Merlin has been on hunts before. Been on quests and campaigns and everything imaginable. He's never been on one quite like this. The forest is calm and freeing. True, there is a restlessness in Merlin's bones and the forest feels empty and unfulfilling but it so much better than the castle.
Elyan follows him. The sound of horse hooves is hammering into Merlin's mind but Elyan is out of sight at least. Out of sight, not out of mind.
Merlin fiddles with the reins and saddle and bags. Kilgharrah would get Merlin to Nemeth so much faster. Merlin hadn't felt comfortable calling him. Too afraid of how he might appear. Dragons were noble creatures once. Still are.
There are shadows moving at the edges of Merlin's vision. Only the edges. It's wonderful. Merlin watches the trees, finding more focus and calm than he's had in what feels like a very long time, focus and calm that he was worried he might never find again.
The horse, however, is quickly picking up on Merlin's restlessness. Merlin shifts in the saddle every few moments, not quite feeling right. The horse beneath him gains a hesitation to an exponentially increasing number of steps. A need to move but not quite sure where.
They stop only to water and feed the horses. To give them a brief rest.
Elyan doesn't approach Merlin and Merlin is grateful. Beyond grateful. He coils around the edges of Merlin's mind instead, rattling and shadowy.
Merlin means to lose him at some point. Set up camp and feign sleep and disappear in the night. He doesn't quite manage it. They take a brief break during the next day and continue on, blessed with silence—conversation wise, at least. All other sounds are roars to Merlin. He is grateful to Elyan. He doesn't think he could handle the sweltering, crackling flame of conversation.
Merlin means to lose him, he really does. The problem is that the idea of it is eating away at him. Screaming at him. He can't abandon Elyan. A knight of Camelot. A friend. He just can't.
So he settles for the sharp stabs of coward and fool and presses on.
He's expecting to be attacked by bandits at some point. Or Morgana. Or just good old-fashioned thugs.
The forest is calm.
It's unsettling. Merlin is waiting for the attack. Prepared for it. He has to be prepared for it. Always prepared.
The dark splotches at the edges of his vision start to encroach ever farther, ever closer. Merlin ignores it. He tries to ignore it.
Where's the attack? The swordsmen, the creature, the spirit? Maybe it's a trap. It's starting to feel like a trap. Everything feels like a trap.
The more unsettled and restless Merlin becomes, the louder everything around him becomes.
Where's the attack?
There's a rustle of leaves—a monstrous sound. And Merlin spins, searching. Searching, searching, searching, bracing. There's nothing. Merlin can't stop moving his hands and fingers and feet.
They should definitely be attacked soon. Or maybe the attack was on the other group—the one Merlin abandoned. Oh, he's failed them. He's doomed them. Stole Elyan from them and left them to defend themselves when half of them are no more than servants who have never wielded a blade outside a kitchen knife. He should go back. Right? He should definitely go back.
Merlin turns his horse.
Elyan crashes to a halt. "What are you doing?" he hisses, head scraping Merlin's across vision as it tilts.
"I…don't know." Merlin turns back around and keeps going.
The forest is calm and Merlin doesn't like it. The forest is never calm. Never empty like this.
Merlin's ribs hurt. Every hoofbeat jars them. They jar his head too. And his legs and arms are sore. Merlin barely notices. Merlin doesn't notice. Pain doesn't hinder him. Shouldn't hinder him. Can't hinder him.
They cross into Nemeth before night falls. Gedref is close.
Merlin will be punished when he gets back to Camelot. Should be punished. For screwing up like this. For abandoning everything and everyone and stealing Elyan and a horse and all these supplies. But not coming was killing him.
The air is thick in the forest. It's thick in the castle, too. Thick everywhere. It winds around Merlin's throat and swallows his words. As coarse as rope. The air is thick, the sky is dark, the wind is screaming.
Gedref is close. They'll be there soon.
Merlin loses his focus. He is restless. He needs to do something and he's not sure what but whatever he's currently doing is not enough. He adjusts his form again, settling his weight to one side and then rolling it back to the other one.
Merlin loses his focus. And for some reason the world is against him so of course that's when Elyan chooses to pull up beside him.
"We've reached Gedref," Elyan's rattling voice is venom through Merlin's eardrums.
"Right, good, yeah."
"You know where the castle is?"
It hurts being so close to him. Merlin closes his eyes and tilts away. He fiddles with his saddle bag. "I have a map…" A servant is always prepared. Over-prepared. Ready for all eventualities.
Elyan nods and pulls back and Merlin can breathe again.
The castle is close. They'll be there soon.