Summary: 'I will take away all your humanity. Without you, your precious King will fall.' Merlin is taken by a beast. Two years later, wolves roam the forest for the first time in ages. NO SLASH first Merlinfic

Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own Merlin. There would be more Merlin's-Dead-But-He's-Really-Not-Stories™ and BAMF!Merlin if I did. And babydragoncuddling! And Mathhew Baynton ( he's cute).

A/N: Um, yeah, first Merlinfic. It's been a while since I wrote anything. I would appreciate knowing whether you guys want me to continue the story. Enjoy?

Chapter 1

'For heavens' sake, go skin the game somewhere far away and out of the wind. I don't want animals near the camp and I don't want to spend the night smelling blood. Honestly, Merlin, you'd think you've never skinned game before!', Arthur had snapped annoyed. Actually, it sounded less annoyed to Merlin than normal, but that was the whole reason of this trip.

Being cooped up in the castle with the council looking over his shoulder hadn't exactly been good for Arthur's infamous Pendragon- temper. Of course, the council had insisted the King took his Knights with him. The Knights had fled and left Merlin alone with Arthur as soon as possible, claiming high and low they were following Arthur's orders to be left alone, rather than fleeing. Cowards. And they called themselves Knights! Merlin couldn't really blame them, though: Arthur's mood had been positively foul at the time.

It was better now; Merlin hadn't been stomping around on purpose as usual (Arthur' s theory was correct, but Merlin wasn't planning on spilling the beans anytime soon) and Merlin even suspected Arthur was slightly spooked out by his unusual stealth. Merlin rolled his eyes. How else could he have been able to sneak around unnoticed as long as he had if he couldn't be quiet? Granted, Arthur didn't know about that, and there was that one time with Queen Annis, and that night with the Gorlois-sisters and the Serkets, but he wasn't as bad as, say, George. If that last wasn't a bloody miracle, of course.

Thinking back on Arthur's last comment, Merlin opened his mouth to murmur something under his breath that involved the words Arthur and prat and possibly cabbagehead, when he heard a wolf howling. His mouth stopped halfway its movement.

An unnatural howl, very close by, while the sky was barely darkening- means trouble. Merlin swore. This was definitely not good and probably magic. Things like that tended to happen on hunting trips.

Arthur called his name, sounding slightly concerned, and disturbingly faint. It was more an echo that a shout, really. Merlin picked up the game and began walking back quickly, kicking himself mentally for leaving Arthur alone. He hadn't even realized he'd wandered this far. Had he been that scatterbrained? To be honest, Merlin had just walked away from camp, barely noticing where he'd been going. He'd been thinking about the past few months. He hadn't even realized he'd been done skinning the game quite a while ago; he'd just gone through the motions. Arthur would be proud: the job had been perfectly done.

The wolf howled again, even closer now. Merlin suddenly realized something very not good, that, for once, didn't concern Arthur, but himself. He was covered in blood and leaving a trail of it on the forest floor, since he was carrying the skinned game. He had to smell like a bloody banquet for the wolf. It was probably very hungry. This was Merlin after all, his bad luck was famous. Merlin dropped the game unceremoniously and started to hurry.

Arthur called again and again, sounding more concerned by the minute and not even the slightest bit closer. Merlin answered the voice and followed it, up a tall hill with less trees. Maybe he could see the camp site from there and make a beeline for it.

He was at the hill's base when he heard the howl again, much louder and closer. Only now, it was accompanied with a fast- approaching cracking of branches and loud thumping of paws. Merlin began to run faster.

Yes, he had magic, but there was something wrong in the atmosphere, oozing from the creature, even so far away. It made his hairs stand on end and his magic feel so off kilter and out of control, he feared for its trustworthiness. He had the distinct feeling that the wolf, or whatever had produced the howl and was radiating black magic, was after him and only him, lured by his powerful magic and somehow immune to it. Everything right now- his magic, the wolf, Arthur far away- felt wrong.

Halfway up the hill, Merlin glanced over his shoulder and yelped, startled. He could see the creature at the foot of the hill; it was a wolf- a black, huge shadow making its way towards him. Merlin began to run for his life.

Arthur shouted Merlin's name, pacing the camp site. Where was he? He'd been gone for a while. To be honest, Arthur hadn't liked letting Merlin out of his sight in the first place. Arthur had wanted to enjoy hanging out with his best friend and loyal manservant. And he'd sent him away with a snappish order, acting like a servant's master instead of Merlin's friend. Sometimes, Arthur couldn't help but silently agree with Merlin's comments about his mental capacity.

Now, with a strange wolf apparently roaming the forest and Merlin alone, defenceless, Arthur felt fear. Not for himself, but for Merlin. Agreed, he had his Knights, and he had Guinevere back now, too, but his life would be so empty without Merlin by his side.

The idea of Merlin, gone, was an idea too horrid for imagination. It was something he hadn't been able to face when Merlin had drunk that poison, early in their friendship, years back, and Merlin's choking noise behind his back had stopped his heart; not when he'd jumped right in the path of that Dorocha and Merlin had been so cold and still, Arthur had wanted to scream his throat sore; not when he'd been missing after the rock fall some months ago and Arthur had refused to believe Merlin had been killed by those bandits.

Arthur shouted again. After all his adventures with Merlin by his side, all those years, Arthur didn't think he would ever be able to face Merlin's death and not fall apart.

Then he heard Merlin shouting 'Arthur? I'm on my way, yeah?' and he was pulled away from his dark musings. It sounded far away, somewhere behind that distant hill over there. Arthur turned to it, just as another- closer- howl echoed through the forest. From the exact same direction Merlin was in.

The wolf howled again and again, closer, towards Merlin. Panicked and terrified for his brother-in-bond, Arthur grabbed his sword and ran to the hill. He continued to call Merlin's name, but he got no answer back.

Closer and closer the howls came, but still far away. Now that Arthur thought about it, about as far away as Merlin's shout had been. He ran even faster, as fast as he could, but he had the feeling that something was wrong, that he wouldn't reach Merlin in time and something bad would happen. It was as if his instincts were battling his mind, chanting 'BACK, BACK, BACK!', where his mind wanted to save Merlin. He felt as if he was wading through ankle-deep water. Slow, too slow.

Merlin shouted a startled yelp somewhere behind the far away hill. Arthur ran.

The black wolf was closing in on him. It ran so much faster than him. It was enormous, only a bit smaller than a horse. Merlin shot a spell over his shoulder, right in its chest, but it only snarled and shrugged it off.

There was a determined, malicious gleam in its emerald-green, human eyes, not unlike to what Morgause' s had looked like when she had left him to die. The wolf was a sorcerer and it was after him.

'I'll make you lose all your humanity', a gleeful voice sang in Merlin's head. 'It will kill me, yes, but death is too good a punishment for your treason and your filthy loyalty', it spat and added: 'And without you, your precious King will fall eventually.'

By now, it was right on Merlin's heels, just as the two of them reached the hilltop. Down below, Merlin saw Arthur running towards them, his sword in hand. 'ARTHUR!' Merlin yelled at the top of his lungs. 'O, look, we've got an audience. Even better. Saygoodbye.' the voice sing-songed in his head.

With a vicious snarl, the beast was upon him.

Pain exploded in his shoulder. Merlin screamed. The beast flung him into a tree and Merlin hit his head against it. He was barely conscious when he felt the beast dragging him away by the arm. Merlin screamed and writhed, but it was no help.

The beast continued dragging him down the hill, away from Arthur, with apparently no effort. The metallic smell of his own blood overwhelmed Merlin and he had the violent urge to be sick. Blood from his head wound dripped in his eyes and turned his vision red. Merlin was barely hanging on to consciousness, losing his grip to reality fast.

Merlin sent this last thought to his destiny, his best friend, his King. 'I'm sorry, Arthur...' Then, as the beast tightened its grip on his shoulder, Merlin fell into darkness.

'ARTHUR!, Merlin yelled. Arthur looked up from scanning the forest floor for roots. There, on the top of the hill, was Merlin. Arthur thanked the gods. And then, his world stopped.

He couldn't move as he saw Merlin being bitten in the shoulder by a wolf the size of a horse, as Merlin was flung into a tree. Arthur's mouth hung open, his mind unable to comprehend what was happening. Merlin had never been anything but all right. Nothing ever happened to Merlin. But then, when the wolf dragged Merlin out of his sight, screaming, Arthur kick-started in action. Although he knew he was too far away, the wolf too quick for Arthur to catch him, he followed anyway.

And then he felt it: a warm, familiar presence in his mind. Through it, Arthur felt pain and sorrow and pride and love- Merlin. 'I'm sorry, Arthur…' Then the presence died. Arthur, realizing the meaning of both the presence's appearance and its fading, broke down. He stumbled and fell to his knees. A sorrowful wail tore itself from his lips: 'MERLIN!' Nothing answered, in his mind, nor through the woods.

He was alone. Arthur screamed and cried and clutched his chest desperately to hold himself together as his world fell apart around him.

Pain

in the popping of his joints

in the breaking and remoulding of his bones

in the fire burning through his veins and on his skin

in the locking away of all that had made him, himself

in savageness