AN: This story is set post S4 and is basically what I want to happen in S5... Also, many thanks to my awesome beta bedshaped3 for the help!
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.
Prologue: Shadows
In a rundown tavern, huddled in shadows, a man was drinking with all the seriousness a drunken man could summon. It wasn't even midday yet, but the table in front of him was already packed with empty tankards. His swollen red eyes never left the doorway, as if he was waiting for someone to enter. Two small windows gave testimony of the radiating day as rays of sunlight playfully cascaded over the tavern's stone floor. However, from his dark and gloomy corner, he was deprived of the light and warmth.
He sat still and entranced, only lifting his right arm in order to quench his thirst. It probably wasn't the thirst he was trying to wash away – his defeated posture told a whole other story. His filthy hair was a few inches to long, as was his beard, whose tangled and neglected appearance hinted that he probably slept on that bench out of habit.
None of the other visitors sought his company, clearly afraid of being sucked down into the dark abyss the man was clearly overwhelmed by. That combined with the dried blood peppered on his knuckles, most likely from the last man that dared to raise his spirits, gave the man guaranteed isolation.
Suddenly he almost choked on a mouthful of ale as someone passed along the windows. His hands trembled, his face grew pale. He stood up much too fast, clenching the table in order to regain his balance. The bench was flung back by this sudden movement, crashing onto the floor with a deafening sound.
Every man in the tavern turned and gazed at him for a few moments in utter silence, before resuming their normal business. Nonetheless they all watched him warily out of the corner of their eyes, just as a precaution...
Totally unfazed by this attention, the man staggered towards the door gritting his teeth in determination. Halfway there he changed his mind and hurried towards the now slightly alarmed looking tavern owner.
"I need you to send a message to Camelot, to King Arthur. It's a matter of life and death," his hoarse voice croaked from both the ale and lack of use as he stopped right in front of the barman. The tavern owner unconsciously took a step back, thankful for the counter separating them.
"Me and what money?" He asked with feigned nonchalance and wiped the counter with a beer stained cloth.
"Come on, it's not that much I ask of you."
"You already owe me at least seventeen silver coins. And I let it pass because of our shared history, but there only so much a man can take and-"
"Look, the witch responsible for death of the light in my life just walked by your tavern, so do me this favour and I won't tear this place down looking for her, got it?", the man threatened leaning over the counter and grabbing the barman's shirt.
They measured each other up for a second, after which the tavern owner sighed and pulled his shirt loose.
"Alright, alright Tristan, what's the message?"
"Give me a piece of paper."
"You're stone drunk, my friend, you wouldn't get one letter in the right order."
"Didn't you hear what I just said? I'm quite sober now. And give me back my sword."
The tavern owner sighed again and rummaged in some drawers while Tristan impatiently tapped the counter.
"Here. I'll get your sword, although this is a bloody bad idea..." the barman mumbled as he went to the back of the tavern.
Tristan swiftly scribbled down some words.
When the man returned, Tristan pushed the crumbled note into his hands, trading it for his sword.
"Life and death, Duncan, don't forget," he said raising his arm to emphasize his warning.
And then he walked out of his shadows.
And so my multi-chapter fic begins... What do you think?