~ The Quest for the Knife ~
::Chapter 1::
Description: It started with a quest for a knife, and ended with a quest for a life. The blade, rumoured to seek out great power, would be safest in the vaults of Camelot. But when strange happenings keep befalling his manservant and mysterious visions plague his own dreams, Arthur will begin to worry. For if the knife cannot have what it wants – then no one can. Bromance. Merlin whump. Reveal.
(AN) This is my first story for Merlin – I'm so excited! I've primarily written fanfiction for Naruto, and this is my first foray into writing for a television series that isn't anime. I told myself that I wasn't going to write for any new fandoms until I finished my Naruto pieces, but this story really wanted to happen, and I'd be so sad if I waited and the moment passed! Inspiration comes when and how it comes, right?
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin. But if I did, Merlin would have been able to be a publicly acknowledged BAMF way early in the series, and he'd also be my lover. Because oh, my God, do I ever have a crush on the man.
Please forgive me for any historical transgressions or language liberties that I take with this. The struggle is real.
Rated T because, well... I don't know. I've just never written anything under M before. It was such a struggle picking the genre categories for this. I want too many of them! This is bromance with a healthy serving of hurt/comfort and drama. Add in a sprinkle of humour for flavour.
Warnings include friendship galore, Merlin whump, and Merlin's magic eventually being revealed.
-o0o-
Merlin was in a pickle.
A conundrum, of sorts. Otherwise known to some as a problem, but a warlock didn't concern himself with such trivial things.
There was plenty enough to be concerned about in the near future, when he and Arthur Pendragon, King of Captured-A-Lot, inevitably escaped these bandits.
"Stop squirming, Merlin."
"I'm not squirming."
"Yes, you are. And it's distracting."
"Distracting you from what, exactly?" Merlin wiggled for emphasis. "Attempting to break loose from these ropes with your mind?"
Their present situation had the two back to back on a cold stone floor, both tied at the wrists with a rough, scratchy rope that itched at the slightest movement. Merlin couldn't very well help the squirming.
They were in what appeared to have once been a nobleman's manor, until it came into the hands of this merry band of thieves, supposedly some time ago. The manor's interior was very similar to that of a barracks. There were two entryways into the large hall they were sequestered in– one north, in front of Merlin, and one south, in front of Arthur. Tapestries still hung from the walls, but were showing the beginnings of being caked in the telltale dust and grime that befalls a piece of art when it's been long neglected.
"This is becoming something of a habit, for you." Merlin said with a long suffering sigh. He shot the king a disapproving look the man obviously couldn't see, as Arthur scratched his bindings against Merlin's wrists yet again, clearly testing the integrity of the ropes.
"It is not." Arthur shot back, still bumping into Merlin as he continued to try to wriggle free of the ropes. His testing was causing the pair to jostle, and Merlin shot the bandit in the room who appeared to be their guard his most innocent smile.
Oh, don't mind us; we're not trying to escape.
As if that was going to keep the bandits from catching on soon enough and tying his and Arthur's ankles together, too. But, then again, Merlin pondered as he stared at the vagrant who appeared to be the leader of this band –perhaps they were that daft. When Merlin and Arthur had been cornered in the forest, he thought he heard some of the men refer to their bearded leader as Georg. Georg was presently in deep conversation in the far corner of the hall with a tall, gangly youth who had definitely made the wrong decisions in life.
Their conversation was supposedly of great import, what with the way the youth was nodding his head vigorously. And yet, it was of not nearly as much importance as it could be if the bandits only knew who they held captive.
As it were, they'd given no indication that they were aware they were in the possession of the King of Camelot and his manservant.
Merlin dearly hoped they continued to be oblivious long after the two managed to escape from this place.
Arthur shifted again.
Merlin smiled charmingly at the guard, heretofore known as Hairy. Hairy had copious amounts of hair, held back from his eyes with a grungy red bandana.
What had they been talking about again? Oh, yes. This situation being entirely Arthur's fault.
"Nothing good ever happens in the Valley of the Fallen Kings. I've said that before, haven't I? Yes, yes I have. And did you listen then either? Nooo." Merlin wasn't whining. He was simply stating facts. Time and time again, Arthur's Top Secret quests would lead them through the Valley of the Fallen Kings, and that would inevitably lead them into peril. Each time Merlin had to use his magic to help them escape, a cold rush of fear wracked his entire body. If Arthur ever noticed...
Merlin wasn't prepared to deal with that. The what-ifs were too many, and his fear of his best friend's reaction to the burden of his secret too great. Arthur would feel betrayed by the only person he knew he could trust, and be forced to make a decision of immeasurable weight. Merlin forcefully squeezed his eyes shut and tried to banish the unwanted thoughts. Now was not the time.
"If it wasn't for the clumsy way you clamour about, Merlin, these men would have never found us in the first place."
"Well perhaps if you gave me less to carry," Merlin growled, "I wouldn't have cause to stumble so much!"
"Are you sassing me Merlin?" Arthur questioned dramatically. "Because I'll have you know that there's a special punishment reserved for servants who sass the K –"
"Oh do shut up, you prat." Merlin hissed, smacking Arthur in the back with his bound wrists for emphasis, "they don't know who you are, and I'm inclined to have it stay that way."
"You worry too much Merlin," Arthur laughed.
Laughed?
"I fail to see anything funny about this situation, sire." Merlin's eyes did another scan of the hall. Other than the tapestries on the walls and chandeliers burning above, the room they were held in was scarcely furnished. There was nothing Merlin could have fall over and knock someone out, inconspicuously. Of course, the chandeliers could conveniently fall and crush the bandits, but Merlin tossed aside that idea almost as quickly as it came to him.
Even Arthur's general obliviousness to Merlin's magical intervention would be challenged with the magnitude of that coincidence. Merlin would have a hard time passing it off as complete and utter luck.
"They can't hear a word we're saying." Arthur explained, "They're not even really paying attention. If this was the way the guards in Camelot did their duties, it's a wonder we manage to keep any prisoners at all."
Merlin murmured what he hoped sounded like agreement, the very embodiment of someone who had never snuck past the Camelot guard, ever. Not once.
"When I can free myself of these ties," Arthur was saying, "I'll take down that guard over there and relieve him of his sword. After that I'll make short work of the rest and we'll be back on our way, only half a day behind schedule."
"Arthur!" Merlin reprimanded, "Are you mad? There's one of you and at least four of them. I saw another sentry pass by the entrance to this hall not two moments ago. Any sound and he'll be in here before you get a hold of that sword."
"And what am I?" Arthur sounded affronted, "a Simpleton? I'm outnumbered, not outclassed."
"You're a very skilled swordsman," Merlin agreed, reluctantly. Arthur was, in fact, the best swordsman Merlin had ever seen. He wasn't worried about Arthur's skill; he was worried about the unpredictable. And tied up, with his butt planted firmly and painfully on the floor in the middle of this wide open space with no cover, it would be practically impossible for Merlin to ensure Arthur's safety without giving himself away.
"But," Merlin added, "You don't know what secrets these men hold. And, I might add, you've been trussed up for half a day. Your arms will be weak. You're the – " He stopped himself. "An important man, Arthur. You can't go risking your life all the time."
It was foolish enough that Arthur was out on this quest in the first place, without any of his knights for protection. Yes, he had Merlin and his magic, even if Arthur didn't know that, but Merlin couldn't use his magic freely.
What was truly foolish was the object of this quest.
"Going out on a quest for another shiny object," Merlin complained, "and picking a fight against armed assailants with your hands tied behind your back. You're likely to wind up dea-d." He was heavy on the d in dead, hoping to emphasize the importance of his concern for Arthur.
And he really was concerned.
Merlin knew it was no simple, shiny object that Arthur sought for the vaults of Camelot. No, it was far, far more dangerous than Arthur and his council could even begin to imagine.
They were after a blade – a knife – that was whispered to be immensely powerful. It could, the legends of the townsfolk who visited Camelot said, strike down an enemy without even coming into contact with them. Arthur and his council believed that it was not safe to let such a weapon remain unguarded in its resting place the legends spoke of. It had to be retrieved and kept safe in the vaults of Camelot, from those that would use it to cause harm.
As if no one ever broke into the vaults of Camelot.
The knife, Merlin now knew after seeking Gaius' council, was not just a mythical weapon. It was a relic of the darkest black magic of the Old Ways, and Merlin was heavily in favour of leaving it exactly where it was.
"Dead, Merlin?" The way Arthur said 'dead' was as if the mere suggestion of that as an outcome was completely ludicrous, "your concern is really quite touching."
Merlin went on as if the question wasn't rhetorical.
"Dead, Arthur. As in death. Deceased. No longer living. Expired –"
"I know what dead means, Merlin," Arthur said with no small amount of exasperation, "don't be stupid."
"Well if you know what it means, my lord," Merlin muttered, "I can't imagine why you're so eager to go running into it."
Merlin felt Arthur's head shift infinitesimally, and he just knew Arthur was slanting him one of his incredulous looks.
"I didn't think imagining was something your pitiful excuse for a brain was capable of," Arthur tossed over his shoulder.
"I take offense to that."
"Well," Arthur said, shifting once more, "you can file your grievances with the King at a later date. Right now, we're getting out of here."
"Arthur, don't do anything rash - !"
Merlin's words fell on deaf ears. Or rather, on ears that no longer were pressed inches away from his own. Somehow, Arthur had managed to lunge to his feet in one fluid, athletic motion, wrists still securely bound behind his back. Merlin felt a sinking feeling in the bottom of his stomach building rapidly with the loss of what had become a familiar pressure of Arthur's back pressed against his own.
Merlin couldn't see Arthur. He couldn't see him and he couldn't protect him and – Merlin flung his bodyweight to the right and twisted in one of his more ungraceful moves. His left shoulder slammed into the rough stone floor and his neck muscles strained to keep his head from bashing into the ground as well.
Merlin wiggled and propped himself up on his elbow as best he could as he stared in shock and watched Arthur run full tilt into the startled guard he had picked out earlier, as if he truly planned to take him down like a battering ram.
Arthur shoulder-checked the bandit into the stone wall – a move that held considerably more power when he was wearing his usual chainmail, but seeing as this was an extra-top-secret, extra-dangerous mission, he had chosen to wear only his red tunic and vest, instead, so as not to draw unnecessary attention. Regardless of that, Merlin could see that Arthur's attack had the desired effect. The bandit, winded and shocked and surprisingly wholly unprepared, relaxed his grip on his sword.
His very sharp sword, Merlin was capable of noticing as Arthur followed his shoulder-check into a spin and slipped down against the blade, severing his wrist ties and breaking loose.
Merlin breathed a sigh of relief. Arthur was, if not anything else, a magnificent warrior. But the moment was short lived; that sinking feeling was back in Merlin's stomach as in the few seconds following Arthur's rise from the ground – the whole scenario really had gone down quite swiftly – several cries rose up from the other nearby bandits.
Arthur smashed his elbow back into his bandit and liberated the now unconscious man of his sword, raising it just in time to clash with his new opponent – Georg.
Oh no oh no oh no oh no...
Merlin wiggled ferociously, frantically looking around for a way to use his magic to help Arthur without revealing himself.
Another chorus of shouts – the gangly youth had run off within the manor and come back with reinforcements. Merlin could hear the countless footfalls echoing as what had to be a platoon of attackers rounded a nearby bend and rapidly approached the north entrance to the hall – the one now behind Merlin.
Merlin flung himself to the side once more and flopped over, facing the entrance that would soon be flooded with blood thirsty, dangerous men. But oh, Gods, Merlin had been so distracted worrying about Arthur that he had completely forgotten about Hairy.
As the clash and clang of steel against steel reverberated behind him, Merlin's eyes widened in shock as Hairy came barrelling down upon him, a nasty looking dagger in his grimy, fingerless gloved hand.
Damn it all! Merlin didn't have a choice – Arthur was distracted, and it was now or never. If he didn't act now, he was going to be mincemeat.
With the flash of amber eyes, Hairy went flailing back through the air and careened into the front of the incoming horde of bandits that burst into the entrance to the hall. Merlin resigned himself to the theatrics he had previously dismissed. If he wanted to get Arthur and himself out of here in one piece, it had to be done.
Merlin sent up a prayer to his higher power that he could get away with this.
He summoned the thought into his mind and let it go in a burst. The chain holding the burning chandelier directly above the surging platoon abruptly rust and shattered, sending the massive fixture plummeting down on top of Hairy and shrinking the north entrance drastically.
Merlin shuffled himself backwards as quickly as he could manage as the candles secured in the chandelier flared. They flared so dramatically that the tapestries hanging on either side of the north entrance caught fire and burst into flames.
Frantic shouts rose up from the other side of the chandelier – the bandits were breaking rank, some batting at themselves, attempting to put out the flames that began to eat away at their clothing.
As Merlin continued to scoot backwards away from the fray, he chanced a glance over his shoulder and saw Arthur rushing towards him, the hilt of the sword he'd been waving around now tied to his belt and a dagger in hand. Behind him, Georg seemed to be having a rest on the ground.
"I've got you," Arthur said as he clamped his hand down around Merlin's arm and hauled him up onto his feet.
"Would you look at that!" Merlin exclaimed enthusiastically when he caught Arthur staring at the tumbled, burning chandelier that was blocking the rest of the brigands from entering the hall from the north entrance, "How incredibly lucky!"
Merlin was mentally kicking himself. By the Gods, if he couldn't come up with less idiotic things to say, he was going to see himself going up in flames in a not too distant future. A hard shudder wracked his body at the mere thought. Arthur would be angry. But he wouldn't do that.
"Come now, Merlin. Don't be such a coward." Arthur had felt his shudder and mistook his fear – Merlin wasn't about to clarify so he let it go as he felt the cool press of Arthur's scavenged dagger slip between the ropes that bound his wrists. He could see Arthur keeping one eye on the serendipitously burning entrance as he sawed at the rope with the dagger. Merlin released a small sigh of relief as the ropes fell from his wrists to the ground.
"There we go. You see, Merlin? I'm not dead. Perfectly alright, actually." Arthur chatted almost conversationally as he started pulling Merlin back towards the south entrance. "And I'm getting us out of here."
Merlin scoffed as he took off after Arthur, putting more and more distance between himself and the backdrop of equal parts rage-filled and terrified bandits trapped by the blaze as their captured manor began to alight around them.
"Awfully self-important, aren't you?" Merlin grumbled as they skid out a back entrance, into an over-grown and wooded back acreage. "Taking credit for the gifts that Lady Luck bestowed on us..."
Arthur merely waved his hand in the air dismissively at the comment. He stood still a moment, glancing around and clearly getting his bearings for the lay of the land. "Ah!" he said finally as Merlin trudged up beside him, eager to push the King along and not linger too close to the manor still filled with bandits, "that's the way!"
Merlin was no expert – in fact, most of the time he got turned around pretty easily – but he was more than sure that the direction Arthur had started to take off in was completely opposite from Camelot.
"Arthur you can't be serious!"
"This was just a delay, Merlin," Arthur informed without turning back, his hand gesturing in the general direction of the bandit-filled manor, "hardly something worth calling off the quest. The knife must be retrieved."
Merlin jogged forward and caught up with his headstrong, clotpole of a King. He kept pace with the man, just behind Arthur's right flank.
"I know you think it's me who can't think –"
"I know it's you who can't think."
"- but have you ever stopped to think that perhaps, oh, I don't know, the path to reach this dagger is so dangerously contrived for a reason?"
Arthur sighed.
"Do tell me your reasoning, Merlin. I can tell you're just aching to share it." Merlin could tell Arthur was only half paying attention as he picked his way through the brush, careful to avoid leaving a trail of cracked branches in his wake, lest the bandits take chase.
"I think," Merlin said, trying to affect an air of casual but legitimate concern, instead of the gnawing bad funny feeling he had eating away inside of him, "that this knife is extensively hidden because it isn't meant to be found. It's likely good and safe, just where it is."
"Oh, don't be a lazy sod, Merlin," Arthur teased, climbing around some particularly vicious looking and jagged rocks, "the knife is in a cave. A cave! It will be much safer in the vaults of Camelot, protected by the best knights in the land."
Merlin sighed, defeated for now. He knew better than to push the issue and attract unwanted attention from Arthur, who would want to know exactly why Merlin had such strong misgivings about this mythical artifact. Merlin couldn't very well tell him about the extensive conversations he'd had with Gaius about the magical properties of this legendary knife, and its true Old Religion origins.
In truth, Merlin didn't really know all that much himself about the workings of the knife – only what it was rumoured to have done, and what the stories said it sought. Gaius had been pressed for time in telling Merlin about the dagger and what to expect, as the whole half-baked plan to retrieve the relic had come together with great speed.
Merlin knew there was more to know about the dagger, and fully intended to question Gaius in greater detail when they returned to Camelot. In leaving, Gaius had been sure to stress a single point of information that he'd imparted on Merlin.
The King – and most especially the warlock – must not come in direct contact with the dagger.
The very warning put Merlin on edge and made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He was going to have to come up with some way to dissuade Arthur from taking the dagger from its resting place.
-o0o-
(AN) That's a wrap for chapter 1! I had so much fun writing this. This originally started as a two-shot idea in my head, but I let it run away on me and now I have it planned out in my little black book into something looking like 16 chapters. It might be more or less depending on chapter lengths – though most likely more, because smaller chapters will help me update faster!
Full disclosure: I'm currently studying for my Master of Accounting and working full time as a staff accountant off-term, so my updating will likely be irregular. I'll try my best though, because this is my favourite form of procrastination.
Hopefully my Arthur doesn't seem dim-witted or OOC – I think Arthur is a smart man, and a brave man, but sometimes a little too headstrong. He sets his mind to something and is not easily swayed. Hopefully I'm able to convey his smarts and bravery and ability to access rational thought in further chapters :)
Thank you for reading! Hopefully you enjoyed!
~dancer-me