the touch, provided cover, and Arthur used it, until, with a lunge that sent a sharp pain through his bruised hip, he put the edge of his sword to the sorcerer's throat.

The sorcerer went still, focused fully on the blade in Arthur's hand. The cave went dark again, only the little ball of light shining over Arthur's shoulder.

"Do it!" the sorcerer said, gleefully. "Strike me down. Take my head to your father."

His sword trembled, eager at his throat. Arthur's wrists ached with holding it still. But the mad triumph in the sorcerer's eyes stayed his hand.

"Why do you want me too?" he asked, suspicion tight around his heart.

The sorcerer eyed him, and a slow smile curved over his face. "Why not? If you don't, I'll kill you. And if you do, you'll only kill Merlin."

Merlin swayed, drunk with pain and rage. Blood slicked his fists, his back, his legs. It was sticky on his face. But power burned in him. The threads had come together.

He took a deep, rattling breath. Around him, the storm seemed to pause, an odd greenish light illuminating the boiling clouds. The wolves, sickly in the green light, slunk back, glaring over their shoulders, as Merlin raised one bloody fist above his head.

"Now," he breathed, and opened his fist.

Lightning, a burning column, sword-straight, struck his hand. It tore into the veins at his wrist, pouring into them. He flung out his other hand, and the lightning sprayed from his fingers.

He screamed, an exultant, agonized sound, and as the wolves turned and fled the dark was filled with an endless, brilliant light.

Arthur froze. He had been sure this sorcerer was a sort of shape shifter. Or an illusionist, taking Merlin's form. But it made too much sense. Merlin, gone from his bed before dawn. His hysterical words in the mouth of the cave. The tracks that Owain had found, turning back towards Camelot, and then away again, as if herded.

"You used him," he said, so softly he could barely hear himself. He could barely see, through the heart-tearing rage. But his sword moved back, and the sorcerer's smile widened.

Arthur stumbled backwards, his sword falling to his side. The sorcerer stood and laughed, a mocking, triumphant sound that echoed in the ruined cave, filling Arthur's disbelieving ears.

And then it stopped.

He stared, transfixed, as the sorcerer's stolen body arched back, as if struck by lightning. The sorcerer's mouth opened wide, and the tendons in his throat snapped taut, as if he were screaming, but no sound left him.

Instead, light - white, blinding light - lanced free. His very bones seemed to be burning.

Arthur flung up his arm, hiding his eyes. And then the light went out. The smell of ozone was strong in the cave.

"Merlin!" he yelled, and tried to move forward, to catch his body as it fell.

But he stumbled in the dark, and heard Merlin's body hit the ground.

He fell to his knees after it, reaching blindly, pushing aside the tumbled rocks. He found rough cloth, a limp arm. A still, unmoving chest.

Merlin wasn't breathing.

He cried out, wordless and pained, and pulled his body to him. But as he lifted him, Merlin sucked in a deep, frantic breath and scrambled away, coughing furiously.

Arthur crouched in the dark, listening to him wheeze. He barely breathed himself, waiting.

Finally, he couldn't take the quiet anymore.

"Merlin?" he asked cautiously.

A long minute passed, and Arthur felt a cold dread clench around his heart.

Then, "I think so," came the answer, in a voice hoarse and weary. "Probably."

There was in fact another way out of the cave. The sorcerer had led Arthur very close to it. He stood in the narrow cleft, watching the powdery snow blow across the ground. In the distance, where the hillside began to curve, he could see Cai, still digging at the rock slide, with a steady, hopeless sort of rhythm that hurt to watch. Bedivere sat behind him, head in his arms.

"I have to get out there," he said. "I can't let them keep thinking I'm dead."

"Of course. Get going." And Merlin gave him a tiny shove towards the open air. He smiled at him. But the smile was dark and sad around the edges, and Arthur didn't go.

"It wasn't you," he said, watching that fragile smile. "It was never you."

Merlin let the smile fade, and studied Arthur's face. He found no doubt there, none at all.

"I can't tell," he said, ducking his head to hide his sudden embarrassment, "if you're really that confident, or if you're just a little bit simple."

But Arthur took his chin in his hand, and turned his face up to him. His eyes were dark.

"You promised," he said, as if that held it all.

Well, Merlin thought, and let out a breath. Perhaps it did.

He nodded once, and gripped Arthur's wrist, settling himself by his steady pulse.

"Go on, sire. I'll wait here for awhile, and make my own way home."

Arthur gave his a long, searching glance. "See that you do," he said finally, and turned away.

Merlin watched him go. Heard him call out to his knights, and their glad cries. Bedivere nearly knocked him over. Arthur gripped both their shoulders, and led them back to their horses, and the trees. He did not look at the cleft in the earth where Merlin stood.

The cold air felt cleansing after the damp warmth of the cave. He breathed deep.

He was sure that he had burned the sorcerer away completely. Mostly sure. But he felt that crawling dread at the back of his mind, which said maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was just biding his time, and would strike again. At Arthur this time.

But Arthur was waiting.

He dug his hand into the frozen, crumbling earth that hid the cave.

After the feast, where he reassured himself that all his knights had made it safely back to Camelot and were recovering, and his father had honoured them all with Royal gifts; after Morgana had gripped his hand hard and pulled him into a dance, not speaking; after he had stopped Gwen in the corridor, and told her that Merlin was well, though he wasn't sure he wasn't lying; Arthur stood at his window. It was very late, and the sky held that deep luminescence that spoke of the coming dawn.

He took a drink from the flagon of wine he held. It was a fine vintage, but it could have been watered ale for all he tasted of it.

The ride home had been long, and for the whole of it he'd fought the urge to turn around and race back to Merlin. To make sure he wasn't thinking of slinking away, in unearned guilt and useless fears.

If he wasn't back today, he thought, watching the first blush of the rising sun, he'd go after him. He’d said the same yesterday. And the day before.

But as he stood there, he heard his door open, and close.

He set his flagon carefully on the sill, and turned. Merlin stood in the middle of his chambers.

He was travel-worn, listing sideways with weariness, but his eyes were clear.

"He really is gone," he said, as though Arthur needed reassurance. "I made sure."

Arthur said nothing, drinking in the sight of him in silence.

Merlin flushed under his regard, and hid his hands in his sleeves. "I would have washed up," he said, too fast, "but I thought I should tell you, right away, that there was nothing to worry about. I should have - I'll just go - “and he gestured over his shoulder at the door, backing towards it.

Arthur moved then, crossing the room in long strides. He caught Merlin's gesturing hand and held it, pulling him closer. He hugged him tightly, burying his face against Merlin's neck, breathing in the scent of him, warming himself against him.

It had been too cold, without him.

Merlin stilled against him, and then leaned in with a deep sigh.

"Merlin," Arthur said eventually, voice small and broken, "you really need a bath."

For a second, Merlin froze. And then he was shaking with laughter, holding on to Arthur to keep his feet.

And Arthur smiled, and held on, as light washed over the window.

fin