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What do you know about a man named Emrys?
Emrys. They were doing this, too? Revealing his destiny with the once and future king: this was too much. Merlin had already bared his heart to Arthur tonight, surely the Goddess must be satisfied for now. He trusted Arthur with this, of course, but he’d trust him with it… tomorrow.
‘The druids say he’s the most powerful warlock alive.' Usually, he’d be inclined to share more than that. Arthur continued to look at Merlin, eyebrows raised expectantly. Maybe if he irritated him just enough, he would drop the questions: it had worked before. He fiddled with the vambraces, turning them over in his hands.
Eventually, Arthur heaved out a breath. ‘Merlin. Why would the druids want me to find this man? How would he be useful?’
‘Of course he’d be useful!’ Pieces of the vase skittered noisily across the floor, and for a moment, they sat blinking at each other. Arthur seemed to be trying to find - something - in his eyes. Then:
‘Sorry -’
‘Merlin -’
‘Arthur -’
‘Listen -’
‘It’s been a lot -’
‘Would you just shut up?’
‘Right. Shutting up, sire.’
‘Maybe we should leave this for tomorrow,' said Arthur, carefully, as if he were speaking to a particularly skittish horse.
Merlin was nodding before he had finished speaking. Did he seem too eager to leave? Ah, well. 'Yes, for once, I think you're right.'
'For once?' Arthur's whole body jerked as he looked around, probably for an object to throw; Merlin stood and backed towards the door, which opened obligingly.
'Good night, sire!'
The door shut solidly behind him. Merlin waited a second - CLANG! - and laughed. If it was slightly hysterical, no matter, as the answering burst of laughter was, too. But it was some comfort to know that amidst all the tumult of the last couple of hours, some things just didn't change.
*
Merlin couldn't sleep. Well, he probably could if he used magic. He'd found a couple of sleeping spells in Gaius' book the other night, but the side effects ranged from a ghastly rash to possibly needing someone else to cast the waking spell. Not ideal.
Part of him just wanted to roar into the sky, call down Kilgharrah, and get him to explain - as much as what anything that came out of Kilgharrah could be considered explaining - the whole prophecy. But then it was as if there was a whole new Pandora’s box now, what with the dragonlord thing, and how would it go, exactly? By the way, the great dragon is alive, Arthur, want to meet him?
Maybe he could just go yell incoherently into the sky anyway. It would probably help.
How was Merlin supposed to save Albion? He didn't even know what the danger was! Nothing seemed to be amiss - sure, some men in the lower town had died unexpectedly, but it had been terribly cold lately, and they had been sick, so Gaius didn't seem concerned. And how was that even related to Arthur suddenly being betrothed? To who, and when had this happened? There hadn't been any visiting princesses recently. Nobody had visited Camelot except for… the druids.
Was Arthur betrothed to one of the druids?
His mind didn't seem to want to stay on that thought for too long. His chest felt oddly tight, and he winced as his cupboard door shut with a bang. He rolled over, tangling the blanket around his legs; the room felt colder, somehow, against his back.
They'd sort it in the morning.
He had to focus on the important thing: Arthur knew about his magic. Arthur knew about his magic and it was fine. This was a greater outcome than he had dared hope; it was almost straight out of his dreams. Arthur’s face had not shuttered in betrayal, and there had been no tears in his eyes: he had not left it too late after all.
Into his pillow, Merlin smiled.
They'd sort it in the morning, together.
*
He was in a small clearing in the forest just outside Camelot, lying on a blanket, the remains of a picnic strewn beside him. Arthur’s hand was carding through his hair, and the burbling of the nearby creek was lulling him to sleep, and he closed his eyes. ‘I wish we could stay here forever.’
‘Wake up, Merlin.’ Arthur’s breath tickled against his ear.
‘No, I don’t want to.’
‘You must,’ said Arthur. He probably thought he sounded convincing, the prat, but his hand continued caressing Merlin’s hair, and so it wasn’t very convincing at all.
‘Merlin.’
He sounded serious. Merlin cracked open an eye. There was a bird flying overhead. He focused on Arthur, who was frowning at him. Merlin reached up to poke his nose. ‘It’s alright.’
‘Merlin, you need to wake up,’ said Arthur.
Merlin furrowed his brow. Why was Arthur so worried? A shadow had fallen over them; and the bird was larger, now. Much, much, larger, what kind of bird -
‘YOUNG WARLOCK! ’
It wasn’t a bird after all, and this clearing was not large enough, what was the old lizard doing here, he needed to stop before he crushed them both -
‘WAKE UP! ’
Merlin bolted upright -
He was in his bed. His chest was heaving, and he was sweating in his nightshirt, but he was in Camelot, in Gaius’ spare room, and everything was fine.
And then abruptly it wasn’t, because there was something at the foot of his bed, wearing a thick, grey cloak that obscured its features so completely, it might as well have been made out of shadows.
Merlin let out a yell, and pushed it away, but it only staggered slightly. It shook itself, then came closer, and what was it, because it was floating. He scrambled out of bed, half tripping over the sheets, and at the same time, threw his pillow at it. The creature didn’t move, and the pillow seemed to shimmer as it went through it. Nonetheless, Merlin’s magic instinctively caused the contents of his wardrobe to hurl themselves at the creature, to absolutely no effect: it simply continued to float closer as the clothes went straight through and landed on the floor behind it.
Magic, then. ‘Forbærne ácwele!’
Merlin threw the fireball at the creature, but it sidestepped it neatly, and the fireball burnt a black mark on the wall. That would be fun to clean up later, if he didn’t die tonight. As the creature floated closer, Merlin held out a hand to try and push it away again with magic. His eyes darted around the room desperately. There had to be something he could do, something he could use - something glinted in the corner of his eye.
The dagger! Its blade was illuminated by the moonlight as it rested on his table, next to the vambraces. Thank the goddess.
Merlin leapt for the table. His hand closed around the handle, just as the creature grabbed his left shoulder. Its hand - no, its claws - were sharp and almost indescribably cold: colder than the stream near Ealdor, even colder than snow. Its grip tightened, and Merlin let out a gasp as numbness spread from his shoulder and down his arm.
He turned and slashed blindly. He felt the blade connect and abruptly the creature released its claws from his shoulder with a high pitched cry; it sounded almost like two blades clashing. Yet there did not seem to be any injury to the creature: its cloak was still immaculate. Its claws retreated into the long sleeves of its cloak, and its face was still hidden in shadow.
It hovered in front of him, silently now, until it suddenly disappeared in a whirl of icy air.
Merlin stood for a moment longer, dagger at the ready, flexing his left hand as warmth returned to it. His heart pounded in his ears, and after it seemed like the creature was probably not going to return, he shakily placed the dagger back onto the table. If he hadn’t received these gifts tonight…
He sat back down on his bed. Well, this was one of his questions answered, at least. Albion was in danger from that creature. But what was it?
His head snapped up as the door creaked open. ‘Merlin? What happened in here?’
It took a moment for him to find the words. ‘I was attacked.’
Gaius was beside him on the bed in an instant. Who knew he could still move that fast? ‘Dear boy, are you hurt?’
‘No,’ said Merlin, ‘But we need to find out what it was.’
Gaius’ bestiary had barely begun to gather dust since it had last been used. 'This happens too often,' grumbled Merlin, pulling it down from the shelf. He flipped to the beginning of the book, and sat at the table, rubbing his eyes. 'It could have just been someone in a cloak,’ he said, as Gaius sat next to him, and turned the pages slowly. ‘Except it was hovering. And anything I threw at it just went through it.’
‘Probably not someone in a cloak, then.’ Gaius continued to turn the pages as they peered at the book. None of the sketches quite matched the description of the creature that had attacked him, but Merlin’s eyes snagged on some text:
Released from the spirit world, it consumes the souls of the living. It is immune to all but the most powerful of magic, and it grows stronger after consuming the souls of those who practice magic.
Well. That did not sound good. He moved the lamp closer to the book, and looked up at the drawing, which depicted a scaly hand reaching out from beneath a dark sleeve, its fingernails sharpened into claws. Merlin felt suddenly cold, even though feeling had long since returned to his left arm.
Scratches from its claws cause its victim to lose feeling in the affected area.
This must be it. How long had this thing been in Camelot? How had nobody noticed?
It can take the form of any living creature it has previously consumed.
So it could be anybody - oh, no.
Arthur.