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Arthur held the torch high to shed as much light as possible in the dark tunnels. The tunnels were supposed to aid their stealth as they crossed into the neighbouring kingdom.
Instead, they were fantastically lost–not that Arthur would admit it– with the useless map tucked in his belt.
Both he and Merlin were tensed and annoyed, slowing getting desperate for fresh air and sunlight. They had long since fallen silent to avoid snapping at each other.
Arthur stopped abruptly, holding a hand up. A faint scuffle echoed, growing louder. There was no way to know where it was coming from.
Arthur readied his sword, pushing Merlin behind him.
A cry sounded. Arthur’s eyes widened in recognition. Wilddeoron. He tugged Merlin behind some boulders they passed, hissing at him to be quiet.
“We don’t have Gaia berries so if you value you life, be still.”
The sound grew louder, a cacophony of several heavy feet clawing their way around. By the sound of it, there were too many of them to fend off.
Merlin eyed their surroundings, calculating their chances of surviving if he collapsed the tunnel between them and the wilddeoron.
He could vaguely make out dark shapes coming toward them, becoming clearer as the light shone over them.
He shared a quick glance with Arthur. They could see three of them. There were probably more behind.
The wilddeoron began sniffing the air curiously.
Merlin shifted as sweat rolled down his back uncomfortably as they came closer–too close. There were only about six feet between away when Arthur grabbed him and they ran.
All they needed was a smaller entrance which the creatures would not be able to pass through. Or enough stamina and speed to outrun them.
Merlin’s eyes glowed as he sent a strong gust of wind to deter the wilddeoron, allowing them to put more distance. They screeched and chittered, the clatter of their feet barely pausing.
They skidded to a halt at a wide dead end with plenty of space for feasting. There was no time to back up to take another path.
Arthur stood in front of Merlin, settling into his battle stance. Merlin silently magicked balls of light at floated them to the ceiling. It was a risk, he knew, but they needed all the light they could get. There was no point if they ended up as wilddeoron fodder.
Arthur didn’t have time to notice the light as he charged, using the narrow entrance to force the wilddeoron to single file for as long as possible.
Angry cries jarred the stale air, human and wilddoreon. Merlin frantically looked around for a way out. Arthur wouldn’t be able to hold them off much longer.
“Ācwele!” He thrust if out his hand, timing it just as Arthur landed a blow.
The wilddeoron fell and didn’t get back up. Unfortunately, it was close enough that the ones behind it pushed their fallen through the entrance, making Arthur back away and give up their biggest (non magical) advantage.
“I could kill for some gaia berries right now,” Merlin groused.
“The problem, Merlin, is that you can’t kill them,” Arthur returned. “Just sit tight as I do all the work, as usual.”
Four wilddeoron closed in on them, chittering angrily. Merlin wisely refrained from retorting, focusing his energy on their pending doom. If the dragon had lied about the prophecy and they ended as wilddeoron food, he would–
There was a dramatic wail and a flash of light, (which Merlin had nothing to do with). The wilddeoron chittered and cried before retreating as the light flashed again.
Arthur grabbed Merlin, unsure whether they should run or stay. The torch had landed on the ground at some point, still lit.
A figure descended from above and landed before them. They were shrouded in a cloak with the skull of what appeared to be a wilddeoron covering their face.
“Show yourself,” Arthur demanded, picking up the torch.
“I have many faces, young king,” came an ambiguous voice, full of supernatural echo. “This is the one I show you.”
Arthur scowled. “I am a prince.”
The being tilted their head. “You were born king, Arthur Pendragon.”
“Who are you?”
“I am a guardian.”
“Of what?”
The guardian sighed so wearily Merlin felt sympathy for them. “What, whom, anything, and nothing.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Arthur eyed them warily.
“All you need to know, King, is I will help you, if you accept.”
“Emrys.” The guardian said telepathically. Merlin pressed his lips in a thin line, earlier sympathy overshadowed by foreboarding.
“And what exactly are you offering?” Arthur asked.
The guardian walked over to the fallen wilddeoron and knelt to gently pet its head. “You are lost, are you not? I can show you the way out.”
Merlin felt magic in the air as the guardian pressed a final touch on the wilddeoron. A blessing, he realised. Inexplicably, he felt bad killing the beast with his magic.
“I’m sorry,” Merlin offered telepathically. “I had no choice.”
“How do I know I can trust you?” asked Arthur.
“That is for you and you companion to decide.” The guardian stood. They looked up where Merlin’s light was still floating. They reached a hand toward it. “May I?” they asked telepathically.
Merlin nodded, thought he wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to.
The guardian pulled on of the balls toward them and imbued it into the wilddeoron. Merlin didn’t feel anything strange. He wondered what the guardian had done.
“If we accept your help,” Arthur began, finally relaxing his sword arm a smidgen, “what do you want in return?”
“For you to leave. Your presence has caused disturbance.”
Arthur looked at Merlin who shrugged in response. “Show us the way.”
“Very well. I need an anchor.”
Merlin tensed. He did not like the sound of that.
“Fear not. You will be able to break the anchor any time you wish.”
Merlin swallowed. He really wished there was another way to do this.
Arthur switched the torch to his sword hand and grabbed Merlin by the elbow when the man stepped ahead.
“I understand your hesitance, young king. Be assured that Emrys will create the anchor.”
“That does not assure me.”
The guardian leaned ahead. “Emrys is your protector,” they said, growing impatient. “Either accept or decline, I have nothing more to say.”
“Arthur,” Merlin said quietly, “we don’t have much of a choice.”
Arthur’s brows furrowed as he went over their situation. He pulled Merlin back. “I will be the anchor, whatever that is.”
The guardian shook their head and pointed at Merlin. “I need him.”
Arthur’s grip tightened on Merlin momentarily. Their eyes met, speaking without words. Arthur finally let Merlin go. Merlin stepped ahead.
“This might hurt,” they warned.
Merlin nodded. Of course it would. When were things ever easy?
The guardian muttered a spell. It sounded ominous in their echoing voice. Merlin wished it would be over already because he was getting a headache.
The fire from the torch lifted itself and morphed into a sphere, shining brighter than the fire had.
“It will guide you safely,” said the guardian, floating. “Farewell.”
There was a flash of light as they disappeared. Merlin wondered which spell that was. It would be very convenient if he could disappear from tight spots.
“Merlin?” Arthur’s arm fell on his shoulder.
“Mh?”
“Merlin!”
“Shhhh….” Merlin reached out a hand clumsily slapping his palm across Arthur’s face. “Too loud. Headache.”
His head felt like it was being run through by a small but sturdy stick. If he pulled it out the pain would stop, right?
He forced his eyes open for it only to find Arthur with his obnoxiously bright hair. “What’s it?” he slurred.
“Come on, we need to get out of here.”
Merlin blinked at him trying to understand. “Okay, let’s go.”
It took a couple of minutes for Merlin to get his bearings. The headache didn’t recede but he was coherent enough. The spell worked, guiding them through the tunnels.
He let Arthur lead as the light was too bright for him. His head was throbbing in earnest and his stomach was revolting against him. Thankfully he hadn’t eaten anything to throw up.
Oh gods, he shouldn’t think about food. His stomach was fighting a war and food would only rile it up more.
“Keep up, Merlin,” Arthur called out from ahead. He stopped, waiting for Merlin to catch up.
They continued again, till Merlin fell behind once more.
“What’s wrong with you?” Arthur asked, patting him down for signs of injury before Merlin could respond.
“Fine. Woozy,” Merlin grumbled, stepping away from Arthur.
Arthur peered at him. “Must be the spell.”
Merlin shrugged.
“The sooner we get out of here the sooner we can get you help.” He grabbed Merlin by the arm and pulled him along.
“I can walk,” Merlin said irritably. The jostling was making his nausea worse. He wiggled free and promptly turned to heave as bile rose.
He rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. The relief was blissful until Arthur tapped his cheeks repeatedly.
Merlin moaned miserably. “Five more minute.”
“Merlin, come on. Stay awake.”
Merlin glared at him. Or rather the hand that was held out to helped him up. Huh, when did he sit down?
They started their journey again. This time Merlin complained loudly about being jostled every time his stomach lurched dangerously.
For the most parts, his complaints were gibberish, moans more than words. It was proving too much effort to form whole thoughts let alone say it out loud.
Arthur finally slipped their palms together. “Not a word of this to anyone,” he threatened.
“You’re the one who insist on grabbing me,” Merlin grumbled, but didn’t pull away. It was a lot more bearable like this. His uneven steps occasionally still caused him to bump into Arthur but it was with less frequence and force.
It was also oddly comforting. He could close his eyes against the evil light and trust Arthur to lead them safely.
He knew he should stay alert. They could run into trouble anytime. But he couldn’t shake off the heavy fatigue that smothered him.
He tried to forget everything other than the warmth and firmness of Arthur’s grip. His body followed him automatically.
Occasionally Arthur would flex his fingers or adjust their grip, pulling Merlin out of the trance-like state and grounding him back to reality.
At some point the brightness increased. Merlin hissed and shut his eyes but the light continued its assault behind his lids. They must have finally made their way out of the tunnel.
Merlin wanted to go back into its soothing darkness.
Arthur paused for a bit. Merlin swayed to keep himself from collapsing. He c0uld hear Arthur’s voice but he couldn’t make out any words. He could hardly tell up from down at this point.
He burrowed into Arthur’s armour clad shoulder to shield himself from the merciless sunlight.
Merlin was delirious. Arthur tried to get him to open his eyes but the man refused, scrunching his eyes firmly shut.
He tried to free his hand but Merlin cried out and pulled it closer to himself, almost like a lifeline.
Arthur experimentally shaded him from the sunlight. Merlin didn’t open his eyes but he relaxed a little. The light must be bothering him.
He tugged Merlin’s neckerchief off and blindfolded him with it. Merlin sighed in relief at that.
Arthur shook his head. What the hell had that spell done to Merlin? He hoped it would wear off by the next day.
They had to find a place to camp for the night. Their progress was slow. Arthur tried his best to keep Merlin on a path with minimal obstacles. The man seemed to be asleep on his feet.
They settled in a small clearing. There was still daylight, but Merlin wasn’t fit to travel anymore.
Arthur guided them to sit at the base of a tree. Merlin groaned in relief, falling asleep within minutes.
Arthur finally freed his hand and went about preparing the area for their camp.
He turned to check on Merlin a few times. He poked him once, but Merlin was like a log.
Arthur stared at his hand, the one that had held Merlin. The warmth had long escaped. He curled his fingers into a fist and released them, oddly fixated with phantom weight.
He must have held people’s hands at some point in his life. He’d often seen children gripping their guardians hands, so he must have done too.
There was something about that seemed to grow on him. No. It was a one time thing, caused from necessity.
Arthur did not like holding hands.
Arthur found a small log and began aimlessly peeling its surface with his sword in quick, angry motions.
Hands were for swords and shaking and occasionally putting cranky menservants in headlocks. Not for holding.
Merlin work up with a groan the next day. He was woozy and exhausted. His neckerchief fell from his eyes as he sat up, sending a sharp throb through his head. The sun was trying to kill him.
He stilled for a few moments. The headache gradually reduced to a tolerable level. He remembered bit and pieces of yesterday. He’d been sick, disoriented, he may have snapped at Arthur? He wasn’t sure, but given their history it was highly possible.
He certainly didn’t remember getting out of those blasted tunnels.
He opened his eyes slowly, almost afraid of the light.
It was dawn. The sun coloured the sky in pink and orange. The light illuminated Arthur’s sleeping golden head.
Merlin shivered. The air was still cool from the night. It was peaceful. How had they ended up at the clearing?
Merlin gave Arthur a once over to check if the Prince was injured. He stopped dead in his tracks when he finally noticed Arthur’s hand in his.
What the hell happened yesterday?
Was he even awake? There was no way Arthur was doing something like holding his hand.
Merlin’s head gave another warning throb and his stomach lurched in agreement. He promptly gave up thinking and lay back down, hoping to placate it.
He fell asleep, hand still clasped in Arthur’s never noticing Arthur’s alert, awake eyes.