Arthur's fingers trembled on the hilt of his sword, crossbow dropping to the ground at his side. He needed this hunt to go well, the first hunt he'd ever been allowed to go on alone. Pride once again wrapped warmly around his heart sending sparks of happiness spiralling through his body. He'd trusted him, the king had trusted him to come home safe and with the evidence of a good hunting. But now it was silent. A heavy, tangible silence making dread tear harshly through the thin veil of happiness. He drew his sword from the scabbard at his waist. His eyes flickered from side to side as he got in a predatory crouch.
Arthur whirled around at the sound of a hesitant boot crunching down in dry leaves. That was the only warning he got before bandits came from all sides screaming an unintelligible (and rather unintelligent) battle cry as they ran with swords hoisted over their heads. Their swords met with a piercing metallic ring. Arthur slid his sword up to catch his opponent's in the cross guard, he kicked him in the stomach and stabbed him through the chest while he was stumbling backwards before pivoting to meet his next opponent in a burst of sparks.
Even the best fighter in all of Albion could only last so long. He took out three more bandits before his sword was flung far from his hand. Five bandits stalked toward him on all sides. Arthur's gut flipped in turmoil, emotions throwing themselves around his stomach like they had every right to be there. Everything screamed at him to clench his eyes shut, to not watch as swords were thrust at him, glinting a malicious red. But he kept his face blank and his eyes open, cause damn it all. If he was going to die it would be with his pride intact. The bandits were standing a meter away, swords quivering with excitement like a hound on its first hunt, sharp tips mere centimetres from the young prince's chest. Arthur swallowed thickly, endeavouring to push his traitorous tears to the very depths of hell.
He tried to call up the images of people he loved but all that came to mind was his father smiling proudly, a false image that Arthur knew he would never truly see in real life. He thought of Morgana. She never meant to hurt him but her words always sliced him deeply. For some reason, the only image of her that would come to mind was that ruddy evil little smirk, which was really not helping any. The knights, Arthur sighed, tears almost reducing the barriers to rubble. The only people who he thought might understand him, simply left him to the noble wannabe knights who goaded him into things he didn't want to do through promises of friendship and love. Arthur breathed deeply, looks like he will be alone. He steeled his gaze and glared right into the eyes of the bandits, right into the eyes of death. A bitter smirk played at his lips. He breathed in again, listening to the breezy sound as air entered his lungs, wondering at the slight ache as his chest tightened which faded in sweet release as the air blew from his mouth in a loud huff. He savoured his last few breaths and had a strange yearning for birdsong. He glanced down as the bandit's bicep tensed.
And his world was enveloped in blackness.
It didn't take long for a shaky grin to stretch across his face as he sprinted through the opening to grab his sword. The clearing was soon filled with the sounds of metal on metal and screams and snarling. It was quick work. Arthur ran his sword through the last bandit and yanked it free of the dying man's rib cage, smile wider and surer on his face when he heard a cry of pain and a cut off shriek. Arthur whirled around to see his saviour panting, long tongue lolling out on the ground and a deep cut running from mid-thigh and almost reaching his hock. Hot blood pumped from the wound, making the shaggy black fur stick together. Arthur approached the magnificent animal slowly, belting his sword once again by his waist.
"Why did you help me," he asked softly. For it was a wolf, a completely wild wolf. Though it was only a pup a mere 4 months old. He should still have been running with his family and learning what it meant to be a fully-fledged wolf, not out here helping princes and hunting bandits.
The puppy started whining, a sound in between a choked off howl and a whimper that tugged at Arthur's heartstrings ((he wasn't going soft, simply… being sympathetic to his saviour) Not that he needed saving or any other unprincely things like that). The young royal sat down at the animal's head, ignoring the wolf's growls and scratching him gently behind the ear. He moved down his body slowly, patting every inch of the soft wolf pelt until he finally reached the wound. He slowly reached down behind his shoulder to reach the extra pocket in the bolt quiver holding medical supplies and brought the bandages out.
"Alright," Arthur began before he was interrupted by the cawing of a falcon far above him, "Merlin," he breathed looking up at the sleek bird of prey, he looked down at the wolf as its tail started thumping, the prince cocked a brow, "Merlin," he repeated, the wolf thumped its bushy tail again, looking at him through intelligent blue eyes. Arthur chuckled, "Merlin, you like that. Merlin," the prince repeated one more time, rolling the word around on his tongue. The newly dubbed 'Merlin' thumped his tail against the ground before eliciting a pointed whine, Arthur just glared pointedly back. "Alright Merlin, stay still," the wolves eyes sparked with disbelief, a huff escaping from his mouth. Arthur pulled a glare back onto his face but couldn't hold back the smile. The wolf let him wrap his leg with no trouble apart from the occasional playful snap.
The wolf felt himself being hoisted up into strong arms. Instinct told him to run but the truth was, he felt safe with this human. Safer than he had when his pack were all killed only a week ago. He didn't know why he helped him, humans kill wolves. But this one felt like pack. The strength and arrogance of an Alpha, the fairness of a betta and though it was hidden carefully, the vulnerability of an omega. He didn't know why he didn't even snap any more than half-heartedly. He should have run or attacked a long time ago but instead he found himself breathing in the scent of metal, blood, leather and the faint smell of horses and lavender clinging to the human. And slowly, he felt himself being lulled to sleep
Arthur's arms shook with exhaustion as he was finally let in through the gates. To their credit (and to the credit of their boring character), the guards only spared the mass of raven fur in the prince's arms a curious passing glance before once again facing resolutely forward. Arthur hurried through the lower town, eager to get to Gaius before the king (or gods forbid Morgana) noticed his return. He ran straight for the physician chambers, paying no mind to the stammering servants flinging their way from his path.
"Gaius!" Arthur yelled, slamming his shoulder into the door into the physician chambers. The old man dropped the potion in shock, eyebrow of doom disappearing in his hairline.
"You foolish boy! That took me all day!" Arthur looked down and stammered guiltily. The elderly physician was the only one who could make the young prince feel like a scolded child. He ducked his head and strode forward, swallowing as he laid the wolf down on the table.
"Merlin, he saved me Gaius," the old man was not amused, jaw set and muscles tense as he glared at the wolf lying prone on the table.
"You named it?" he questioned sharply.
"He" Arthur yelled back, tone just as clipped before his mouth dropped open in shock, he gazed dumbly at the wolf. Did he seriously just defend an animal's honour? Seriously? Gaius did not look much better, Arthur wondered if the old man's heart would give out from the shock of that one tiny word. "Not, that it matters." Gaius shook his head at the prince's strangeness before carefully unwrapping the binding on the wolf's leg. Gaius' eyes widened.
"Sire, there's nothing there," Arthur looked at the wound which now just showed up as a pink, ropey scar on the wolf's leg. He reached out a tentative finger to feel the rubbery skin, though he thought over his behaviour. This wolf was not a normal wolf. He'd acted almost human.
"What is he Gaius," Arthur whispered, settling his hand on the silky fur between Merlin's ears. "He acts like a human and a wolf and heals only a bit slower than one of the werewolves. But he's so gentle, he hardly touched me." Gaius' brow furrowed, eyes lighting up in a myriad of different emotions.
"He's one of the Lupa," he finally breathed, voice layered in awe. "A werewolf who has lost its mind to the wolf. They retain only their emotions and have no ability to hold onto memories apart from their basic instincts, however legends say that the Lupa would choose a human Alpha. Upon choosing their Alpha, the wolf would once again regain the ability to remember and in return would protect that person with their life. It is also said that they could speak with their Alpha through their mind and the bond so great between human and wolf that to separate would cause severe physical pain to the Lupa. I thought they were a myth."
"I guess I'm stuck here then," Arthur dragged a chair over and sat next to the wolf. Gaius chewed his lip anxiously.
"Sire, I should warn you. Only a warlock of great power would be able to complete such a flawless transformation."
"Warlock," Arthur drawled, suspicion dawning in his mind. He saw the physician staring at a point past his head, completely refusing to look him in the eye. "Gaius," he growled. Gaius sighed, wincing as he started the explanation.
"A person born with magic," Arthur flinched on that word before his lips curled back in a wolf-like snarl.
"He saved my life so as much as it pains me to say, I am indebted to the beast." Both men glared at each other before being distracted by a faint whine. Their eyes were drawn to the wolf panting on the table. Arthur growled and the animal bowed its head.
"Come, beast," the wolf jumped from the table, soft, troubled blue eyes meeting the dark hazel orbs of the physician before he stalked out after his Alpha with a shameful whimper. Despite not knowing what he did wrong.
Arthur stormed through the castle to the throne room, wolf slinking behind him. Why did fate put me with such evil? Bitter thoughts swarmed his mind but one pulled him up. Why did he keep him alive? He is magic, apparently a powerful spawn of Satan yet he has not yet received the end of a sword nor a lick of the flames. Arthur walked slow, turning corners mechanically as he got lost in his thoughts. It would be so easy, he mused, just one stab in the right spot and it would be over. Why couldn't he kill him?
He pushed the great doors open and bowed to the stiff, regal figure of his father.
"M'lord,"
"Arthur," the king nodded back, "I trust your hunt was successful."
"In a way, although I failed to bring anything down. I managed to tame a wolf," the king looked at him sceptically and chuckled.
"You did not need to make up foolish stories to convince me of your worth," the prince gritted his teeth, turning around just as the pup crawled from behind him, causing a collective gasp from the court and a squeal from Morgana though she would deny it later. Uther raised his eyebrows, impressed though he would keep that emotion secret well past his death.
"Well done Arthur, he can be your personal hunting dog," Arthur couldn't keep the small smirk from his face despite absolutely hating said hunting dog. Merlin whined, whole body wriggling along with his tail and a stupid grin on his face.
"You are dismissed," Uther waved a hand and Arthur bowed his head. He stalked from the room with the wolf at his heels like a shadow.