Chapter 4: And Hope to Die
"Merlin?"
"…Merlin?"
"Merlin!"
"Huhyeswhat?" The boy jumped with a start, giving his spoon a little flick that sent a splatter of soup across the table between him and Gaius. "Were you saying something, Gaius?" The elderly man laid down his own spoon within the depleted soup bowl and eased it aside.
"Yes, I was—and for quite some time now too, but it appears that you haven't heard a word." Gaius brushed aside his crusty old locks of aged white hair. Concern was evident upon his face as his brows wrinkled, and he closely examined the boy before him. The small table kept the two separated, but there was little to nothing that could obstruct his deduction of Merlin. Sure the boy was a tad bit rebellious and had his fair share of disobedience, but when difficulty arrived at his door step, Merlin had always arrived at his. Upon the little wooden table were two bowls, one depleted of its contents and another hardly even disturbed. One would imagine that it would be the energetic young man who had slurped away every drop of his meal and it was the old man who no longer had much of an early morning appetite, but it was completely the opposite. Although the spoon dangled weakly between his pale fingers, it had hardly even grazed the substance, and the young warlock had spent time that he should have spent eating it simply staring at it in numb silence.
At first he had thought it was merely a phase. Oh young men these days—Gaius could not possibly hope to keep up with them and their adolescent fits. When it persisted, he then reasoned that it was overwork from Arthur. That too was very probable considering the way that he had seen Arthur work Merlin before. But neither overwork nor a youthful spree could have produced such results as these. Instead of a healthy young man before him, he instead saw a withered exhausted boy. Merlin's paleness had reached an all-time white; it was whiter than white and could practically glow if he stood under the suns rays. The whiteness only made the dark rings around his eyes look even darker. The sockets of his optics sank heavily into his head, giving him the appearance of a sickly man on his death bed. If Gaius wasn't the excellent physician that he was, he would immediately have jumped to the conclusion that that was just the case, the perhaps Merlin had been stricken by some kind of illness. But that was not the case. He bore no signs of fever or disease.
He did, however, seem to suffer some kind of physical ailment. Fatigue had consumed the poor boys body to the point that he was stumbling regularly. To his shame for not noticing earlier, he had just assumed Merlin's clumsiness was reaching a record high (for Merlin had many failing that could easily cover the tracks of an ailment, sadly so), but his physical weakness also persisted to the point that it could no longer be brushed off. His deprivation of sleep and complete loss of appetite certainly did not serve to aid him either. Too many times now he found Merlin's dish still full to the brim with nearly untouched food, and too many times he had woken in the night to the sound of Merlin's restless turning and tossing. But what struck him most as odd was that Merlin had said not a word of concern to him. He hadn't come fretting like a girl to the aged physician for consultation. He hadn't openly expressed any kind of worry. And for not doing so, Gaius could not think of a reasonable explanation.
He looked hard at the boy with his well trained eye. He brought his wrinkled hands up onto the table and laced them together neatly before him to rouse an air of seriousness, and really, Gaius was very serious.
"Is something the matter, Merlin?" he questioned, his tone low and his voice nothing but a silent whisper. He leaned in closer across the table as if the closeness might allow him to feel less alone and more prompted to speak his mind, but Merlin only produced a confused expression with his head tilted ever so slightly and his dark brows raised.
"…No, not that I know of. As far as I know everything's quite fine," he replied in seemingly genuine confusion as if he really had no idea why Gaius would ask such a thing. In return, Merlin gave the court physician and concerned look of his own. "Is everything alright with you, Gaius? Because I can't see why you'd ask me this," he added. His expression was so innocent, so childish, so much like the good little Merlin that was too good for all the evils and dangers that he faced around every corner. It was so innocent that Gaius nearly believed him. But he had known the boy too long to lose to him so quickly.
"My only concern is you, my boy. Are you sure that everything is alright? You know that if you wish to speak, I will always be here to listen." Concern drenched his voice and with each word he further examined Merlin. He craned his neck this way and that way looking the boy up to down, or at least looking at as much as he could see from their positions around the table. There were no anomalies.
"Yes, Gaius, I'm positive," he assured with a serious nod. But the seriousness was brief, or perhaps Merlin could not retain a serious expression for long, because he soon broke into a wide amused smile. "Why, I didn't know you cared so much about me!" He joked while sporting a smug smile. Gaius could not help but return with a smile of his own upon seeing this sight.
"Neither did I!" he joked in return, but continued with one final effort to squeeze information from the warlock. "Now, are you absolutely certain that there's nothing you would like to speak to me about?"
"For the last time, Gaius, yes I'm certain. Your hair will get even whiter if you keep worrying like this," he joked again with his little lamb-like grin.
"So you are not ill?"
"Don't think so."
"Perhaps you are suffering from nightmares?"
"I'm fairly certain that I'm nothing like Morgana."
"Or could it be lady troubles?"
"What? No Gaius how could you even think that?"
"Well, you are young after all and I just thought that maybe—"
"No, Gaius, I am perfectly fine and I am mostdefinitely not having troubles with women!" He could not hold back a laugh as he said this. Ah, Gaius never failed to make him feel better even in his darkest hours. A small chain of laughter ensued, and one voice was soon followed by another as Gaius' hearty laughter joined Merlin's youthful amusement. The old man beamed at Merlin as if he was his own son and gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.
"Well then, let us keep it that way! You and I both should be on our way soon, for I believe Uther has a small consult planned for this morning, and things certainly won't be 'fine' if either of us are late." He gave Merlin another fatherly smile and Merlin returned it with a nonchalant grin. But as he cleared the table, as he carried away his empty bowl and Merlin's full dish, and as he had felt the thin boniness of his shoulder, Gaius could not help but still fret over the child. What could be bothering him so that he would not even speak of it to him? The boy held few things secret from him, and he imagined that if he ever did, it could only be something truly, utterly, terrible. And it most definitely was.
The old mans kindness had some dangerously close to breaking Merlin, to unsealing his lips and making him throw up all the horrid confessions that he had held welled inside. Something was indeed the matter, but Gaius had asked if there was anything that he would like to speak to him about, and the true answer to that was 'no'. He so dearly wanted to confide to Gaius, yet at the same time he did not. He wanted someone to know, but he did not want them to know. The pull of contradictions strained his mind as he had risen from his seat, leaving a near untouched breakfast behind. Gaius had once told him that for someone who held a very big secret, he was terrible at keeping them. Well, he supposed now that he was just bad at keeping secrets selectively, for he could hardly hold his tongue about his magic but he had put up the perfect mask about his ordeal with Arthur. At the time, this had failed to strike him as odd, but later he would come to realize that he would do anything to protect Arthur, anything, but so little to protect himself. The weight of Arthur's wellbeing weighed so heavily that his puny existence could not even hope to compare. And this was why through his entire conversation with Gaius, he had not once broken his mask, and lied through his teeth at the man who had given him everything.
Good byes were uttered as Merlin stumbled out the door with the court physician lingering still inside. He truly stumbled out, as Gaius had caught the boy off step and plowing into the edge of the door frame before realizing his error and correcting his path so that he actually exited through the doorway instead of the frame. His mental excuse for his growing clumsiness was that he had an overgrown prat to wake before the consult with Uther so he'd best make haste least both the prat and the prats father had his head for reasons besides that obvious. He tittered through the long corridors of the castle and around its winding stairs. Alone on his trek to Arthur's luxurious room, he gave himself the liberty to relinquish his hardened facade. He let himself be, well, himself.
Merlin had split his identity into two very different men. One was Merlin the manservant, destined to be trapped under the foot of his Prince, and the other was Merlin the sorcerer, destined for things greater than any other man has ever known. He was able to be the latter with few people, while the rest he was forced to play the part of the first with and never allowed them to even get a glimpse of his latter, true, self. But now he was stripped of that liberty too. He could no longer be Merlin the sorcerer before Gaius, his one and only confident; he had to be Merlin the manservant. He had to put up his front to distract eyes from the pains that Arthur inflicted on him, for the sorcerer was a broken man while the manservant was as cheery as ever. Alone as he walked, the sorcerer was exhausted, ached with every step, and felt lower than the dirt on the ground. His eyes were aimed at the ground and his steps were little shuffles that barely carried him a foot at a time. After the eternity that it took to finally reach the doors of Arthur's chambers, he felt an invisible tugging at his ankle. It was an imaginary ball and chain that latched down his freedom, his livelihood, his magic. It was a symbol that Arthur had won and ultimately gotten what he had desired the most. He had stripped Merlin of his magic, and left him completely, and utterly, empty.
But alas that was the sorcerer, and in Arthur's presence he was the manservant. He would be the goofy useless manservant who used routine lines to wake him and then wait on him poorly during meals. Before Arthur, he would never be a sorcerer, and would now and forever be a manservant. The moment he pushed open the heavy doors and set foot into the Prince's territory, he was Merlin was manservant, and he would play the part well.
"Rise and shine, Arthur!" Merlin chimed with glee in his tone as he threw open the lavish curtains. Blinding light speared into the room and cast long lines of illumination all through the dark space. Like a child, Arthur met with the unwelcomed intrusion by rolling over with a grunt and pulling his thick covers higher up over his face to force the light out. After all his years of service, this was quite a familiar scene, and Merlin had long since produced counter methods for the Princes early morning reluctance.
"Your father is waiting for you, so…get…up…Arthur!" The end of his sentence lagged as he snatched a handful of the silk covers in his fists and then, with one clean swoop, tore them from Arthur's clutches. This left the Prince bare from the waist up and at the mercy of the cold against his exposed flesh, for he never slept with a shirt on it seemed. He flipped around with a jolt at the sudden drop in temperature and groped violently for his covers, only to be met by the painful glares of powerful morning sunshine. Defeated by the glare his raised a hand in defense and squinted his eyes near shut.
"What that—Merlin!" he hissed, now groping around his unnecessarily large bed with his other hand. It found a pillow and despite its soft, plush, unthreatening form, turned it into a weapon of mass destruction as he launched it at his manservant. The Prince's impeccable aim landed the pillow square on Merlin's face. But little to his care or knowing, the measly impact of the plush pillow was enough to send Merlin down. Such details had escaped Arthur, but Merlin was well aware of the fatigue he was left with after a task so simple as removing Arthur's covers. Doubled with a surprise pillow to the face, he lost all orientation and coordination. He was a blur of arms and legs and pillow as he tittered down to the ground. His arms pinwheeled as he clawed for something to catch his fall, but to no avail, and he simply ended up with a sore rear on the ground. Still smothered from fresh sleep, Arthur took no notice to this oddity.
"Merlin!" he snapped again, "Can't you think of better ways to wake me?" After another series of turns and flips in attempt to snatch an extra few seconds of rest, Arthur submitted to the call and bolted up right. His still blurry eyes were greeting by the impact of the light spilling in romantically through his window and the familiarity of his bedchamber. He ran his callused fingers through his mess of golden locks that had been unsettled by his sleep and let out an irritated sigh. Then his eyes landed on Merlin.
"What on earth are you doing down there?" His face twisted into puzzlement at the sight of his manservant sprawled on the ground, tangled in the curtains, and with a single pillow by his side. But Merlin was quick to recover. He scrambled to stand, kicking away at the curtains and fumbling to both right himself and bring up the pillow with him.
"I—ah—nothing!" he blurted with an innocent grin upon his lips as he scrambled to rise. "It's just that you weren't waking so," he paused between rugged breathes brought on by his fall, "so I thought more dramatic measures were necessary," he joked blamelessly while holding out the pillow for Arthur to retrieve. He snatched the item back and practically ripped it from Merlin's grasp.
"Well don't ever use those measures again; they're perfectly horrid," he retorted with a dismissing wave.
He threw his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Having noticed that Merlin had remained unmoving in front of him, looking unabashed (and foolish) as usual, he sent him an irked eye roll. "Come on, Merlin, we haven't got all day! My father is waiting for me," he added as if he was the first of the two to come to his realization when really, Merlin had already reminded him of this matter. But the boy only gave a senseless grin in return and commenced to dress the Prince.
Tunic and trousers and sword belt went on with the usual difficulty caused by Merlin's clumsiness. With the challenge of getting dressed finally conquered, Merlin was forced to race down to the kitchen at mach one speed to retrieve the Prince's breakfast which he had forgotten to do in his daze. Childish spats had ensued. But one particular order roused an ominous shadow over Merlin.
"After you clean this up," Arthur gestured at his thoroughly devoured meal, "Prepare my armor." Already in the midst of clearing the table top, Merlin looked up from his duties and cocked an eyebrow at him.
"Why? You haven't got any plans, have you?" The manservant had been told of nothing that required his armor, at least not anytime soon in the morning. No rides, no training, and no formal events were on the morning lineup, and the readying of his armor for the coming events in the afternoon could wait.
"No, but my father does," was the short reply he received.
Truthfully, Merlin had dreaded the thought of having to ready the armor. All the heavy plates, the little bolts, and the clinking chainmail weighed heavily on the manservant's fatigue, for Arthur had failed where Guinevere and Gaius had not. He had been utterly blind to Merlin's rapidly deteriorating condition, but perhaps that was because Merlin's best front was displayed in front of him. He did not question why a simple pillow had managed to knock the boy down or why he had looked absolutely drained after just pulling off his covers. The blindness may have been a result of Arthur's own denial, but alas he was just as much to blame as Merlin was, for Merlin was indeed creating his best facade that was to be preformed before Arthur and Arthur only. The boy's only remaining sanctuary within their relationship was in their roles as Prince and manservant. When in those roles, it was as if Arthur had never uncovered Merlin's magic. It was as if the abuse was never taking place, and as if Merlin's world had never been stripped away from him. Things were normal. Things were wonderfully, blissfully, normal. And he would do anything to keep it that way.
So he did not prepare the armor. Arthur's words haunted some distant corner of Merlin's mind, but that was all put to an end when they arrived in the royal presence of King Uther.
"Ah, Arthur! Good morning," the King greeted heartily. He had been standing at the end of the long table with a mess of parchment and feather pens scattered across its surface. Upon seeing the arrival of his son, he lifted his gaze from his work and flashed him a warm smile, a smile that Merlin found almost impossible to believe considering the pain that this man had inflicted. He gave a wave at the few council men who were also positioned around the table, and each backed away to their positions as Uther himself reclaimed his throne. Merlin and Gaius were pushed from the picture with their heads bowed in respect and settled to their positions beside the mighty pillars that supported the throne room. Arthur gave his father a just as respectful incline of his head to acknowledge the greeting.
"Good morning to you too, father. I understand that you wished to see me?" The Prince inquired politely.
"Indeed I did." The King, who had just been wearing a blissfully joyous expression as he beamed at his pride and joy, dipped into a serious hardened state. He looked neither relaxed nor dire, so to Arthur this indicated that there were slight troubles at hand, and no doubt Uther would dispatch him to take care of them. He was correct, of course. "Some disturbances have been reported in the lower towns. There is word that a creature of sorts has been terrorizing the citizens."
In a moment of fleeting arrogance, Arthur shot a glance over his shoulder at Merlin and gave him a look that taunted, 'told you that you should've prepared my armor'. But he was quickly sucked out of the pompous state when his father resumed in his speech.
"I would like you, Arthur, to investigate this matter."
"Of course—I will take my men and we shall ride out at noon." Seeing that the case seemed closed, Arthur gave another courteous bow and turned to leave, but was caught by a final warning from Uther.
"Oh and, there is one more thing," the King spoke, his tone suddenly lower and his expression made disapprovingly grave. He brought up one gloved hand to his chin and lingered his fingers just over his lips as if what he was about to say would be so revolting that he did not wish others to see his lips move to say it. "There is reason to believe that magic—" he grimaced at the word,"—is at work here, and if it is then I expect you will handle the matter accordingly." His firm expression and hardened glare pierced holes into Arthur. They stabbed at his fleshy figure and tore away at his soul. In other words, his orders were to slay whoever was responsible for conjuring the creature, should it be the case. Arthur had long since sympathized with his father's hatred of magic, but he never, ever, enjoyed what the hatred did to him. Even as he was looking at his son, if the thought of magic was in his mind his glare would rip and pierce as if he was looking at a sorcerer right that instant.
Back half turned, Arthur gave only a silent nod, and then exited the room.
Merlin followed close behind like the little puppy that he was. And of course the moment the massive doors of the throne room were shut and Uther was out of ear shot, Arthur snatched the moment to gloat in his triumph.
"I told you to prepare my armor," he joisted, giving Merlin a smug self-satisfied sneer. The boy only gave him a lopsided grin in response and retorted with a not-so-clever joke himself.
"Yeah yeah, I should have listened to you because apparently you can see the future!" The usual routine ensued. Blows to the arm were exchanged and more bad jokes were passed, but beneath their impeccable show was spreading worry, for Merlin anyway.
He found himself near the point of exhaustion in the armory, looking down at a pile of impossibly heavy equipment. How could knights bare these things? All the clangy metal and heavy laces of iron rings—if they aren't struck down in combat by a sword than the sheer weight of their armor must be what killed them. Ok, Merlin, let's try this again. He gave a low grunt as he wrapped his arms around the plates and articles. They felt heavily, larger, and even more inconvenient than they had ever been. It was as if their weight had secretly doubled since the last time he suited up Arthur. Actually, it was not the armor that became heavier, but Merlin who became weaker, and this he knew too well. Nonetheless he had to convince himself that he was still perfectly capable of protecting his Prince. No pile of armor was going to stop him.
Time progressed to the afternoon without any casualties. One way or another Arthur had been properly dressed in all his layers of chainmail and armored plates, and a small platoon had been gathered while the horses were prepared. Arthur had kept to his word and when the clock struck twelve, him and ten knights galloped out of the castle gates and ventured for the lower towns. Merlin flanked his side as the lone man who did not sport a bellowing red cape. But he didn't need to be a knight to protect Arthur. Besides, they had faced many mysterious creatures before. What would make this event different? Merlin would find out, soon enough.
"We begin the search here!" Arthur declared as he trotted a little circle upon his horse as if to do a preliminary three hundred and sixty degree survey of the woods around them. Hours had passed since their initial departure and the sky was beginning to show signs of dimming. They had passed through a small town that appeared to be the primary victims of this particular case. Upon seeing the mighty knights plow through their lands, they had overflowed with tears of relief and comfort, for they knew that all would be well. They had stopped only briefly to gather some witness accounts in regard to the beast, for Uther had provided them with no description at all. Unfortunately, neither did the townspeople. Their only knowledge of the beast was that it was large, as large as some of the massive boars that occasionally roamed the forests, and it was as white as daylight. Contrary to most mysterious beasts that Merlin had heard of, this particular one struck in the day. Upon hearing this, Arthur had plowed dead ahead and was determined to use their remaining hours of daylight to catch and slay the so called beast. By the time they arrived at the forest, Merlin reckoned that they had but three hours of daylight left. But that seemed to be plenty of time to Arthur.
One by one the knights demounted their horses. Red capes flapped wildly as they plopped down onto the ground scattered with dead leaves that were damp with the autumn dew. Merlin could say little about their location. It wasn't particularly pleasant. It was as any other forest was, any other village was, and any other day was. The sky had dimmed a notch from its usual bright blue hue which indicated the steady decline of the sun, along with their slowly diminishing time to stumble upon some beast. Trees clouded a great portion of the sky from their position, though, as their tall branches reached up as it to graze the heavens. Merlin followed the lead of the knights and demounted, only he did so not quite as gracefully as they had. As one foot hit the ground, his knee quaked under his weight and failed under the strain. This forced his other foot to slip awkwardly off the saddle and then thanks to momentum, Merlin met the ground with not his feet but his back instead. Dead leaves plumed around him, dotting him with specks of brown and orange, and the dry ones crunched beneath him like he had just crushed a massive bug. All eyes fell on the humiliating scene, but dismissed it once they realized that it was Merlin.
"What are you doing down there, Merlin?" Looking up from his planted position, Merlin saw Arthur step into his field of vision, only he was upside down and way in perspective. "We've got a beast to kill so get up and at least pretend to be useful," he snorted.
"I'll get right on that," Merlin groaned, his already aching limbs now screaming out in more agony. At this point he could no longer hide his weakness. He knew he was crippling slowly and that he was practically now reduced to a useless pile of flesh and bone. It would be a challenge to keep pace with Arthur and the knights, but he would make it happen, somehow, someway.
"Anytime now, Merlin!" Arthur hollered at his fallen manservant who had still yet to right himself. Judging by the reduced volume of his voice, Merlin concluded that Arthur and the other knights had already ventured off a short distance. Panting on the ground, he puffed himself up mentally, insisting to himself countless times that he had to stand for Arthur, and then rolled weakly into a stand.
"Right behind yo—" he started as be began to titter toward Arthur, but was cut off by his abruptly raised hand.
"Shh!"
Only the silence sounded as a result of the Prince's firm command. He stood, poised to run or strike at a seconds notice, and held his hand out as to signal his knights to hold their positions. The sound of fluttering leaves brushed by the afternoon breeze became the most prominent background music, for despite Arthur's indication that he had heard something, Merlin heard nothing at all. Nonetheless, he proceeded and created various incomprehensible hand gestures and motions which the knights somehow managed translated into commands. The capes clapped as they skittered around the forest, trying to be light footed but ultimately failing when the leaves refused to be silent when they were stepped on. And then they all heard what Arthur had heard.
It had begun small and hardly noticeable, and he had to commend Arthur for catching the slight tone while near everyone else had missed it. It was breathing. No, it was better described as panting, for no human could possibly produce so much breath at such loud a volume. It was like having a person with their lips pressed to your ears, wheezing after running hundreds of leagues. As said it had begun small, like the light panting of a man, but then it had escalated. The volume slowly ramped until an ugly hoarse wheezing took over the sweet melody of the wind, and then the big finale was an ear-splitting howl. The knights did not need Arthur's wild hand and finger gestures to command them to their positions. Shocked out of their skin by the beasts cry, the knights spread themselves equally among the small terrain that they held. The horses whinnied and clopped around trying to escape their reins in vein, for they had been securely strapped to near by branches and trees. Stealth was no longer the motive, not with a wild beast screaming, the horses whinnying for their lives, swords singing, and knights who abandoned the idea of being light footed and instead, stomped across the forest floor with such ferocity that Merlin could have mistaken them for a herd of elk.
And then a blur of color whisked several meters out before them. The man nearest stumbled backward with caution at the sudden movement, but by the time all eyes turned in that direction the same blur whisked passed them from behind. Fear was starting to bubble, Merlin could feel it. Of course he could feel it in his own gut too. He may have been a warlock who was destined for great things, but that didn't mean destiny did him the favor of ridding him of fear. Seeing his men begin to falter with emotion, Arthur closed in the circle more densely, until the nearest man was only a few lengths away.
"Prepare yourselves!" He commanded, his voice firm and controlled to filter out fear. Swords glistened under the light and bounced across the forest floor. One particularly large reflection seemed to be flickering and wavering as if its source was shaking in terror. No wait, on closer inspection it was not shaking, but approaching them. And on even closer inspection, Merlin saw that it was not a beam of reflected light but a beast, and it was set on a collision course with their small pile of men.
There should be little to fear when you had ten knights of Camelot by your side, except in this situation it was perfectly permissible to be frightened out of your mind, knights or no knights. Merlin threw himself to the ground as a blur of white rocketed over him. A storm of leaves dragged by the rapid pace of the beast plumed all around like a rainfall of dead little flakes. Several other knights had received the memo and had also grounded themselves, and each were now decently half buried in kicked up dirt and leaves. Unfortunately for those who had missed it, the beast certainly had not missed them, and it crashed into a poor lineup of fine men and scattered them across the forest floor. Armor rattled and agonized cries filled the air.
From his position on the ground (or rather, in the ground, for he was so thoroughly covered in leaves that he could have been mistaken for being part of the forest floor), Merlin burst his head from the muck and dirt to suck in a rasping breath. His heart rate had rocketed in turn with his already labored breathing. In a moment of panic, he dared to kick off the curtain of leaves and swirled over onto his back, and to his great relief, was not greeted by the beast. While he was busy planted in the ground, the beast had sprang off several meters off, and with it the knights had followed behind bravely. That included Arthur. When the realization struck, the fatigue was sucked from his bones and manic strength mysteriously seeped to his little body just long enough for him to bolt off ground. Immediately disorientated by the drop in blood in his head, Merlin stumbled in a clumsy circle and surveyed three hundred and sixty degrees before finally locating the beast.
The beast was indeed a beast and was indeed as white as the daylight. The whiteness of its coloration bounced sunlight off its surface with such fierceness that Merlin was forced to squint. Its reflectivity sent rays of white light all across the forest floor with the aid of all the knights finely polished armor and their well sharpened swords. Speaking of the knights, several were cast around him having been taken out in the first wave of the attack, and the remaining ones were specks of red off in the distance. The beast itself was well labeled as such, as it appeared like a failed blend between a lion and a bird. It matched the massive size of giant wild boars, but at least a boar looked like a boar, for this creature had the general shape of a lion, but ugly patches of feathers replaced fur. No mighty mane of golden fluff encircled the beast's neck like a typical lion. Instead, flaky plumage that scattered with every step cluttered its face. Uneven patches of feathers and fur composed its only outer coverage. But what was most distinct about the creature was not its ugliness or the obviousness that it was conjured by magic, but by a necklace which is bore around its neck. A thin link of chains circled the beast's feathery mane, and upon it jingled an aged wooden plaque. Moss had claimed a hold on the little circular chunk of wood and made it more green than it was brown. Markings and lines were etched finely onto its surface and up close, a decorated design could be seen.
Now, it would have been impressive if Merlin had gleaned all that from a single short glance, but he had far from done that. Instead, he had been standing like a fool, mouth gaped open at the sight even though this was no where near the worst thing that he had ever encountered, and had not moved an inch since the thing first burst out upon them. In the distance some meters ahead of him, the amount of red had decreased and more red stained the ground. Arthur was among the few red blurs that remained fighting, struggling against the beast with his toothpick like weapon. He had been too busy fending for his life to notice the lack there of in Merlin, for the boy seemed all but dead already, standing in a frozen daze. The realization again managed to rouse him from his blankness of mind as his thoughts were revived. His previously empty mind was suddenly filled by panic. Looking up again, now Arthur was the only blur of red standing against the beast. Feathers plumed in every direction at it clawed, snapped, and lunged at him. To the relief of Arthur, it appeared that this particular beast was not invincible to ordinary weapons as some previous beasts had been, for they had managed to inflict noticeable damage to its frame. Flesh had been torn and punctured by their blades and deathly red gore flowed from its injuries. But it would not put up with this for long, as it finally turned a round black eye toward Merlin.
Perhaps it was a magical creature that hunted strategically in that it struck the weakest animal in a herd. Seeing that the meal before him was putting up quite a resistance while the gaping fool in the other direction was unarmed, it stripped its attention from Arthur and redirected itself at a defenseless Merlin. This was where the foreboding shadow that he had experienced earlier that morning proved its point.
Just as quickly as it had initially jumped at them, the beast cleared Arthur in a single leap and sprang with its ugly head first at Merlin. His first reaction was obvious. Heart pounding and breath racing, he struggled to keep from exploding from the increased internal blood flow that surged in his body. A cool seriousness washed over his expression as he eyed the oncoming beast, its massive paws leaving a trail of deep imprints behind it. He lifted his hand and his optics threatened to transform colors as the words of the old religion prepared to dance off his lips, but suddenly he was silenced. A raw heavy tugging yanked and pulled at his leg. It was the weight of his promise. It was the weight of the promise that he had sworn to Arthur, that he would never, no matter the situation, the consequences, or the stakes, ever use magic again. And now he would be bound to it.
The full force of the promise had yet to catch up to him until that very moment. The blow crashed into him just as how the beast has crashed into the knights. The force knocked the breath out of his lungs and squished the life out of his soul. He had promised to never use magic again. It was like promising to never breathe again. Just like how humans needed to breathe to live, Merlin needed magic. He needed it. It was not a want; it was a necessity. For the first time in his life he was bound to not use it not by law, but by his own word, and now it would cost him more than he had ever imagined that it might. Without it he felt so naked, so defenseless. His life meant nothing if it was lived without magic. He was nothing without magic. Magic made him what he was, made him human, made him Merlin.
And Arthur would not let him be Merlin.
An odd calmness washed over the once-sorcerer. Stripped of his magic, he was no longer a sorcerer. No doubt that is what Arthur had wanted. He had wanted Merlin, his manservant, not Merlin, the sorcerer. And that is just what he got. With the beast thundering through the woods with its eyes dead set on Merlin, he had few choices to defend himself. Without magic he could not hope to fend the beast off or magically deter its path. With the speed at which it approached, trying to outrun it was as much a death wish as was remaining still. Diving to one side or the other could potentially save him an arm and a leg, but today Merlin would not run or hide. His eyes darted around in search of something, anything with which to defend himself with, and they found a dropped spear at his feet that had been ripped from the hands of one of the fallen knights. Reacting on pure impulse, he swooped down and claimed its heavy weight in his hands. The spears head drooped toward the ground from the weight gathered in the metal of the blade and it was approximately the size of a toothpick relative to the size of the beast, but this was Merlin's decision, and his only plan of action.
Arthur, of course, was not in the least pleased by this. Sweat gleamed on his forehead and his hands were raw from the endless impact of his sword against meaty flesh that seemed to do not enough damage as one would expect. One by one he watched his worthy knights get thrown to the ground by a powerful slap by the beast's feathery paw. They were not dead but unconscious, but nonetheless they were rendered unable to fight further. This commenced until only he remained as the opponent against the beast. A lions head clouded with feathers glared down at him with black beady eyes and the wooden plaque swung around with its every movement. But as he had prepared for another violent strike, he received none. Instead, a gush of wind sent even more leaves and feathers aloft as the beast soared clear over him and began racing toward a new unknown target. That target was Merlin. He squinted through the scattered plumage and leaves and finally made out his fool for a servant standing in the path of the raging creature. He had expected to see the boy turn and run for dear life or dodge by rolling off to one side, but he did neither. Instead, he had remained completely unmoving besides the only action of taking up a fallen spear.
That was impossible. Was Merlin possibly thinking of taking on the beast? Not only was it a beast, but it was a magical beast. Merlin couldn't even fight off a man let alone a magically conjured creature. With every passing millisecond, Arthur waited for Merlin to break his stance and run off screaming like a girl, but every second that passed forced growing worry into his veins. Without his command his legs began moving on their own. It was first a walk, and then a trot, and then a full blown race as Arthur sped after the beast.
"Merlin!" he hollered over the wind that whizzed passed his ears. They reached Merlin's ears, but he did not respond.
"Merlin!" he yelled again, this time bordering a wail as the desperation in his tone began to dramatically escalate.
But the boy did not falter, did not shake, and did not fear—not even as the distance between him and the beast was closing rapidly. He heard Arthur shouting a barrage of his name, over and over again as if he cared. But it was his job to protect Arthur; not Arthur's job to protect him. Destiny had not written it that way. He concentrated every drop of strength that remained in him into his sticky arms as he hefted up the spear and prepared for impact. He would aim for the neck, and perhaps pierce it if possible. At the velocity that the beast was going at, he would not even have to throw it, as the speed of its own body would plunge the weapon deep into its flesh. The knights had already proved that it could be damaged—now let's see if it could be killed.
The distance grew smaller, and smaller, and smaller until—
"Merlin!"
The beast let out a cry of absolute anguish and agony. It stopped dead in its tracks and reared its ugly and front paws off the ground. Its head was thrown back and the beastly wailing continued. Its paws landed back on the forest floor with a thunderous thump and produced a mini-quake that kicked Merlin off his feet. He landed square on his back for the third time that day. The beast continued to cry and wither and flail above him, forcing Merlin to scramble backward and out of its line of fire. He kicked his legs and clawed with his elbows as his heart readied to jump out of his chest and his lungs prepared to implode on themselves. And then hell blew over.
A silent crack silenced the wailing beast, and the chain which held the wooden plaque slipped from its neck. The creature sank noiselessly to the ground and then completely mute of sound, melted away into a pile of fur and feathers which the wind promptly carried away. The only thing of it that remained was the chained plaque, along with the spear that had pierced its neck and consequently the chain as well.
Once obscured by the beast that separated them, Arthur was revealed after the veil of plumage dissipated. In angry silence he paced over to where the creature was vanquished, belt over, and retrieved the spear which he had rocketed at it to ultimately slay it while its back had been turned and vulnerable. But with the winning weapon he merely tossed it aside into the dirt and continued on his course. There was only one destination at the end of his path, and it was Merlin. Every step radiated more and more rage. His steps became heavier, he kicked up more leaves, and he shook with such incomprehensible fury that he feared if he dared to break into a run, he would lose his step and trip. He wouldn't allow that, because he was dead set on getting to Merlin as quick as possible. And he did.
Merlin had blinked and the beast had been gone. He had blinked again and Arthur appeared. He blinked a third time and Arthur was right in his wake literally standing at his feet where he laid. Initially he was relieved, but the relief quickly reduced to fear. Arthur plunged his fist onto the collar of Merlin's tunic and ripped him up so furiously that his entire back left the ground. He gripped the article of clothing as if both their lives depended on it. They were so close. Their noses were practically brushing and they were literally breathing the same air. But the gesture was not at all intimate. Raw unabated anger boiled in Arthur's sky blue eyes. They pierced into Merlin's and locked him in place, forcing him to maintain eye contact and ensnarling him in his gaze.
"What the hell was that—were you trying to get yourself killed?" he roared straight in the boys face. Anger fueled his veins instead of adrenaline and he fought to keep his voice from quivering. Merlin struggled with discomfort as the back of is tunic dug into his sore flesh. Weakly he brought one hand up and pawed at Arthur's powerful grip even though he had no hope of breaking it.
"I—I was going to fight it!" he managed to chock out, his breath shallow and wheezing due to the strain around his neck.
"No you weren't, Merlin, you were going to die!"
"Arthur I didn't have a choice!"
He was losing his battle with his rage. At first he had managed to squeeze words from his lungs without quaking as if he was a coward, but the more he spoke the less control he had, and the more his voice jittered with absolute fury. Before he could make another retort, he found that he was shaking. He shook his head wildly and shoved Merlin back down to the ground. Frustration now crowded in with his other boiling emotions. Didn't have a choice? What kind of joke was that? Of course he had a choice! He could have ran—he could have dodged!
But why didn't Merlin run? Why didn't he try to dodge it? Why didn't he…why didn't he… "Why didn't you use magic?" he hissed in complete desperation.
Merlin looked as if he had been slapped in the face. He was absolutely aghast. No, he was confused—he looked confused, disgusted, and helpless all at the same time. Only after the words left his lips did he realize the weight of what he just said. His own face froze in shock and he stared down at Merlin with terrified eyes. Magic was illegal. Not only was magic illegal, but Merlin had promised him that he would never use it again, no matter what the situation was, and he had held true to his promise by displaying that he wouldn't even use it to save his own life. Yet he had just questioned why Merlin hadn't used it. How could he even think of turning to magic? How could he even come close to believing that it was right to use if it meant saving the life of his manservant? But that promise was just a pain drunken slur of words that had unintentionally left his lips in desperation, wasn't it? He hadn't seriously meant it, had he? Arthur had thought nothing of it before, but now, now it was undeniable. Merlin had meant it. Arthur should be happy. He should be absolutely overjoyed. He should be basking in victory and glee in knowing that he had finally rid his manservant of his magic. Things could return to normal again. They could be manservant and Prince again. They could forget everything that had happened in the weeks passed and live life as it was meant to be lived. But he wasn't happy. He wasn't satisfied and he wasn't joyous at the revelation. He was left in a pit of confusion even deeper than before. He could only continue to stare down at Merlin, looking weaker than he had ever looked before in his life, lost in absolute, and complete, confusion.
Before either could utter another move, a painful groan from one of the fallen knights threw reality back into their faces. Arthur continued to breathe down at Merlin and Merlin back up to him, until he realized that they could no longer continue with this conversation. In silence he removed his grasp on Merlin's wrinkled collar and rose back to a stand, but not before seeing the circular wooden plaque which had previously been dangling around the neck of the vanquished beast. It laid in a bed of leaves at Merlin's side, and he pocketed it without so much as another glance at the boy. After the brief moment that they accidentally slipped into their roles as the abused and the abuser, both were quick to seek refuge back in their roles as Prince and manservant.
Here and there the defeated knights were beginning to weakly stumble back onto their feet. Those who were able enough aided the injured and wobbled over to the horses to begin the long trek home. They had, fortunately, been without casualty, but had they not escaped serious injury. The party was forced to make a stop in the town, which was more than happy to provide the little treatment they had upon hearing that they had been ridded of the mysterious beast. Basic treatments were applied to keep the knights well enough to survive the ride back to the castle, as Arthur intended to return home by nightfall. With speed and luck, they did. The sky was dotted with white specks against black by the time they stampeded through the castle gates. They were welcomed warmly upon returning and the injured knights were shipped off one by one for repair.
Arthur had been among the list of knights who had sustained injury, but not so much that it was life threatening, but not so shallow as to not worry about it either. They had hurried up to his bedchambers in order to address the wound, which was a bloody gash across the meaty flesh of his shoulder. Merlin was seemingly only ever useful in a time of Arthur's need, and every other time he was a blundering fool, for despite his obvious fatigue and completely drained coordination, he had managed to strip Arthur of his armor and mail without inflicting further pain on his wound. All that was left was the red tunic beneath, which Merlin had insisted they keep on in order to reduce the amount of times Arthur would have to lift his arms and thus abuse his injured shoulder. The cloth around his shoulder was stained a deeper red that bordered brown from the fresh blood that oozed from the injury and the crusty blood that had already dried. With a knife, Merlin hacked at the sleeve of the tunic until the shoulder beneath was completely in view. Besides, it didn't matter what he did to the tunic since he would be the one to repair it later anyway.
Looking at the wound now he saw that it looked far more serious than it really was. He dabbed at it cautiously with a clean rag with a fresh pale of water at his side, but his concern for Arthur's sensation of pain read off toward the Prince quiet differently.
"Oh don't be such a girl, Merlin, it's just a scratch," he scoffed, moving to lean back on his bed against his good arm. Merlin only ignored him and concentrated on addressing the injury.
"Well it's a pretty big scratch," he muttered, giving the wound another dab.
The final swab had rid the 'scratch' of the blood that clouded it before, and without so much red obscuring his view it did indeed look like a scratch. The claw of the beast had not gone deep, which was good news for Arthur in that no muscle or ligaments were damaged. It was merely superficial and only the epidermal surface had been torn away, leaving sensitive pink tissue exposed beneath. Nonetheless it must have nicked a vessel on account of the excessive bleeding.
"We should go see Gaius about this," he suggested while binding the now cleaned wound with another clean white rag. Not once did he take his eyes off the gruesome gash.
"For what, a scratch like this? We'd be wasting his time—and not everyone has as much free time on their hands as you." He flashed Merlin a snobby sneer and then turned to break his wounded arm free of Merlin's pawing grasp, only to regret doing so immediately after. Pain that had just been a dull ache transformed into a sharp burn with the sudden movement, and it showed on his face.
"You can never be sure about these things, you know," Merlin said with an exaggerated knowing look. "We wouldn't want the crown Prince of Camelot to die from a scratch now would we?" This time Merlin threw in his own infamous cheery grin, which Arthur returned with a punch to his forearm with his good arm. Merlin won that battle.
He practically led the reluctant Arthur by the sleeve down to Gaius' chamber, but upon entering, found that the court physician was missing. A passing servant informed them that he had been rushed to attend to the more badly wounded knights and was not expected to return for a number of hours later for the cases were particularly dire. For this Arthur had given Merlin another triumphant look that Merlin rolled his eyes at.
"We can still get some treatment," he added in his own defense.
He abandoned Arthur among the sea of books and bottles as he dove into the shelves. He had worked for Gaius long enough to know at least what basic ointments he used to treat battle wounds, which he did very frequently so there would be plenty of it. Merlin fingered through the bottles and potions with only the light of a single candle to guide him. The darkness hindered his search in obscuring the handwritten labels, many of which were either faded or peeling from the bottle, and dragged on his search far longer than intended. It went on so long that Arthur had turned to flipping through some of Gaius' various books to pass the time, which really actually wasn't taking that long—he was just a highly impatient man when it came to Merlin. But he failed to rush his manservant with a command, for he took notice to the small rickety door in the far back of the room. With Merlin engrossed in his unfruitful search, Arthur found himself wondering through the maze of towering books and medical supplies as an excuse to draw closer and closer to the back room, otherwise known to be Merlin's bedchamber. Soon he found himself right at the door step, and then his hand was upon the handle, and then he was inside the small room.
Small didn't cut it. The room was puny compared to Arthur's luxurious suite that could probably contain several of Merlin's room within it. But it was Merlin's room. It was where he slept, where he stayed, where he was at home and at ease. This was where he would return to, but he had come within an inch of not being able to today. That's right—he had damn near killed himself against the beast in the afternoon and now brushed off the topic like it was nothing. It wasn't nothing. It was definitely something if you came so close to dying. Fury started to boil in him again. He was growing sick of this. He was growing sick of having sudden pangs of anger like some adolescent female. He wasn't an adolescent anymore and he was most definitely not a female, so why did his emotions rage out of control so often? Just one thought, one measly topic could throw his mind into turmoil. That one topic was Merlin. He heard the clanging and shifting of glass bottles through the door behind him as Merlin continued on his quest to find some kind of treatment. He brought his hand up to his injured shoulder and pressed against the bandaged wound. This was proof that the Merlin now was the Merlin that he wanted. It was a Merlin who treated him of his injury; it was a Merlin who was his manservant and no more. And with the promise he had made the previous day, the part of him that was Merlin was sorcerer was no more. So why wasn't he rejoicing yet? He had his old Merlin back, but there was not a shred of happiness to be found within him.
He managed to muffle a frustrated hiss as he brought up his good arm to scratch viciously at his golden locks. Deep heavy breaths escaped his lips as he tried to physically pamper away his worries by continuously combing his fingers through his hair and then rubbing his pounding temples. Nothing could abate his storm of emotions, though. This was indeed the Merlin that he wanted, but it wasn't the Merlin that Merlin was. No matter what, it seemed that he would not be able to attain an adequate Merlin. So if he could not attain him mentally, then he would attain him physically instead. Just then, his manservant's voice sounded through the door.
"Oh, here it is! I've got it Arthur!" he chimed with a silly grin played on his lips. He whirled around in victory to display a decently sized jar of a transparent jelly substance which he clutched triumphantly in his grip, but as he expected to behold an impatiently fuming Arthur, he saw no one. Only old books and more shelves of more bottles greeted him.
"…Arthur?" he called out, this time more wearily. What, had the young prat ran out the door without him? If Arthur had the right to call him a girl, than Merlin had the right to call him a child, because only children ran away when they have to see the physician. But as he scoured the room in search for a trace of the Prince, he found the door to his room cracked open just a tad. Great—he had gone to go harass the few personal belongings that he owned. With a frustrated shake of his head and a sigh, Merlin snaked his way to the little room.
"Arthur, what are you doing in there? I've got the ointment so let's go—" He was cut off when he nearly charged into the wounded man. The bulk of Arthur's form took up the entirety of Merlin's tiny doorframe. He looked up at the little intrusion and sucked in the sight of Merlin's startled expression. He was clearly unsettled by having Arthur in his room, and it took no genius to deduct it. Under the faint glow of the candle that flickered on and off in the other room, Merlin was white as a sheet. Only a sliver of light was allowed entry into the room through his tiny square window that was nested in the upper half of his bedchamber. The blue illumination cast deep shadows across nearly everything, including their faces. Merlin was indeed squeamish at having Arthur in his room, his (somewhat) private chamber, his one and only safe heaven. But Arthur was like a shark. He could sniff out fear and could snap you in his jaws just by tracing the trail it left, and he had certainly sniffed out Merlin.
Awkward silence hung between them as they stood intimately near each other. Arthur had only gone so far into Merlin's room as the entrance and had stepped no further in, and Merlin was right outside the frame, which left but inches of space to separate them. Merlin let out an awkward cough to shatter the silence of the night and he raised the jar of ointment for Arthur to see.
"I've got it," he repeated, giving the jar a little shake as if proof of its realness was needed before he turned to lead the way back out of his and Gaius' room. But the damage had been done. He could not hope to mask the fear that he felt which was enhanced ever so much by Arthur's presence in his room. Arthur had already found him out, and he was entirely ready to exploit the new found weakness.
"Give it here," he snapped and swiped the cylindrical jar from Merlin's pathetically weak grip. As he had deducted, the boy swirled around to reclaim it, only to be caught by Arthur's powerful arm that had lost no strength despite its injury. With a strong pull he yanked Merlin into the room and the two switched places. Now it was Merlin who was within the boundaries of his room and Arthur who was at the doorframe, guarding the only way in and out. Panic began to well inside Merlin. He knew, oh god he knew what was going to happen. The repeated happenings had dulled his reaction to it, but not under these circumstances. The rickety door creaked shut behind Arthur as he sprang into action.
"Arthur...Arthur?" The boy stammered with growing panic. Once again Merlin was swept off his feet by the raw force and power that the Prince radiated. Sometimes Arthur had physically overpowered him, but other times the shear authority that he displayed was enough to crush his hopes of escape. Before sense could make its way to his brain, he was already pinned beneath Arthur's strong frame upon his own bed. Everything was familiar—the scent of the room, the texture of the blankets, the hardness of the lousy bedding. Panic began to spread again.
"Arthur please—wait!" No, this was his one and only safe haven, the one place where he could be himself and be at ease and be free from Arthur's relentless abuse. He had already taken magic from him, and now he would take his security away as well. Forced onto his stomach he felt the coldness of the night air brush against the bareness of his back as Arthur pulled up his tunic. His panic was spilling over in a boiling mess and he flailed and clawed in desperation.
"Arthur! Your…your shoulder!" Merlin managed to rasp between frantic breathes, but this managed to put a slight pause to Arthur's movements. "You're injured so—so I'll do it today!" He immediately regretted his words. He felt sick, sick as if he had just spewed the most revolting nonsense known to man. He felt sick that it sounded as if he was willing, but it was as close to escape as he could get. He latched onto this tiny string of hope and clung onto it for dear life, wishing and pleading that it would take him out and into the distant light.
Arthur had indeed stopped and was now taking into account the reason behind Merlin's suggestion. True enough his shoulder pained him from the movement and it would surely distract from the pleasure that would come from below, so for once, he conceded to Merlin's plan.
"Then get on with it," he snarled.
Merlin felt the weight of the Prince lift off his delicate frame. The bed sank at the side where Arthur resettled himself down again. His bed was small—far smaller than Arthur's. Merlin was sprawled on the surface with his face buried in the stiff pillow just the way Arthur had left him, and by all means he would try to avoid keeping true to his word, but he knew that Arthur was prone to change his mind. So before he could get the chance to, Merlin scrambled off the bed and onto the hard ground at the Prince's feet. He was quivering, both from the cold of the night as well as from terror. He was going to do this, in his room, not knowing when Gaius would return. Gaius. A final desperate attempt at escape found its way into Merlin's mind as he perked his head up with a frantic glow in his eyes.
"What if Gaius comes back? We could go back to your chamber or—"
"Here is fine."
His tiny thread of hope snapped, sending Merlin plunging down into an abyss of despair. He looked up hard at Arthur. The blue glow of the room painted his face a glistening white. He looked like he was near death with the now very prominent dark rings around his eyes and the hollowness of his cheeks. His expression had been reduced to a somber stare and his lips were pressed into an emotionless flat line. This was going to happen, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. It happened.
It wasn't until several days later that the slaying of the beast was celebrated. There had been far too many scampering around with wet towels and fresh bandages for Arthur to even reach the vicinity of his father. But alas, with his shoulder tightly bound and thoroughly coated in the jelly that Merlin had salvaged in Gaius' chamber (which he must admit was very effective), congratulation's had been exchanged between father and son and Arthur had been sent on his way. Yet now the King sat upon his royal throne, eyes cast downward and a deep shadow masking his face. He stared down with his piercing glare at the round plaque in his hands. He ran his large rough fingertips over the little bumps and ridges of the aged surface, taking into account every bush of moss and every cracked corner as he thoroughly examined the item. He turned it and he flipped it, he knocked it against the table and he picked at the chipping edges. Finally, he conceded that there was nothing visibly out of the ordinary about the seemingly insignificant disk of wood, but he would not be King if such a petty disguise could throw him. It was magical, that was certain.
"Gaius, come have a lot at this and tell me what you think," he commanded, still eyeing the wood in his grasp. Not even as Gaius hobbled toward him and as he began to extend the plaque out did he release his gaze upon it. It was as if he distrusted the inanimate object, as if it would spring to life and do him harm if he did not watch it carefully. Either way it left the security of his hands when the elderly man retrieved it with a polite bow. He watched his court physician give the item an initial glance before fumbling with a pair of spectacles to enhance his aging vision. Heavy silence hanged in the throne room. All were awaiting the physicians report, for it would determine whether Uther lost or retained his sense. If the item proved to be ordinary, then the day would pass as it was meant to. If the item proved to be magical, however, all knew that Uther would fly into a manic rage and throw his one and only (now wounded) son back out into the battlefield to trace its origins to the ends of the earth. It would, unfortunately, turn out to be the latter.
"I can't be certain, sire, but—" Gaius took his eyes off the piece to rest them on the King and braced himself for the impact that his next words would bring. "—this may be medium used in the art of summoning."
The words came to Uther like a blow from battle. He even shrank away deeper into the comfort of his throne as if to stay as far away from Gaius' declaration as possible. His expression twisted in disgust and he hooked a solid grip onto the armrest of his seat. Looking at his court, he cast the order which they had all anticipated as well as feared.
"Then we must find the source of this sorcery, and we must vanquish it for the sake of all of Camelot."
A/N: I was gonna add another explicit scene but then decided not to, lol.