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Something pressed against him uncomfortably. His clothes were soggy and he was chilled to the bone. At first the only information from his surroundings was the earthy smell of rotting plants. It was so dark it took Arthur a while to realise he had opened his eyes.
Eventually he was able to make out the twisted forms of the leafless trees against the cloudy night sky. The forest was silent apart from the occasional cries of a lonely owl, and when he slowly sat up, he heard a deer dash away somewhere behind him.
The forest wasn’t as dark as it had first seemed from the perspective of someone lying on the ground. From the corner of his eye Arthur caught a glimpse of light. Even though it was far away, and he probably wouldn’t have been able to see it at all if it’d been a little further, the sudden dash of light blinded him momentarily. As he blinked into it, Arthur realised several things simultaneously.
He had just woken up on the hard forest floor, alone, in the middle of the night. He didn’t know where he was. He had no idea how many hours he had lain there, at the mercy of anyone or anything.
And perhaps the most disheartening realisation of them all:
There was no sign of Merlin.
--
The day had started innocently enough.
Like every morning, Merlin brought in the breakfast, carrying it in his unique way that made it look like he was dropping and spilling stuff everywhere even though he rarely actually did. It was one of those weird things that Arthur found attractive, for some inane reason. Not that he would ever mention it to Merlin. Even if he wanted to, which he didn’t, there would not have been any way to express it in a way that didn’t sound soppy and ridiculous, or if there was Arthur would hardly be able to summon the right words for that. And somehow Arthur knew that Merlin understood anyway.
So, instead of sharing endearments, Arthur let his manservant know what an idiot he was for being late again, and that he was lucky it was one of those rare mornings Arthur wasn’t in a hurry to get anywhere. And yes, of course Arthur was aware of the fact that Merlin knew that already, and had probably simply taken the opportunity to let them both sleep a while longer, but Arthur had to complain about something to prevent himself from saying something incredibly sappy and awkward.
Merlin just grinned and informed him that he was acting like a spoiled prat.
While Arthur ate, Merlin sat on the opposite side of the large table, leaning on the wooden surface comfortably, and stealing a bite every now and then not very discreetly. Arthur pretended not to notice, mainly because he had been unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of Gaius’s cooking.
They sat in a peaceful silence until Arthur declared that they were going hunting after they had finished eating, and Merlin made a point of complaining about how utterly insane that was when they had more than enough to eat thanks to the good harvest that year, but Arthur didn’t pay much attention to him. Partly because, as the Crown Prince of Camelot, he always knew the best course of action and would not be seen taking advice from his manservant, thank you very much, and partly, or maybe mostly, because he was aware that Merlin enjoyed stealing away from the castle and the prying eyes as much as he did.
Especially after Morgana had left, the air about the castle had remained persistently gloomy. Not even the joyous news of Sir Leon killing the sorceress Morgause while attempting to capture her, which came not a day after Morgana’s disappearance, had brought about any celebrations.
Morgana had fled abruptly one night when she’d gone to bed early after complaining she was having trouble sleeping again. The guards had tried to stop her for questioning, but their fear of hurting the king’s ward had prevented them from restraining her properly. That was the official story at least. There were rumours and malicious whispers that Morgana had knocked the guards out by using unnatural powers.
Even Arthur didn’t know for sure what exactly had happened, his father outright refused to talk about the matter, but the prince suspected that Morgana’s “unnatural power” had simply been the surprisingly skilful way she handled her sword. Her actions did not make any sense to him, but Arthur trusted her to have her reasons. Although now that almost a week had passed without any sign of her return, the prince had to admit that he was starting to feel uneasy. Worried, even.
The forest was fresh from the rain and Arthur felt like he could breathe properly for the first time in ages. Merlin kept talking, half to himself, and the prince didn’t stop him even though it probably scared away every living creature within a mile’s radius. Arthur didn’t really listen to what Merlin was saying but simply let his prattle wash over him. He walked a few paces ahead of his manservant and half-heartedly studied the forest ground for any signs of prey, to keep up the pretence that they were there for hunting and not just taking a pleasurable stroll, despite the fact that they didn’t even have proper equipment with them, Arthur only armed with his sword and Merlin with nothing to carry, for a change.
“… are your blobby ears even working today?”
Arthur lifted his eyebrows and was about tell Merlin that “I’ll have you know that many have found my ears extremely attractive, actually,” but the prince never got a change to finish his sentence.
Something hit his forehead.
Hard.
It felt like walking into a wall of stone that at the same time moved towards you to greet you at a remarkable speed. It left him breathless
At first, Arthur didn’t feel anything and for a fleeting moment he thought he had just imagined it. But his body caught up with him soon enough, and a flash of immense pain worked its way through Arthur’s head towards his spine. The peaceful forest scenery started to become unfocused.
But there is nothing there, was his last, frantic thought.
--
Arthur carefully flexed the muscles of his arms and legs. They seemed to be working fine. He brought his hand up and felt the back of his head, only finding a small bump. Next Arthur landed his fingers onto his forehead. Even the feather-light touch made him wince. His sword, which had ended up under him when he fell, had left a small bruise on his side. His head throbbed with pain, and he was sure he had a red, angry mark on his forehead, but he found himself otherwise uninjured.
Arthur sat still a moment longer, listening attentively for any sounds that would give away a human presence, the metallic click of an armour or a carelessly loud breath, but he heard none. Finally, he got up, holding his sword firmly in his hand.
The prince held his breath, ready for an attack.
Nothing happened.
After what felt like a painfully long while, but what most likely only lasted seconds, Arthur let himself relax. His eyes flickered back to the only source of light. He sheathed his sword and started his journey towards it with hesitant steps. That small fire was his best chance.
Soon Arthur’s whole world was made up of twigs scratching his face and slippery autumn leaves that hid unexpected bumps and vicious roots that tried to trip him. More than once, Arthur nearly twisted his ankle. He completely lost his sense of time, making his way through the dark, thick forest as silently as he could, pursuing a light that disturbed his eyesight rather than helped to see better in the dark. Once he thought he could smell the smoke and that he was finally almost there, but it disappeared so fast that he must have been imagining it. The splitting headache wasn’t making the matters any easier. The pain was dull, constant and unforgiving, and it took all he had and more to stay focused. At times Arthur could have sworn that the light was moving, changing its place unexpectedly so that he never got any closer.
Then, suddenly, it was right there.
The air was full of the sweet scent of herbs. Arthur hid behind a tree and took in the scene before him. There was a tall, lean old man, attending to a kettle hanging over the fire. He was dressed in simple robes, and moved smoothly and a whole lot more effortlessly than suited for his silver hair and wrinkled skin. And right next to the fire there was Merlin, lying on the ground, motionless and sickly pale.
The prince drew his sword quietly and brought it in front of himself in one, sure motion. He rested his back against the tree and breathed in.
The wooden spoon the old man had used to stir the liquid in the kettle slipped from his fingers. He bent down to pick it up, cursing under his breath.
Within seconds Arthur had him firmly pressed against the ground, his sword pointing at the man’s heart.
“I, Arthur Pendragon, the Crown Prince of Camelot, demand you to tell me who you are and what you have done to my manservant.”
Arthur had expected the man to be shocked, or scared, or maybe angry, but there were no traces of such emotions on his wrinkled face. In fact, the man gave him a beaming smile and patted Arthur’s shoulder, as if he was greeting an old friend and not lying on a ground with a sword pressed into his flesh. “Ah yes, I was wondering when you would come.”
Arthur blinked, confused. He wondered if the old man still had his wits about him. He didn’t appear mentally ailed, quite the opposite in fact; he had an intelligent and calm air about him, but then again, you never knew.
Arthur cleared his throat.
“Who are you?” the prince demanded again, in what he hoped to be a calming and clear tone.
“He’d appreciate it.”
“Tell me your name,” Arthur repeated, slowly this time. He was getting surer and surer that the man had lost his reason. Nothing he had said so far had made any sense.
The old man considered him for a while, looking profoundly confused. Then his expression brightened again.
“I was getting ahead of myself there, wasn’t I? I’m sometimes called Taliesin. And I haven’t done anything to hurt your servant. I wouldn’t. That would be insane.”
Arthur wouldn’t put doing something insane past Taliesin, but he kept that thought to himself.
“Then what is wrong with him?” He stole a quick glance at Merlin’s still frame. He hadn’t moved at all since the last time Arthur had looked at him.
“He is gone.”
The prince felt something twist inside him uncomfortably.
“No need to look so heartbroken. He isn’t dead. He is just gone.”
Arthur took a deep breath and prayed for more patience. The strange mixture of relief, frustration, anger and despair almost made him want to run the man through with his sword. “He’s gone where? Merlin is right there, isn’t he?”
“Would you mind letting me up? This is starting to hurt my old bones.”
For a moment Arthur hesitated, but since Taliesin didn’t really seem like much of a threat. Arthur backed away from the man, keeping his sword ready nevertheless.
“Thank you.” The old man went back to the kettle, took a cup hanging from his belt and filled it with the colourless liquid tranquilly boiling over the fire. “Here, this should help with that headache of yours.” Arthur gave it a suspicious glance. Taliesin seemed to find his reaction amusing.
“How do you know about my headache?”
“It’s perfectly safe, I assure you,” the old man said, ignoring his question, and took a sip from the cup before offering it to the prince again. This time Arthur took it, and, after sniffing it suspiciously, sipped it tentatively. A horrible, bitter taste filled his mouth and the boiling hot liquid nearly burned his tongue. It did, however, cure the splitting headache immediately. It also took care of the throbbing of his left ankle, which he hadn’t even noticed before it was gone.
“Thank you,” Arthur murmured and gave the cup back. The old man tossed it aside carelessly and the remaining liquid splashed all over the ground. Some drops flew in the fire and made it hiss. “Now, what exactly is wrong with him?”
Arthur shot another worrying glance towards Merlin. The boy still hadn’t moved at all. Arthur wasn’t even sure he was breathing.
“I told you already. He’s gone.”
“Gone where? He is right there, isn’t he!” Arthur didn’t even know anymore whether he felt more desperate or more frustrated by this absurd conversation. He wanted to run to Merlin, to gather him in his arms and walk away. But that meant turning his back on Taliesin, which wasn’t something he was comfortable with right now. There was something wrong with the old man. Arthur just wasn’t sure what.
“Away. And I think he’d appreciate it if you brought him back.” Taliesin stepped closer to Arthur and sprawled his right hand on Arthur’s chest, completely ignoring the sword Arthur had swiftly moved to the man’s throat. “Go east.”
“What are you--“
The old man gave him a surprisingly strong push and Arthur fell abruptly backwards. The prince strengthened his hold of his sword, ready to spring back up and tackle the old man the second he hit the ground.
The ground never came.
--
When Arthur woke up, he found himself half covered in snow. That would have suggested that he had been lying there for quite a while if it didn’t snow hard enough for it to cover up anything that stayed put even a minute. However, by the time Arthur had swiftly jumped back to his feet, the snowstorm had disappeared and the sun shone brightly.
Arthur felt lightheaded, confused, and detached. His bare fingers were numb from the cold and he shivered under his thin, wet tunic. He tried his best to make sense of what had happened to him, but his memories were hazy and all thoughts, or at least all coherent thoughts, seemed to be escaping him. Perhaps the old man had drugged him after all.
Apart from the peculiar weather, the forest seemed to be the same as ever. The morning had dawned maybe an hour before. It appeared to be the same spot where he had woken up the last time, before meeting Taliesin. This time, the place wasn’t empty.
Just by the river, there was a knight, roasting fish over a fire. Arthur recognised his crest immediately.
“Greetings, knight of Mercia.”
The young man sprang up, startled, his hand automatically searching for the hilt of his sword. When his eyes found Arthur, he seemingly relaxed.
“Prince Arthur.” The knight bowed his head in greeting.
“You know me, then,” Arthur said, relieved. In the middle of this absurd day he was having, even a dash of normality felt good. He had almost expected the young knight to turn into a three-headed snake or something along those lines.
“Of course, sire,” the knight answered, looking slightly confused by the prince’s remark. Arthur didn’t blame the poor lad.
“What brings you to these forests?” Arthur asked, keeping his tone light and polite.
“I am on my way back from Camelot, sire. I delivered a message to your father from my king.”
Arthur gave the knight a curious glance. “Is that so? What did the message concern?”
“I am sorry, sire, but I was given specific orders only to deliver it to the king,” the young knight said sternly, but Arthur could tell he was slightly terrified of talking back to him. He started to feel sorry for him.
“Very well then, I will question you no further about it. Tell me one more thing, has anyone passed you?”
“Yes, sire. There was an old man, looked like a man of medicine to me, and a young boy, a peasant. They rode south. The boy seemed to be ill. I assumed that’s why the old man rode past me so hastily, so I did not find it necessary to stop him.” The knight must have noticed some sign of distress on the prince’s face, because he added hurriedly, “I hope I did not do wrong?”
Arthur’s mouth had gone dry and he had to cough a little to get his voice working again. “No, your judgement of the situation seems perfectly sensible to me. Thank you for your information.”
The prince practically ran south. His behaviour must have seemed odd to the young knight. Running after peasants in forests wasn’t exactly what princes usually did. Arthur knew that this would probably affect his reputation, to some extend at least, because young knights were quicker at spreading rumours than most fishwives, especially when the rumours concerned the oddities of royal families they did not serve, and therefore could safely laugh at.
There was a part of him that knew that something didn’t add up here, that something was terribly wrong. He also knew that this was insane, simply rushing ahead on foot. He should have returned to the castle and informed his father that a crazy old man, probably a sorcerer, had drugged him and now seemed to have taken control over the weather, making it do unnatural things. He should go after them with his knights beside him, properly armed. It was madness to go alone, without his armour, and only with one sword to protect him.
But none of that mattered right now. Arthur needed to save Merlin. So the prince kept going without looking back.
If he had, he would have seen the young knight and the fire disappear into thin air.
The sun shone hot and bright, and melting the remaining snow didn’t seem like much of a challenge to it. Arthur hadn’t walked half an hour before all of the snow had melted into small springs that twisted between the roots and left tracks in the soft ground. Arthur’s clothes dried fast in the sun, but eventually it started to get unbearably hot. His sweat glued the fabric of his clothes into his skin uncomfortably.
Suddenly, it began to rain. Arthur glanced up and saw a clear, blue sky and no signs of clouds. The rain was coming from nowhere.
That was the moment he walked into something.
Arthur took a hesitant step backwards. There was nothing but a small opening in front of him. He swung his sword, tentatively. It stopped mid-air, as if it had hit something, even though Arthur still could not see anything. There was a faint thud. The sword had hit something soft and large, but had not pierced its skin. Whatever it was. Arthur brought his sword back and swung again, with more force. This time, it simply swished through the air.
Arthur more felt than heard something moving behind him. A pair of what could have been human hands if the fingers hadn’t been at least twice too long wrapped around his throat. The hands were warm and felt like soft leather. The sensation was in fact rather pleasant, but the grip was tight enough to block his breathing. The prince knew he was only seconds away from losing his consciousness.
He swung his sword blindly towards the creature, in a desperate, nearly pathetic, attempt. From the corner of his eye, Arthur saw his sword’s blade flash blue, and a heartbeat later he felt how it sank into the flesh of his enemy.
Warm liquid splattered all over on him. It must have been quite a sight, he thought briefly, sword slicing thin air and blood flooding from nowhere.
There came a terrible scream and the creature, whatever it was, fell, nearly taking Arthur’s sword with it, but the prince held it firmly in his grip. There was a loud thud, the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. Then, silence.
He didn’t have time to stop to wonder about the weird flash of blue. Arthur’s whole body was in battle mode now, and his senses started to pick up things he hadn’t noticed in his earlier hazy state. The way the leaves covering the forest floor moved was not quite in time with the slow, lazy wind. Some of the branches of the trees hung at awkward angles, as if something was weighing them down.
There were more of them. Maybe five, or six.
Arthur considered his options. The young knight, who had seemed trustworthy enough, had given him clear directions. He knew that Merlin and Taliesin were heading this way right now.
But he hadn't helped him.
Arthur wasn’t sure where that thought suddenly came from, but that was it. The thing that didn’t add up. He had been right there, few feet away from him, lying unconscious in a pile of snow. That should have alarmed the young knight, certainly, but he had done nothing at all to help him.
The realisation brought others with it. Why would Bayard trust such an important message, one that could only be told to Uther himself, with such an inexperienced knight? And how could the knight possibly be able to recognise him? Arthur hadn’t been wearing any of his official attire, and the knight couldn’t have seen him before. He couldn’t have been there with Bayard during his last visit over four years ago. The boy was too young.
The prince took a few careful steps to the left, to get away from the corpse of the invisible creature he had slain.
Go east, the old man had said.
Arthur turned around and ran.
The rain followed him for a while, but then it stopped, as suddenly as it had started. Arthur ceased running, nearly stopped moving completely, and drew slow, even breaths. He needed to calm down. He needed to focus. A panicked prince was not fit to rescue anyone.
There was no sign of the knight to be seen, but, perhaps even more worryingly, the whole river had disappeared.
There was a part of Arthur that still stopped to wonder at that, trying to make sense of it, but he was starting to accept the absurdity of the world around him. He was coming to terms with the fact that he, or maybe the whole forest, must have been under an enchantment of some sorts, and what he needed to do now was to survive. He had to find Merlin, and then he would have to figure out a way to break away from the enchantment. Hoping that east was still were it used to be, Arthur made his way towards it full of determination.
And the prince walked for what felt like years, even though time didn’t seem to pass at all.
The weather changed constantly from one extreme to another, between freezing cold and unbearably hot. There were blizzards, thunders, hurricanes, floods and draughts. He was scratched and bruised by bits of wood of various sizes that had been ripped off by the wind. The cold winter breeze stole his breath away and his bare hands were covered in frostbites. He sweated and panted under the burning sun, feeling dizzy. A bolt of lightning nearly hit him.
All of this was happening to him simultaneously, or maybe the weather was changing so quickly Arthur didn’t have time to register it properly. His body was protesting under the strain. His legs were trembling and blood pounded in his ears.
Arthur was exhausted, and close to giving up.
So close, actually, that when he thought upon this moment later, his cheeks would colour with shame, and anger. It haunted him for years, that moment. Would he actually have given up? Was he really that weak?
The reason he would never know for sure was because, just then, the forest ended. There was no warning, it simply gave way suddenly to a small valley. Arthur knew these forests well and he knew that it shouldn’t have been there. But there it was nevertheless, a tranquil landscape of green grass. The weather calmed down immediately when he stepped out of the forest. It was mellow and there was a gentle, refreshing breeze.
And at the bottom of the valley, there was Merlin.
He was alone, on his knees on a strange, ornamented stone, chained from his legs to it. The chains, Arthur noted confusedly as he got closer, didn’t seem to have any sort of lock, no beginning or end. They simply came out of the stone, circled around Merlin’s whole body tightly, and then disappeared inside the stone again. He was facing the wrong way, unable to see Arthur.
Arthur had to fight the urge to rush towards him, towards a possible trap. He glanced about him. The view was open and he could not see anyone, or anything, but with invisible creatures around there was no way of knowing for sure.
Just standing there wouldn’t get him anywhere.
The valley was steeper than it had seemed from the top, and the grass was wet. Arthur had trouble keeping his balance, and in the end he more slid than walked.
“Who’s there?” Arthur heard Merlin ask in a tone that tried to be brave and demanding, would probably have sounded that way to many, but Arthur could tell he was anxious.
“Your knight in a shining armour, idiot.”
Merlin turned towards him the best he could, and flashed him a smile of relief.
“Well excuse me your highness, it's rather difficult to see anything in this darkness.”
Arthur stopped at that. He noticed that Merlin’s gaze wasn’t quite focused on him. He had gotten the general direction right, probably going by the sound of Arthur’s voice, but he looked a bit past him, maybe a few feet behind him. As Arthur got closer he saw that Merlin’s eyes weren’t his usual, bright blue, but dull yellow. He was completely at loss as what to say next.
“Yeah, I suppose. Let’s get you out of here,” he said finally, and squeezed Merlin’s shoulder comfortingly. Arthur was just about to bend down to examine the chains further, when someone poked at his back with their finger, right between his shoulder blades, sharply.
Arthur swirled around, only to startle back right away. She had somehow sneaked up on him quietly, and was now so close that for a moment Arthur only saw wide, blue eyes and the dark circles around them.
“Morgana?” Arthur rasped in disbelief.
The person in front of him was hardly recognisable as his step-sister. Her armour was as neat as ever, and her hair was as smooth and silken, but she looked more exhausted than Arthur had ever seen her before. Her eyes were red and puffy, like she had been crying instead of sleeping for the past nights. She tucked at her own hair at regular intervals, a nervous gesture Arthur had never witnessed before, because this was Morgana and she didn’t have any nervous habits. Even though her gaze was directed right at his eyes, somehow Arthur got a feeling she was looking straight through him. And not in the same, knowing way she used to. This Morgana wasn’t confident or knowing. She seemed completely detached from the rest of the world.
“Morgana, are you alright? Did the sorcerer kidnap you as well?”
Morgana didn’t seem to hear him. She simply stared at him, and then her lips turned into a quick, unnatural smile. “I knew you’d come for him!” she exclaimed finally, with triumph.
Arthur frowned. “Of course I did. And I am not going to leave you here, either. Where have you been? You’ve been missing for almost a week.”
“Oh, but I have been waiting for you for years. Time goes by so slowly back home, doesn’t it?”
“What?” Arthur asked, but she paid no heed to him.
Morgana drew a dagger from her belt, Arthur recognised it as the same one he had given her for her birthday, and she began to whisper something. Then she stopped, abruptly, and snapped her head up and glanced to the right. The look on her face was something between irritation and fear. She took a hesitant step backwards, the movement almost involuntary, a reaction rather than a considered action.
She slipped on the wet grass and fell.
“Morgana,” Arthur said in a tone one might use with a scared child, and offered her his hand. ”It’s alright, I’m going to take you back--“
“Nothing is alright,” Morgana whispered in a cold, carefully controlled voice. “She’s dead.”
“Who’s dead?”
Morgana swatted his hand away, and got up on her own. She looked torn between two decisions: staring at nothing particular and ignoring Arthur completely.
“Morgana, what is wrong with you?”
She looked back to Arthur, and at the same time seemed to reach a resolution of some sorts. She began whispering again. A gust of wind started to circle around her. Then, she grew silent and gave Arthur a cold, unfriendly smile. “Farewell.”
Morgana disappeared with the wind.
Arthur stared at the spot where Morgana had been a heartbeat ago, too shocked to really register what had just happened.
“Arthur, it isn’t really dark here, is it?” came Merlin’s carefully even and purposefully superficial voice from somewhere behind him.
The prince rubbed his eyes tiredly and let his fingers rest on the bridge of his nose for a while. This was all too much to take in at once. Too many emotions, too much confusion, too many unanswered questions. Arthur felt like he was suffocating in the too much of everything. He inhaled, deep.
“Arthur?” Merlin said again, sounding worried this time.
For a second Arthur considered lying to him, but quickly decided against it.
“I’m here.” He went back to Merlin and squeezed his shoulder briefly. “And no, it isn’t. What happened?” Arthur started to examine the chains like he had indented to in the first place. Right now, he needed to pretend that nothing had disturbed him from his task, for Merlin’s and his own sanity's sake.
“I wanted to see what's not there. I tried a bit too hard.” Which... wasn’t explanation at all, but Arthur let it go. He tugged at the chains, but they didn’t even budge. “You smell horrible, by the way.” That managed to make Arthur give a little laugh, despite of the insanity of the situation and the desperation that had started to build up in his chest, as the chains around Merlin seemed to only tighten at his attempts to untangle them.
“Well, you look rubbish, my dear. And I don’t think someone who has been just sitting around waiting to be saved gets to complain, really.”
“What? If you had any idea--” Merlin stopped mid-sentence, and Arthur glanced up to his face. He looked absolutely mortified.
The rain started again.
The prince got up and drew his sword, placing himself between Merlin and whatever he was staring at, eyes wide.
“Arthur, there are hundreds of them,” Merlin gasped behind him.
“Hundreds of what, Merlin?” he retorted, although he did have a pretty good idea what might have been there. He was also painfully aware of the fact that he wasn’t up for slaying hundreds of them.
Arthur wasn’t sure if he would have been able to do it even in his peak condition, and now he was exhausted, breathless and the muscles of his arms nearly trembled already. The rain was cold, unnaturally cold, and it made him shiver. Also, his soldier’s mind offered unhelpfully, this is hardly the best strategic position, the bottom of a valley.
Well, he was going to give it a go anyway.
Merlin didn’t answer his question. He was silent for a long while. Out of fear, Arthur guessed.
Then he spoke again, sounding perplexed: “Um, Arthur? You trust me no matter what, right?”
“What,” Arthur spluttered, baffled, keeping his eye on the advancing enemy, or where he guessed the advancing enemy was coming from, they must have been moving slowly, languidly. “Yes, of course, but now is hardly the time for--“
Merlin muttered something under his breath and the stone he was chained to exploded.
Arthur jumped at the sound and at the small pieces of the stone that hit is back with a bruising force. The prince swirled around, to find his manservant lying on a pile of small rocks, so small that they were almost like sand, his eyes closed.
“Merlin?”
When he didn’t get an answer Arthur rushed to him, and shook his motionless form carefully. “Merlin?” he said again, louder this time. Merlin’s head lolled back from the force of his touch. There was no other reaction from him. Arthur’s fingers went to the pulse point at Merlin’s neck, trembling ever so slightly.
He couldn’t feel anything.
A horrible weight settled in Arthur’s stomach. He felt like he was going to be sick, right there, on Merlin’s body. He backed away and tried to grasp whatever mental strength he had left. There wasn’t much.
Arthur steeled his nerves and picked up his sword he didn’t remember throwing on the ground, near Merlin’s feet. The chain had come loose, Arthur noted, pointlessly.
He was going to die here, protecting Merlin’s grave from an army of invisible monsters.
So be it.
Arthur was about to turn around to face the inevitable, when Merlin suddenly gasped for air and his eyes flew wide open. He immediately sat up, coughing uncontrollably as if he had just swallowed too much water. He looked around him, unfocused, apparently still unable to see anything. “Oh, I wasn’t sure if I could still do that.”
If Arthur hadn’t been afraid that Merlin might pass out again, he would have swatted his head. “You idiot, don’t scare me like--“
“Behind you!” Merlin rasped. His dull yellow eyes flashed golden, and the blade of Arthur’s sword flashed blue, but the prince didn’t stop to wonder. He ducked, turned around, and swiftly lounged forward.
Blood splattered on his hands and coloured his sword. These creatures seemed to bleed more than most humans or animals would, Arthur noted, pointlessly. There was the same screeching scream Arthur recognised from earlier, and then he heard the creature hit the ground.
“Left!”
Arthur moved promptly, but his sword only swished through the air. There was nothing there.
“Um, I mean right.”
If he had had the time, Arthur would have probably been really annoyed at Merlin and thought something like: Oh sure, don’t worry about it, we are only fighting for our lives here.
Instead, he changed the direction quickly, sending more blood flying through the air.
“Focus, Merlin," Arthur gritted though his teeth. He had only killed two of them, and he was already feeling the strain. His body, which had been dragged through extreme weathers without food or drink, was starting to seriously protest its treatment. He had no idea if he could even double the number of victories without collapsing. “What are they doing now?
“The rest are still on top of the hills. They are circling, waiting. Arthur, there are too many of them. You can’t kill them all.”
So the first two had been sent to collect information about them. They had probably figured by know, from the laboured and slow way Arthur was moving, that they weren’t much of a threat. They had also most likely noticed that Arthur wasn’t able to see them. It was really only a matter of time before they would attack them in full force.
“Arthur?”
“Yeah, I know. There are too many.” It surprised even himself how calm and stable his voice was. He had, at some point, slipped into the tranquil, controlled state of mind he always arrived at when fighting. Unfortunately, it did not bring his physical strength back.
“I can get us out of here. Probably,” Merlin said, carefully. Arthur heard the rocks moving and guessed that he had gotten up.
How Merlin, how are you able to do these things? Arthur wanted to ask, but that conversation would have to wait for some moment when they weren’t about to be slaughtered by a herd of invisible creatures. “How probably?” he asked instead.
“I’m in a rather wrecked state now, so there’s the possibility we get ripped into pieces and end up a bit... everywhere.”
Arthur sighed. Of course they might get ripped into pieces and end up a bit everywhere. Nothing was too easy in his life.
“Sounds great,” he declared and sheathed his sword. He turned his back to the creatures and went to Merlin, who was grinning.
“I knew you’d like it. Give me your hand.”
When their hands were joined Arthur was tugged closer and Merlin sprawled his free hand over his chest, in an unnervingly similar gesture to that of Taliesin. His eyes flashed that bright golden colour again and he gave Arthur a strong push.
And Arthur fell through the ground once more. But this time, Merlin’s hand was grasped tight in his.
--
Arthur woke up to the sounds of birds. When he opened his eyes he found himself lying on a river bend, in fresh, light green grass. The sun was about to set, and the river reflected the orange and pink colours of the sky.
Merlin was sitting right next to him, bending over him and running his hands over Arthur’s body franticly. He looked exhausted, the panic written all over his face probably being the only thing that kept him going. His eyes were still dull yellow instead of blue. Arthur’s heart sank a little at that.
“Are you trying to sexually harass me while I’m unconscious?” Arthur asked, and Merlin’s worried expression melted into a smile.
“Sure, that too. Primarily, though, I wanted check whether or not I finally managed to get rid of you. Apparently not.”
“Nope, I seem to be just fine, unfortunately.”
“For a moment I thought you had lost a finger. But I just miscounted.”
“You haven’t lost your incompetence, then. Good to know that you are still in one piece.” Arthur sat up and looked around. He didn’t recognise the place at all.
“Where are we?”
Merlin deliberately fell on Arthur and sent them both back to the ground. He rested his head on Arthur’s chest, and closed his eyes.
“I have no idea," he confessed.
“It’s spring, you know.”
“Is it?”
“There a daffodils all over the place.” Merlin smirked at that. Arthur couldn’t help but bring his hand to Merlin’s hair to caress it. “It was autumn when we left. Does that mean we have been away for the whole winter?”
Merlin laughed, a bit hysterically. “Um, yeah, possibly. Or this could be ten years to the future, or something. I really don’t know.”
“Well. Isn’t that just brilliant," Arthur groaned.
“Makes it all a whole lot more exciting, doesn’t it?”
“As if someone spending most of his time with you would need any more excitement.”
“That’s my line, you know.”
They fell into a comfortable silence. It took Arthur a long while to realise that Merlin had fallen asleep. Arthur looked at his peaceful, sleeping form, wondering. He wasn’t really sure how he felt about this new, magical side to his Merlin. Betrayed, check. Scared, check. But the same time, he was almost overcome by giddy curiosity.
--
When Arthur was lowering Merlin into bed, the boy opened his eyes.
“Arthur?” he whispered in a unsure voice.
“So now you decide to wake up. You let me carry you on my back all the way here.”
“Yeah, sure, I was just pretending to be asleep, actually," Merlin said and rubbed his eyes, yawning. “Are we back in Camelot?”
Arthur sat on the edge of the bed. It was rather narrow, and the linen was rough, but Merlin seemed to be getting comfortable. “No. Turns out we ended up about a day’s ride away. But I found us a place for the night. We’re in a local tavern. And I have sent a message to my father, one of our knights happened to be on a patrol here. Someone should bring us horses by midday tomorrow.”
“Did you tell him about Morgana?” Or me?, Arthur almost heard him add.
“No,” the prince said firmly. “I said we had been kidnapped and that I would let him know the details later.”
“Thank you," Merlin said quietly.
“I wouldn’t... I’d never let them, you know.”
Merlin gave him a weak, tired smile, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Arthur wasn’t sure if it was because Merlin didn’t really know what to do with his eyes anymore or was he avoiding Arthur’s gaze. “Yeah, I know.”
“And I guess I should thank you, too.”
“For saving you from death by creepy, invisible monsters? Yeah, I think you should.”
Arthur smiled a little. And then realised Merlin wasn’t able to tell that he did. That was a frightening thought and it filled him with an empty, desperate feeling on which Arthur didn't want to dwell. “Yeah, sure, thanks for that. But I mean, for not hurting Morgana even though she, well, did what she did. You could have tried to... to defend yourself, but you didn’t. Really, thank you. You know how important she is to me. Even now.”
“Arthur, I," a very troubled look crossed over Merlin’s face, “I did try. But that place’s logic was so strange, nothing like anything here. She had had plenty of time to adapt to it, but I had to, sort of, force my way through it. That’s also why...” Merlin trailed off and gestured towards his eyes.
“Oh.” It was strange, hearing Merlin talk about something in such a knowledgeable, confident manner. Arthur wondered if that was what he sounded like when talking about sword fighting.
“What if I never see again?” Merlin whispered, barely audible. Arthur couldn’t even tell if he meant it to be heard. He hoped Merlin didn’t expect him to answer that. He couldn’t. It was too real, the whole idea too terrifying to address. It was too much to handle after such an exhausting day.
So Arthur showed Merlin his affection, his support, the only way he could ever be comfortable with.
Arthur lowered himself to the bed, forced his way onto the narrow space until he lay impossibly close to Merlin, not able to move any part of himself without brushing against the other boy. He rested his hand on Merlin’s cheek and went for a kiss that was supposed to be comforting, but ended up rather desperate instead.
Merlin seemed to be able to hear what wasn’t said, and Arthur really hoped Merlin wasn’t overdoing that skill, too, and ending up deaf as well. Merlin’s hands found their way on Arthur’s body, his fingertips mapping his skin carefully through the clothing, hardly even touching at first, as if Merlin was afraid that he’d disappear. When Arthur didn’t, Merlin’s touches became bolder and hurried, like he wanted to touch him everywhere at the same time. “I don’t feel really anymore," he confessed in a tiny voice.
Arthur simply held him, and let him roam the familiar body under his hands. Arthur was getting aroused, despite himself. He felt nearly ashamed by it – this was not what he had had in mind at all, he simply meant to offer Merlin some comfort, to convince him that he was still very much real and that Arthur wasn’t going anywhere either.
Merlin, being so close to Arthur, noticed soon enough. Instead of looking hurt or disgusted like Arthur had feared he might, Merlin simply grinned, looking amused rather than exhausted for the first time that night.
“Enjoying yourself, sire?”
“Shut up, Merlin.”
Merlin beamed at him and sneaked his hand into Arthur’s breeches. His hand was warm and large and his caresses sure and confident, and Arthur was tired and powerless against the touch. He came with a stifled moan.
Merlin smirked and wiped his hand in the fabric of Arthur’s tunic. Arthur made a mental note about complaining later. Right now he couldn’t find the strength to care. If he had been exhausted before, now he was by far more asleep than awake. But the tension was gone, and his aching muscles were finally able to relax. Merlin continued running his hands over Arthur’s body, but it was shooting and tranquil now. Arthur felt fingers exploring his face. He smiled under the touch.
Arthur guessed this was the kind of moment people usually used as an opportunity to declare their undying love for one another and then shared longing, deeply romantic kisses. The whole idea was utterly sickening to Arthur. To avoid saying something that would have made the scene disgustingly soppy and cheesy he leaned in and pressed his lips against Merlin’s ridiculous ear.
“So, you’re a warlock then.”
Somehow Arthur knew Merlin understood anyway.