Between a stone and a hard sword

Sequel to Unhenged

A/N after the story at the bottom of the page.

Disclaimers: No infringements intended. The Adventures of Merlin belongs to the BBC

CHAPTER 1

The siege

It rained for seven days and six nights. The drops that fell were big, dark and hard, each of them reflecting the atrocities of war, beating the grass to a muddy pulp and making the stones so slippery that even the tiny forest mice scooted down when they tried to cross the paths. They needn't hurry. In this weather, the predators stayed under cover. Except for one particular predator that never was very clever. Man!

A wise woman once said that rain was the result of angels crying. A wise man once said that not even raindrops of heaven could wash a killing field clean.

There was a young sorcerer riding an outlandish horse, who would definitely agree with both statements. He had seen killing fields soaked in blood, murderous attacks adding to the colour, seen swallows rise to heaven to avoid mayhem and despondency, and he had witnessed the same fields being drenched in sea water to no avail. The blood and pain would just never wash off. So much death. So much agony. So much suffering.

Had the boy been allowed to contribute with his special skills from the start, it might not have been necessary for so many people to die.

The young man trembled. He was a fine one to talk! He was the direct cause of several deaths himself when he broke free the Great Dragon.

"Merlin!"

His master's voice. Merlin heeled his Viking steed that quickly caught up with Prince Arthur's taller horse. Behind him, a tall Viking woman followed closely suit.

"Yes, Sire?" he asked, pale and wet.

"You look terrible," was the prince's first remark.

"Thank you," came the sarcastic reply.

"I mean it … are you sure you're not catching … hey, who's that?" Arthur squinted to the back where the shield maiden was still running, water dripping off of her like a constant creek.

"Oh. That's Thyra."

"The Viking woman you made speak English? What's she doing?"

"Stalking me, it would seem."

"Why is that?"

"Beats me."

Arthur Pendragon turned to face the wolf-looking woman.

"Why are you running behind Merlin?" he yelled as if the volume of voice would make her understand better.

"I am not deaf, oh royal prat."

"What?"

Merlin keeled over in much needed mirth. Thyra looked at them both with something that resembled puzzlement, if a wolf can look puzzled.

"That is what your sorcerer keeps calling you."

Arthur whipped back his head to pin his manservant with his eyes. "Merlin!"

"Oh, that was priceless," the warlock chuckled, scant of breath, "but seriously, Thyra, why are you running behind me all the time?"

Not even out of breath and still running, Thyra answered calmly: "Because you appear to be the powerful one, oh most dreaded warlock."

Merlin nodded with a grin as if that made perfect sense. Arthur turned to her, annoyed.

"Well … shoo! I have to talk to Merlin – in confidence."

Thyra removed herself obediently and for a second Merlin was almost sad to see her leave. This meant that he would probably have to answer some magic-related questions.

x

The landscape was changing only slowly. It had taken them a few days to move south to the violent rendezvous with the enemy; now, burdened with prisoners of war, exhausted horses and wounded soldiers – and some commoners that were the sole survivors of the tsunami caused by Jormungand, the Great Sea Serpent of the oceans – they made very little progress. Already seven days had gone by.

The knights were tired, but restless; like their prince, they feared that they might have left their home unprotected and vulnerable.

As they approached the moor, Sir Percival, an ugly wound running down his face and arm in a sling, rode back to his prince to report.

"We're only a couple of hours from Keogh's farm, Sire," he said and then noticed Merlin. "Hullo, Merlin – where's your pet?" the knight broke into a broad grin and then winced as the grin hurt his marred face.

"Arthur sent her away. But don't tease her about it; she'll have your bowels for garters."

Percival laughed out loud, winced again, this time even harder and returned to his post.

A couple of hours away from Keogh, Arthur mused; the trip had taken three times as long as when they embarked on the journey. He turned to look at his servant.

"We have unfinished business," he said seriously, holding up an arm to signal the caravan to stop trotting and start walking. Merlin nodded, if at all possible going paler.

"What do you want to know?"
"Well, for starters. Did you ever pull any magic on me?"
Uh-uuuh.
"Erm – only to save your life, Sire."
"You're calling me Sire!" Arthur said accusingly, pointing a finger at him "I don't like that. When you're calling me Sire, it usually means that your conscience stinks!"

Merlin found himself to be a little aghast. The prince was quite right! He did have a tendency of calling His Royal Pratness Sire when he was trying to hide something or when he was stung. The warlock had to do something to divert this sudden burst of royal insight, so he reached out and touched the base of Arthur's skull, quickly mumbling that this was something Arthur needed to see.

Arthur jerked back his blonde head instantly, his eyes went momentarily blank and like before, various expressions rushed over his handsome face in rapid succession. Wisely, Merlin had chosen an event in which his magic had saved the day: When the Lady Catrina made her entrance. Few seconds later, he gently removed his fingers and Arthur's consciousness was once again present. He looked at Merlin, rubbing his nape.

"Next time, bloody well warn me," he grumbled, "but I have to give it to you. You really have plunged yourself into these assignments, haven't you?"

Merlin sported a tentative smile, though it never reached his eyes. There were stories he was less keen on sharing with the prince. Stories that could get him killed! Except of course … Merlin reached out again.

"STOP!" the prince cried, blocking Merlin's hand. "Why don't you just … use words to tell me."
Merlin retracted his hand, shrugging. "You'll miss the visual experience, then."
"I'll miss it, then!" Arthur said, stressing his words.
"Okay," Merlin sighed, "I did use magic on you once," he continued, bending the truth a little – okay, a lot.
"I knew it!"
"But only to help you save me and then save you."
"What?"
"Remember when I drank of that poisoned chalice for you?" the sorcerer stressed, reminding his prince that this manservant would do anything for him.
"Ye-ah?" Arthur said, insecure.
"Remember how you were caught in the cave, compliments to our lovely Nimuë?"
"How can I forget?"
"Well … that luminescent guidance ball that helped you out of the cave and away from the oversized spiders," Merlin's voice had gone surprisingly gentle, his eyes a bit more vacant, which made his face look impossibly young and vulnerable, "... I sent that."
"What?" Arthur exclaimed, possibly for the umpteenth time that day, "but how could you? You were out cold?"
"Apparently the magic part of me was still active. I believe that was the only thing that kept me alive. That … and knowing that you were working hard on saving my life."

The last words were said with a certain trepidation and Arthur fell silent, well understanding what went through his servant's head.

Given what was revealed, would Arthur still work hard to save Merlin's life?

x

Scavengers. Foul stench. Black fields. Debris.

Everything reeked of a raid and consequent death.

Arthur stooped at a body that he gingerly turned over. Keogh. An icy sensation rippled through his body and down his spine by the sight of the charred corpse in which only the sun wheel pendant round the man's neck revealed his identity. Choking back a more emotional reaction, Arthur rose to his feet and looked over another killing field. The farm was almost burnt to the ground, the livestock had been slaughtered and the fields made barren with slaked lime.

"I promised to protect these people," the prince murmured, shock evident in his choking voice and young features.

"You can't be everywhere, Sire," Sir Elyan argued softly, his dark face drawn. Arthur turned to him.

"But I must be," he said, "I must find a way to be everywhere if I am to honour my easily offered promises of protection!"

Elyan looked down, having no answers.

Gwaine voiced what no one else dared to. "We must be going, Sire. Most certainly this means that Camelot is in grave danger."

Arthur nodded. He was right, of course. This attack on the outskirts meant that someone was targeting the kingdom.

"This place was raided about two days ago. Whoever did it, will have reached Camelot and we are to assume that our home has been under attack for one day at least. It still will be for the next day until we reach it. We must leave our wounded behind as soon as we can and only approach Camelot with wholesome warriors."

"The wounded will be left without protection, Sire," Sir Leon pointed out.
"They will have two knights and ten soldiers to shield them," Arthur stated.
"Not nearly enough," one of the wounded declared.

Merlin had dismounted and was now tugging Prince Arthur's sleeve. "What?" the prince said, "I'm busy."

Ignoring this, the sorcerer leaned over and whispered rapidly in Arthur's ear. The prince straightened. "You think that will work? It can be done discreetly?"
Merlin nodded swiftly.
"Make it so," Arthur decided with a nod, leaving his knights and everybody else in the dark as to that particular part of the plan.

x

Silently, Prince Arthur, son of King Uther, made a mute vow to return to Keogh's place and bury the dead. But for now, they needed to leave it as quickly as possible. Camelot was in danger! The entire party left immediately, leaving without a refill of water as the well had been contaminated with a dead pig. Not until they entered the next valley did they camp the wounded and replenished the water. Feeling more than apprehensive, the injured war victims watched the army trot off, including the Vikings that were looking up at the chance of engaging in battle again. One Viking and Bergerd were left behind, the latter exchanging a conspiratorial glance with Merlin as he departed with his prince.

"Are you sure you can trust her?" Arthur hissed.
"Don't worry," Merlin smirked, "I have put a limit to her powers."
"How? … oh, never mind. I don't want to know."

x

Fuelled by concern for their home and loved ones, it took the soldiers and knights only 1½ hour to reach the outer borders of Camelot. The Viking army, led by Thormod, were all mounted now and gathered in one group. Thyra still stayed close to Merlin and she still only talked if being talked to. Merlin had a feeling that he would come to appreciate her having his back before the day was over.

Even when they crossed the border, the smell of war was coming to greet them with the grin of death. Stench of Greek fire, burning blood, already decaying corpses hit their nostrils with such an intensity that they instantly covered their noses. And as soon as they came through the ravine, their eyes confirmed what they had smelt.

Camelot was under siege and being attacked from all sides.

Arthur quelled a gasp. Oh, what cruel intent and fate. That they should be so worn down and reduced in number that they did not stand a chance in hell of freeing the burning castle. He heard Merlin by his side utter the gasp he had strangled.

"Oh, good lord," the sorcerer said softly, tears stinging in his eyes.
"We need a plan," Arthur said grimly, turning his horse and calling out for his knights.
Merlin had trouble breathing; this was a lot worse than the battle against the Vikings.

This … was much closer to the heart.
This was home!

xxx

So? What do you think? Interesting so far? R&R, please. I need to know if this is worth continuing.

A/N – jediyam noticed that in Unhenged, I really hadn't explained to you who Jormungand is. Oops. Well, here it comes:

Jormungand, or Midgard Serpent (Old Norse: Midgarðsormr), or World Serpent, is a sea serpent, and the middle child of the jætte (giantess) Angerboða and the god of mischief Loke. According to the Prose Edda, Odin took Loke's three children, the Fenris Wolf, Hel and Jormungand, and tossed Jormungand into the great ocean that encircles Midgard. The serpent grew so large that he was able to surround the Earth and grasp his own tail. When he lets go, the world will end. As a result, he received the name of the Midgard Serpent or World Serpent. Jormungand's arch-enemy is the god Thor.