~10~ Mitheras

"Mitheras should be around here somewhere," Arthur muttered softly into the map. The day after the baffling episode of Merlin's brief illness, they had reached roads seldom used, overgrown by foliage. "There should be stone bridge to cross, and then..."

Merlin, head lolling back, snored once and jerked awake. Gwaine splashed water over his face from his water skin, and Lancelot yawned, not bothering to cover up.

"You said that five miles ago, Arthur," Gwaine grumbled, wiping his eyes.

"Yeah. Are we there yet?" Merlin grinned.

With a glare at his servant, Arthur buried his nose in the parchment again. "It can't be far now." He blinked and widened his eyes to force down his fatigue. "Can't b-be—" He yawned, and snapped, crunching the map in his fists. "For godssake! What I wouldn't do for some bloody rest!"

Gwaine took a halfhearted shot with his sling at a pheasant as it fluttered from the bushes in an explosion of wings, but he missed by several feet. The pebble ricocheted off a tree and hit Merlin in the jaw.

"Ooh, so close," Gwaine said sleepily, oblivious to the warlock's grunt of pain and annoyance.

It wasn't until a while later that Merlin was able to talk to Lancelot about the troubles of the other night. He and the knight were riding twenty paces behind the other two, and they felt isolated enough to talk.

"It was like something was repelled me, and then trapped me. I couldn't do anything, not even retreat," Merlin said softly, still fearing of being overheard. "I thought something was trying to keep me away, but it punished me first for meddling. I had to...go into the dream to fetch Arthur out, which is so unlike anything I've ever had to do before. It was the longest time I've ever seen another's nightmare with my own eyes." He shuddered. "It was bloody awful."

"What did you see?"

Merlin avoided Lancelot's gaze, and focused on a thrush singing away the evening. He couldn't tell the man what he saw, could he? What would the knight think if he said, "Oh, yeah, mate. I saw Smokie the horse looking like a half-rotten corpse, ridden by a man in black armour called Mėtû who was screaming, 'Ňocte'ĕquả—!'"

It hit him then. And he felt like slapping himself for not realizing it earlier.

Smokie had been won from the dark knight weeks ago by Arthur, before the nightmares haunted the halls and souls of Camelot. Merlin had sensed tainted tendrils in the horse's essence, but never truly gave it any thought. Even when the beast yelled his vërum nσmί, his true name, so long ago, he just...

And the village. All was well and swell before they'd arrived – before they came with the steel-coated mare. The Ňocte'ĕquả. The Night Mare.

"Saints alive," Merlin whispered, heart thudding.

"Oi, men!" Arthur yelled over his shoulder. "I've found the bridge! Pick up the pace!"

"Arthur, wait a moment—" Merlin kicked his bay's ribs, but the stubborn beast snorted and tossed its head in refusal. "Hold on!" He kicked again, harder, and the bay moved into a clumpy trot. Arthur and Gwaine were just rounding the corner, vanishing from sight. "I said wait a second!" Merlin roared, and smacked his horse's rump. Grumbling, the beast finally bounded into a loping canter.

Lancelot hard on his heels, Merlin rounded the bend after his companions, to see them crossing a stone, moss-swarmed bridge.

"Arthur! Get off Smokie!"

Arthur glanced over his shoulder, frowning. "Merlin, are you mad? What—" Suddenly, the mare stopped and went as taunt as a bow string. "Something's wrong with this horse," the prince muttered as she ignored the nudging of his boots.

"It isn't a horse! Get off!"

"Merlin—" Arthur was silenced as the mare suddenly started to toss her head, turn in circles and kick out violently. Merlin's bay skidded to a halt, refusing to approach the mad horse.

The prince was helpless. Even as he tried to curb the beast, Smokie twisted her head and tore the reins right from his hands with her teeth, and galloped down the road.

Merlin gave the bay the hardest slap in the haunches yet, and, with a whinny, the beast was off, after the Night Mare, ears flat.

"What the hell is going on?" Lancelot demanded, galloping beside Merlin.

"It's a trap, all of it! We must stop that—that—thing!" He dug his heels into the bay's sides once more and gave a loud, "Ya!"

Gwaine wheeled his steed about, back onto the road. It had danced away when Smokie went berserk, but now it bolted down the path after the others. It surpassed Merlin's bay and Lancelot's chestnut, though it was clear none of them would be able to catch the Night Mare.

The trail got worse and worse as they continued. Old branches and roots endangered every stride, threatening to entangle a hoof and send the rider flying. Yet they pushed on regardless, bending their concentration on saving their prince.

Merlin's eyes watered as a branch whipped him across the face, but he shook his head and bowed lower over the bay's pounding neck. He could only just see a blur of grey down the path, which faded with every galloping pace. "No, no, no."

Suddenly, they burst into a clearing. Hooves clopped over ancient cobblestones as the racing companions craned their necks to see the top of the tall, crumbling battlements of Mitheras. Arthur was clinging to Smokie's saddle for dear life as the beast charged across an old drawbridge over a moat, and through the castle's jaw that was the rusted portcullis.

The portcullis began to close after the prince.

The pursuing comrades were thirty paces away...twenty-five...they weren't going to make it...twenty...it was halfway closed...fifteen...ten—

"Firmąe tenēnt!"

With the screech of old machinery, the portcullis ground to a halt. The riders flattened themselves against their horses and just skimmed through. As Lancelot passed under last, Merlin released the magic, and the gate fell with a loud clang!

Gwaine stopped and glanced back at the portcullis, puzzled. The other two did their best to appear equally stunned.

"That was weird," said Lancelot, looking anywhere but Gwaine and focusing on their surroundings.

The first thing they noticed was the silence. There were no people, no dogs, cats, or even birds. The empty, abandoned courtyard they stood in was pale and cold. In the centre was a weathered statue of a man holding a halberd, his once noble face unrecognizable to the travellers. The courtyard was surrounded by a crumbling wall, and three paths left the area through archways. Even though they listened hard, they could not hear the clopping hooves of the Night Mare, and so couldn't tell where the creature had taken Arthur. They chose the middle archway, moving at a cautious trot.

The going did not get better. The buildings they passed made the courtyard seem a garden of flowers. Devoid of colour, the sad houses and other structures loomed over them sorrowfully, groaning and creaking in pain. Shreds of cloth in windows and doorways wavered in the breeze like mourner veils. Two miles away, a dark, rectangular tower dominated the horizon beneath the grey sky of thunderheads.

They passed a dead tree blackened by fire and age. It was impossible to tell what kind of tree it once was, but it was still strong enough to hold the gibbet, which swung gently from one branch. The occupier was, of course, long deceased, a boney arm stretched out for aid that never came. The gibbet continued to creak sadly from the tree as the companions hasted on.

An invisible force prevented Merlin from calling out for the kidnapped prince. It was a different force than the one that would prevent a rock from being thrown into a calm, tranquil pool. It was also separate from the will to not speak in a silent cathedral. This was a different power, an oppression, which was pushed upon by the dead city of Mitheras, one that he wouldn't dare—

"Aaaarrthuuuuur!"

—But apparently, Gwaine had other boundaries.

The echoing bellow made no difference, however, except to startle the already tense horses. Their eyes rolled to show whites, and their ears never relaxed despite the soothing pats the riders gave them as they came to a town square.

The square, as dismal as the rest of the city, split into three other streets. In the centre was a large rectangular well.

"Thirsty anyone?" asked Gwaine cheerfully.

A strange feeling of being too exposed encouraged the knights to kick their steeds into a canter, but before Merlin followed suit, he leaned over and looked down into the abyss of the well. It was darker than pitch, and there was a steady drip reverberating up the stone sides. When an explosive splash sounded from the shadows of the shaft, Merlin kicked his horse so hard, it squeaked as it bounded after the knights.

Thunder roiled overhead, and the bay abruptly stopped again despite Merlin's edging. "Come on, you stubborn..."

"Wyvern!"

Hairs on the back of his neck stood to see which was longest as the screeching wail of wyvern filled the air, and six dragon-like creatures swarmed overhead. They dove down at the riders, howling hungrily. Lancelot was immediately knocked from his horse, his drawn sword sent flying.

"Lancelot, no!" Gwaine roared helplessly as the brave knight was snatched up by a screaming wyvern and carried into the air. Another creature followed the first, biting and clawing to grab the prize for itself. They flew for the looming tower, shrieking.

Merlin's bay bucked in terror, and made to bolt, but the warlock forced the beast to aim towards Gwaine, who was fighting off two more wyvern.

"Get out of here, Merlin!" Gwaine bellowed, as his panicking horse died with a single tail slash from an attacking monster. The knight jumped free of the saddle, but was grabbed from behind by greedy demi-dragon claws.

"No!"

Merlin stood in the stirrups to grasp for Gwaine's hands and feet as the ruffian was dragged into the sky overhead, but he caught nothing but wind, and the knight was lifted away after the first, snapping insults all the way.

Merlin latched on to the saddle pommel as the bay hurtled over the corpse of Gwaine's white, and then galloped down a main street.

With the teeth-grinding wail of a wyvern, Merlin glanced over his shoulder and saw them in hot pursuit. One swooped, claws outstretched, and the warlock ducked, before yanking on the reins to the right and galloping into a second road. Two wyvern collided as they attempted to turn sharply in the air, but the third bypassed them and dove at Merlin, jaws gaping.

Merlin felt the inherited, commanding voice of the Dragonlord within swell like a flame, and he turned in the saddle, opening his mouth, eyes flashing gold: "Wyvern! Yr wyf yn Emrys! Wyf yn gorchymyn—!"

His horse tripped.

With a small cry, Merlin flew face first to the road and tumbled uncontrollably. His horse somersaulted, squealing, and then scrambled to its feet, eyes lolling. Before the warlock could do anything, it bolted away in a flurry of hooves. Then a wyvern dropped from the sky and pinned Merlin to the ground.

Hot breath gusted into the warlock's face as the monster roared in triumph, his chest crushing under the wyvern's weight. His heart leaped as he felt the talons start to wrap around him, and the beast's wings spread to pump into the air.

"Rhyddhau i mi!"

Hissing submissively, the wyvern ducked its head, folded its wings and released the Dragonlord. The others fell back in meek, reluctant obedience as well, baring teeth but acknowledging the warlock's power.

"Mynd."

With final grumbles of malcontent, the wyvern opened their wings and took to the skies. As they disappeared behind the rooftops, more thunder boiled through the clouds, threatening rain.

Merlin was alone.

† † †

The wind whispered maliciously behind his back as he turned in a circle, unsure of what to do. The right thing would be to go to the tower, of course. But alone? Unarmed? Well, there was nothing to be done about his solitude, but he was never, ever, truly unarmed. As though in encouragement, magic spread its warm wings within his chest and gave a gentle push.

After a couple hesitant steps, Merlin broke into a strong jog, and made confidently for the dark tower. With no weapon, no horse, no plan – just sheer determination.

Being smart is just as important as being brave, he had said once. Well, sometimes what's right outstrips what's important.

Rough Latin translations:
nocte equa: night mare (there was no actual translation for 'nightmare' that I could find)
verum nomi: true name
firmae tenent: hold steady

Extremely rough Welsh translations (it's Google Translate~what can I say?):
Yr wyf yn Emrys! Wyf yn gorchymyn—: I am Emrys! I command—
Rhyddhau i mi: Release me
Mynd: go

Grr, still days away until the next Merlin episode! (grits teeth, jumps around impatiently...stops) ...but...there are so few eps left... D8