::Chapter 2::

(AN) Thank you for your reviews and follows (and favourites!) I'm excited to share this story with such a fantastic fandom. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I still, sadly, do not own Merlin, nor do I make any money from writing my favourite character into unfortunate situations so I can cry about it.

-o0o-

Merlin stood dumbfounded at the opening of what was perhaps the most unassuming cave he had ever set eyes upon.

Arthur, the great prat, had actually found the cave. And said King was giving Merlin the look. The look that conveyed that all was natural in the world – Merlin was wrong and Arthur was right and how could anything worth fearing also somehow be protected within this pathetic excuse for a cave?

Merlin indulged in the cool shiver that ran down his spine.

He had a feeling.

"Keep in mind," Merlin said a tad testily, as Arthur continued to gloat with his eyes, "that we had to escape hoards of bandits, traverse days of confusing forestry in which we got turned about multiple times, fend off the obscenely large and hungry wildlife, climb a jagged rocky mountain –"

"It was more of a hill." Arthur volunteered helpfully.

" – and trudge through an ice cold ravine to even make it here."

"Ah, but we are here, Merlin," Arthur chuckled, giving his manservant a strong clap on the shoulder, as if to console the man for being so wrong about the natural safety of the relic.

"It could be larger inside..." Merlin muttered, gently rubbing his now tender shoulder, falling into step behind Arthur as the man crossed the threshold of the cave.

As soon as they'd travelled deep enough into the cave to lose the sounds of nature outside and the bright beams of daylight, Merlin became aware of two things.

First off, he was correct in his suspicions that the cave was larger on the inside. It seemed to go on forever, an eerie glow emanating from the stones embedded in the walls, keeping visibility in the cavern to just enough to make someone who was skittish jump at shadows.

Second, Merlin was beginning to contemplate jumping at shadows.

He was feeling extremely ill at ease, and the uncomfortable tingle at the back of his neck only worsened the deeper he and Arthur travelled into the cave. He could feel his magic churning around inside him, reacting to the ominous atmosphere.

It wasn't good to be here. They shouldn't be here.

Merlin looked around as they continued to venture deeper into the cave, but all he could see in the dim glow was the cold stone ground, and the rough texture of the never ending rocky walls that surrounded them. This cave was a straight tunnel, with no other paths.

While Merlin supposed he should be glad that this limited the possibility of anyone jumping out from behind and knocking the seven bells out of them, the simplicity of the cave was rattling him. The cave was imbued with magic – the quartz stones glowing on the walls were reflecting light that was not natural. There was no way any wayward traveller or Simpleton could get lost in this cave –all would eventually make it to the end. The final path to the knife was so simple, as if it were only waiting to reward the adventurer with the skills required to make it to the cave.

He knew the knife still remained within. He could feel the dark magic in the air, thickening the deeper the two men went into the cavern. Beckoning.

Merlin continued to rub his shoulder, inanely trying to sooth the chill that was beginning to settle in around his very soul.

Arthur shouldn't be here. Merlin shouldn't be here.

The further he walked, the more his magic churned, as if it was trying to run away and take Merlin with it. Merlin cast a glance over at Arthur, who had been silent but for the scraping of his boots across the pebbled rocks dotting the stone floor. Arthur wore a cold look of determination as he observed the cave around them and the path ahead, his left hand resting deceivingly gently on the hilt of his sword.

Merlin opened his mouth to say something – to break the eerie silence around them and attempt again to convince Arthur to let this one relic go – but snapped his mouth shut as they came around what was the final bend in the cavern.

The cave opened up into a large, circular dead-end. The cave ceiling loomed high above, dotted in stalactite spears that dripped water intermittently on the cold stone floor below. The walls were coated in the glowing quartz stones, illuminating the wide expanse enough to create the illusion of a complete visual, but Merlin was intensely aware of the shadows that loomed.

Around his feet, a cold fog had settled in, spreading out across the whole chamber. Merlin shivered, aware that the chill surrounding him was partly due to the sudden drop in temperature, but also the cold, icy grasp of dark magic that pervaded the cavern.

And there, resting atop an intricately carved stone pedestal in the center of the room was the dagger.

"Do you see, Merlin?" Arthur's confident voice shattered the silence that had permeated since entering the cave, "The knife is just sitting right here. Any nefarious person could just waltz right in and take it!"

Merlin's gut feeling really begged to differ at that. He did not trust the knife, or anything it rested upon. If the knife still remained, there had to be a reason.

Was it only there, tempting travellers with its dark energy, waiting for the right wielder to pass through and take it?

Arthur took a step toward the dagger and Merlin snapped out of his suspicious daze, reaching out and clamping his hand around Arthur's arm. Arthur's brow rose, and he looked back at his manservant expectantly.

"If that were the case," Merlin offered by way of explanation for his actions, "then would not some suitably nefarious person already have come by and done so? It is, after all, just sitting right there."

Merlin nodded his head pointedly towards the pedestal and did not relinquish his grasp of the king.

Arthur's blue-eyed gaze travelled from Merlin back to the dagger, silent and intense in the wake of Merlin's question, and Merlin's obvious caution.

Merlin was near holding his breath as he observed Arthur mulling over his words. Despite their constant sparring and insulting of each other, and Arthur's frequent claims that Merlin was a clumsy, daft fool, Merlin knew that his word carried weight with the king.

They were more than just a master and his servant; they were close friends and two sides of the same coin, even if Arthur was unaware. After having been through so many perilous and life-altering journeys together, Arthur knew to consider Merlin's funny feelings. The king may call Merlin a coward, but never had the sentiment rung true.

Finally, after what felt like eternity, Arthur shifted and stepped out of Merlin's grasp.

One step closer to the knife.

Merlin's stomach plummeted, a great big leaden weight taking residency. Arthur would not be swayed. The warlock could not stop the cold, panicky sensation that was spreading through him. Try. He had to try again to dissuade Arthur.

"Do you even know what it's capable of, Arthur?" Merlin had attempted to sound assertive; confident as he challenged the decision of his friend and sovereign. Instead, his voice came out low and hushed, a whispered warning that seemed to have its own physical presence, resting atop the fog and demanding to be acknowledged.

Arthur paused in his movement, and Merlin waited, staring after him. Truthfully, Merlin knew precious little in the grand scheme of things about the Old Religion relic that lay before the pair. But he knew the legends; he knew Gaius' words of caution, and he knew enough of the temptations and evils of dark magic to be cautious.

And somewhere, deep in the pit of his gut, struggling against the weight of inexplicable panic that was threatening to devour him from the inside out, Merlin's magic knew to fear it.

"You were present for the council meeting, Merlin. You know as well as I do what it supposedly is capable of." Arthur complained impatiently, "Striking down enemies from afar, bringing great tragedy unto those it is wielded against, and craving great power." Arthur eyed the pedestal with undisguised disbelief as he rattled off the list. But yet, Merlin could also see the wariness, "a lofty order for such a small, ornate trinket."

"The legends are old wives tales, Merlin," Arthur finished finally, shaking his head, but Merlin heard the hesitancy in his voice, "Any weapon can bring about tragedy."

"If you do not believe the tales," Merlin challenged, his voice once again a powerful whisper, stirring the fog, "then why seek the knife?"

Arthur turned his head and levelled a frustrated glare at his manservant.

"Because, Merlin, of the small possibility that some of the stories could be true," the king said; to Merlin it was a confession of concern, but to Arthur it was probably merely only a statement meant to placate his overly meddlesome servant. "It is a magical item, and therefore it cannot be trusted to rest here so freely."

Arthur continued his approach to the pedestal, and Merlin had no choice left but to follow. He had said his piece – been even more assertive in his opinions than usual, and still Arthur's mind would not be changed about the knife. Arthur was being perhaps even more obstinate than usual, in the face of Merlin's obvious concern. The warlock fought the disheartening feeling that always washed over him whenever Arthur mentioned his distrust for all things magic.

"This can only end badly..." Merlin mumbled under his breath, coming up to stand a fair distance to Arthur's left side. He was close enough to make out the intricate carvings of the knife now, but far enough away that Arthur would not think Merlin to be crowding him. The knife was fairly substantial in size – almost the length of Merlin's forearm. The knife had no sheath upon the pedestal, and instead its engraved blade reflected freely in the eerie glow of the chamber, embedded in a hilt as black as midnight.

The blade had words carved into it, but in a language that Merlin could not immediately discern. Carvings on items of the Old Religion never boded well, and Merlin felt his body become impossibly even more taught with fearful anticipation.

The tension in the chamber was a palpable thing as Arthur's hand slowly reached out and hovered above the dagger.

Merlin had failed to heed Gaius' warnings many times in the past, but he knew with a certainty that scared him that he could not let Arthur touch that dagger. And so Merlin, as he stood off to the side and watched Arthur's fingers start to curl in anticipation of grasping the knife, reached out with his magic.

It wasn't much – just enough magic to disturb the fog around Arthur's feet.

It was just enough magic to push back against Arthur as the blonde's finger tips, to Merlin's mounting horror, grazed the hilt.

Somehow, it was just enough magic to garner the attention of the knife. Merlin heard it in the air, in his mind, it was so clear and hollow sounding he could hardly discern if Arthur had heard it as well – a single word, a moment too late.

Emrys

In an instant, Merlin was flung backwards by an invisible force and collided with the rock wall behind him. All at once he felt his breathe escape him – rushing out of his lungs and diaphragm, leaving him desperately gasping for air as he released what was left in a silent shout of pain when the sharp rocks embedded in the walls dug into his back and head upon collision.

Merlin's mind was reeling. What had just happened? He felt as if the contents of his skull had been completely rattled, and no amount of blinking and gasping was restoring him to being able to breathe; to being able to focus on what had to be coming.

Somewhere amidst all the fog – was there actually fog, again? Or was it all just in his mind? – Merlin could hear someone shouting his name.

Arthur? Why was Arthur shouting his name? Why was physical fog somehow clouding his mind?

Merlin gasped and heaved, desperate to suck in air as he struggled to find purchase on the wall behind him. His pathetic attempt to slide up the wall and get his footing underneath him was quickly scrapped as he felt that sharp rocks dig into his tunic and nick his skin.

Emrys

Merlin's eyes shot open. Somehow in his rattled mind and frantic attempts to just breathe, he finally remembered why something wasn't right.

That was not Arthur. Arthur did not know that name.

"Merlin!"

There it was – Arthur's voice again, shouting his name.

Merlin's vision finally came into focus, and he could see Arthur, still standing near the pedestal eyes wide and staring back at him with his hand outstretched, as if he could stop what was coming with sheer will alone.

Arthur's horrified gaze turned to the knife, and Merlin's followed. It was glowing atop the pedestal, the same dark, eerie blue that illuminated the cavern. The ground beneath their feet began to quake, the water droplets dripping from the ceiling now almost pouring down around them, as if they were caught in a small storm.

A single stalactite dislodged itself from the cavern ceiling and plunged into the ground, a hairsbreadth away from Merlin's still partially crumbled form against the wall. Startled, Merlin pushed himself up against the rocks, ignoring the painful press of the sharps stones against his back.

Still gasping for breath and ignoring the warm trickle down the back of his neck, Merlin looked up from the sharp spear embedded in the ground and back towards the pedestal.

The knife was hurtling through the air, towards him, the blade gleaming in the eerie glow and cutting through the fog that had risen to shoulder height during the quake.

Merlin had no time; no choice. He threw out his hand and gasped out a ragged word, his strangled voice barely audible amidst the rumbling and Arthur's shouts and the absolutely deafening pounding of Merlin's heart.

The course of the knife veered infinitesimally; it was all Merlin had been able to accomplish with the mere fraction of time he'd been given. With a horrifying crunch, the knife sliced through the inner arm of Merlin's tunic, pinning him to the cavern wall just beneath his left shoulder.

So close, too close, to his heart.

Merlin's heart was pounding, bashing against his chest frantically, adrenaline and fear near-consuming him. The knife was no longer glowing, but he could feel the dark magic pulsating around it.

Evil. So Evil. He had to get away.

Merlin shook and jerked against the blade, but could not break free from its hold. His struggle to breathe grew worse, and he knew he needed to calm down and focus, he knew, but he couldn't. He had to get away.

Suddenly two hands were on his face, gripping his head and forcing him to look into Arthur's concerned eyes and away from the knife.

"Merlin! Merlin look at me. You're okay. Breathe. You're going to be okay."

Arthur let one hand slip from his hold and made to grab the hilt of the dagger, as if to free Merlin.

"No!" Merlin tried to shout, but it came out ragged and rasping and Gods, he needed to find a way to actually suck in some air and keep it. He was having a panic attack. He'd seen it enough times in Gaius' infirmary to know the symptoms, and he knew he needed to find a way to steady his breathing; to calm down.

But seeing as he couldn't find any reason to not be panicking, he couldn't stop the shaking that was consuming his lithe form and he couldn't stop the panic.

"Merlin, let me check the knife," Arthur's voice was soft, low, and edged with panic itself. Merlin's panic was clearly deeply unsettling to the king. "I can't see any blood – I need to see if you're hurt. Talk to me, Merlin."

"No," Merlin shook his head, coughing around the air lodged in his throat and fighting off the fog that was starting to hover yet again around his vision, "don't touch it. Can't touch it."

Arthur looked from Merlin to the knife. Then back again. Slowly, as if dealing with a skittish animal, Arthur dropped his hand down to the side of his own red tunic. With a decided tug, He tore a sizeable swatch of fabric from his shirt and wrapped the end of it around the palm of his hand.

Slowly, very slowly, he reached back up and wrapped his covered hand around the hilt of the dagger. Merlin, his mind too foggy with the lack of the very air he was choking on, could do nothing but stare.

But nothing happened.

Arthur gave the dagger a few good jerks, before finally succeeding in dislodging it from the stone wall. Stumbling back a few steps from the force of his pull, Arthur stared at the dagger in fearful wonder. The blade was completely unmarred, of either dirt or Merlin's blood.

"You're okay." Arthur breathed out again whilst staring at the naked blade, this time his voice laden with relief instead of panic. "The knife barely missed you, thank God."

Merlin, freed of the dagger's presence, finally calmed down enough to stop choking on the air and finally, finally filled his lungs. Lightheaded and exhausted, he dropped forward from his painful position against the wall and fell to his knees, throwing out his hands in front of him to catch himself before he knocked himself about more than he'd already been.

Frankly, Merlin had had enough bashing and tossing around, thank you very much.

Arthur was there by his side in moments, a cool hand on the back of his neck. Merlin flinched as he felt the king press his fingers lightly against a particularly burning part at the back of his skull. He'd have to take a good poke at that himself, at some point.

"You're bleeding." Arthur stated matter-of-factly.

"Figures as much," Merlin grumbled, his voice still sounding chocked to his own ears, remembering the warm trickle down the back of his neck.

"You slammed against the wall with some force," Arthur murmured, his voice sounding somewhat far-away as he examined Merlin's blood on his fingertips, "I'd wager you're lucky that all you have is a flesh wound."

Merlin would have scoffed at that, had he not been so busy trying to breathe at regular, even intervals and heard the obvious hesitancy in Arthur's voice. The king wasn't showing it, but Merlin knew him well enough after all these years to know when he was rattled. And Arthur was clearly disturbed by the events that had just unfolded. But whether it was Merlin's toss against the wall or his subsequent uncharacteristic panic attack, he couldn't tell.

The fact that Arthur hadn't yet poked fun at Merlin for his apparently unwarranted near fit of the vapours lent credence to the fact that Arthur was concerned.

"What was that?" Merlin gasped out, desperate to shake the icy cold tendrils that were curling about his insides. The warlock had not touched the knife. He hadn't touched it! And Arthur barely had. Not enough, surely, to cause any harm.

Arthur frowned, concerned as he glanced back from Merlin to the pedestal. "The dais must have been booby-trapped."

Merlin did scoff at that. He shot an incredulous look at Arthur over his shoulder, seeing as he was still down on his hands and knees, trying to get his bearings and breathing through the pain in his back.

"Booby-trapped, Arthur? Really? That dagger nearly skewered me!"

Arthur sported a small, relieved grin as he clapped Merlin on the shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze. Clearly, Arthur was willing to let Merlin's blatant disrespect for Arthur's opinions slide in favour of proof that his manservant wasn't going to slip back into hysterics, or pass out from his head injury. Merlin was, for all intents and purposes, back to his regular, insubordinate self.

At the mention of the dagger, both Arthur and Merlin's gaze had slid to stare at it, still gripped tightly in Arthur's hand, the hilt still covered by the wound cloth of Arthur's tunic.

Arthur placed the dagger on the ground.

"I thought the legends said it sought power?" Arthur mused as he shrugged out of his vest, with a pointed look at Merlin's still semi-sprawled form.

"I'm really quite wise, you know!" Merlin shot back, affronted by Arthur's obvious direction of thought but relieved to have the reprieve of their usual banter from his worried thoughts. The fog, it seemed, had blocked Arthur from seeing him cast to protect himself from the knife. But why, why had he had to protect himself from the blade? Why had it even gone after him?

And why had he heard 'Emrys'? He could not believe that it had all been his imagination. It had been too real. But only to his own ears, it seemed, as Arthur hadn't questioned him about that either. No, he was currently preoccupied with wrapping his vest around the entirety of the dagger, and questioning Merlin's intelligence.

"No," Arthur stated, a flat out denial of the possibility that Merlin just might be wise, "Clearly it must be broken."

"Broken. Yes." Merlin chirped, finally pushing himself up to wobble a bit on his legs, finding his center of balance and wincing as he placed his hand against the back of his head and pulled it away, covered in blood. "That's why I almost wound up dead because of you and your silly shiny object!"

"Really Merlin, dead?" Arthur challenged, scooping up his vest and the knife within.

"Yes. Dead!" Despite the fact that Merlin was relieved his magic had gone unnoticed and he was thoroughly not dead, he was still immensely unhappy with the events that had unfolded. First and foremost, Arthur had the dagger.

"Dead? As in unresponsive?" Arthur challenged, quoting Merlin from just days before.

"Yes!" Merlin snarked, taking off his neckerchief to hold it to the back of his sore head. His vision had finally stopped going wonky, and he was confident he wasn't concussed. Arthur was correct, it was just a flesh wound, but Merlin wasn't about to come out and say it. They both knew Arthur was right.

"Well, in that case, that doesn't sound like such a bad deal for me. I wouldn't have to deal with all your constant nattering." Arthur retorted, even as he reached out a hand to steady Merlin and help him wobble out of the chamber. Clearly, Merlin hadn't gotten all of his jitters out just yet.

And clearly, Arthur wasn't as relaxed about all that had unfolded as he wanted Merlin to believe.

-o0o-

(AN) I hope you all enjoyed the second instalment of TQFTK! I'm having great fun writing it.

If you get the chance, please drop me a line and let me know what you think! I would love to get some feedback, so thank you again to those who reviewed chapter 1!

~dancer-me