I'll bet Vraal looks like a cuddly kitten to you compared to Wanderers and banshees, eh? No?

~14~ The Highwayman

"You guys hear that?" Gwaine held perfectly still, looking off into the distance, a frown on his brow.

"What?" Elyan stopped behind him and scanned the fog.

"Shh."

The four remaining companions stilled and strained their ears. Sure enough, another high-pitched scream reverberated across the swamp, unhindered by the mists like other sounds were.

"What the hell is it?" asked Leon, advancing and coming to a halt beside Bain.

The bard was grim. In fact, he hadn't truly appeared his jolly self since they entered Wraith Marsh. "A banshee," he said. "And she's probably found your friend."

"...Not Merlin!" Gwaine gasped, outraged.

"Arthur is straight this way, according to the teeth, so who else could it be? Other than some very unfortunate explorer, which I doubt. Not many brave these treacherous waters..."

Gwaine glared at the hunter as though it was his fault Merlin was in danger. "I'm going after him."

"But what about Arthur?" Leon demanded, though he seemed as equally torn as the other knight.

"You go on." Gwaine tore his gloves off with his teeth and passed them to Bain. "Use these to find us once you've got Arthur."

"Sing to her," said the bard, and nodded in insistently as the knight frowned in confusion. "A human singing appears to throw banshees off. And here." Bain tossed Gwaine something pale and malleable. "Wax. Put it in your ears when you get close, to block out her shriek. You'll be helpless otherwise."

"Fine."

"I'll come with you," said Elyan, stepping up beside him.

Gwaine waved him away. "No. Though I loathe to say it, Arthur is our first priority. Merlin is our friend but he still just a—" He cut himself off. "Go, get Arthur, then find us."

Ψ Ѫ Ψ

He ran until his lungs were on fire and his legs were spent. Leaning against the crooked, twisted trunk of a dead tree, Arthur rested, waiting for his knees to stop shaking, which took a fair amount of time. He had left the devilish creature and its haunting lantern behind long ago, but the thought of it following unnerved him, as much as he hated to admit it.

He had gone roughly in the direction from where he'd tailed the grey figure with its ghost light, in hope that his companions were trying to track him. Nothing looked familiar, and he felt the most undesirable feeling of hopelessness uncoil in his chest. He scanned the marsh, searching where the eternal fog allowed, and then suddenly heard a high-pitched shriek in the distance.

Perking like a startled bird, he raised his head and looked to the direction from whence it came, frowning. It made his ears tingle, not pleasantly, and he was glad he was no closer than he was. After a while, it stopped, only to start up again a few seconds later.

Arthur shivered. No natural creature could make such a sound. It must be some new type of foul inhabitant of the swamp, one he didn't relish meeting himself, not after the grey figure with the lantern.

As the horrid wail rose for a third time, the king continued on, as straight as he could, calling out occasionally for his companions. Once he thought he heard his name, but when he hurried in that direction, he found nothing, not even when he tried to regain the brief communication. He figured that it had just been his imagination.

When he saw the small but noticeable black hill rearing up in the fog, he again thought it his imagination. He soon came to realize that it was as real as his own nose, and he started to climb it. Emboldened, he hastened to its peak, eager to get proper bearings. At the top, he beheld a lone tree, its branches not barren like every other for miles around, its tallest twig barely reaching above Arthur's shoulder.

He touched its tear-drop leaves, silver in the moonlight, believing without a doubt that he was the first to do so for many years. Taking a deep breath, he tore his gaze from the single beauty left in the desolate land and scanned the marshes. The slit of moon cast the fog a silvery sheen. Then his eyes passed over three ebony triangles that were the peaks of buildings, and his attention remained trapped with them instead.

He focused on them, judging them to be at least a mile away. The fog must lift in these parts, else he wouldn't have seen them at all.

Should he go to them? Arthur bit his lip, contemplating. The last time he entered an abandoned building, he was faced by something...not human. What else could he do? Wandering about mindlessly in the god-forsaken place was none too appealing, even though he had been doing it for the past hour. Perhaps if he at least explored the three buildings, he might find them completely deserted and safe, and he could rest there. At least finding out if the place was barren or not would lay his mind at rest.

He glanced once more at the lone, forgotten tree, and then descended down the hill, back into the sea of mist.

Ψ Ѫ Ψ

There weren't very many obstacles to bar his way, but Gwaine found it difficult to track where he had heard the initial banshee scream without wavering from a straight line. He kept his hand on the pommel of his sword, eyes constantly watching the fog.

He had gone into nearly a sprint as he heard a third scream, and his urgency battled with his caution until they reached a compromise. He jogged briskly, slowing every time he heard something amiss or saw movement through the fog. There wasn't ever anything there.

The mists lifted slightly, and Gwaine sighed with relief. He thought he was going to develop claustrophobia in the hellish place, especially when the lifeless greyness prevented him from seeing his outstretched arm. Now, he could see to about forty paces, and therefore, the black structures that could only be houses were clearly visible.

He paused, watching for movement and listening for sounds, and was rewarded for his caution. Rhythmic splashes sounded to his right, and he drew his sword. The signature hiss of unsheathing blade was echoed, and Gwaine blinked. Another swordsman?

"Who's there?" he demanded, bracing himself as he turned towards the sound.

"I was about to ask the same thing." Arthur stepped from the mists, an indifferent expression dominating his face. There was a grin flickering beneath the stolid mouth.

"Oh, it's you," Gwaine grunted, sheathing his sword, equally impassive. He couldn't hide the snickering glitter in his eye.

"Looking for someone, are you?" The king replaced Excalibur in its scabbard and approached the knight.

"Aye – Merlin. You seen him around?"

Arthur pretended to think for a bit, a thoughtful look on his face, biting his lip. Then he shook his head. "No, not for a while. I'd actually hoped that he was with you."

"Ditto...With you, I mean. It would be better than where we have supposed him to be."

"Which is?"

"In the clutches of a banshee."

"Ah." Arthur nodded casually, gaze down and eyebrows raised. "Well, I suppose we should go find him."

"Yep."

"Try these houses?"

"Why not? Oh, and here." Gwaine passed him some wax from his pocket and instructed him to put them into his ears. "Banshee shrieks are nasty, evidently."

The knight and king stalked briskly though the sludgy pools towards the trio of buildings, hands on the pommels of their swords, and both spontaneously saw the ragged figure floating a foot off the ground near a second form, who was lying limp half in, half out of the water. The suspended figure, a woman, the banshee, was chanting arcane words and holding high a down-turned dagger. The lifeless shape on the ground was undoubtedly—

"Merlin," Gwaine and Arthur said in unison, nodding at each other but barely catching the word spoken between them, due to the wax in their ears.

The banshee heard them and turned, a grey veil of hair concealing her face. Her torn, stained red dress wavered soundlessly in an nonexistent breeze, her sleeves long as they hung from scrawny wrists. A great hole where her heart should be was like a grotesque window to the swamp behind her.

The king and his knight glanced towards each other again, both withholding expressions of distaste.

"Why is that we always come across the most foul creatures in Albion?" asked Arthur loudly, after Gwaine pulled the wax from one ear to hear. The knight shrugged wordlessly, mouth slightly twisted and eyes rolling as he replaced the wax.

"We're from Camelot. What d'you expect?"

Like a ghostly spectre, the banshee drifted towards the two men, and Arthur was obliged to ask, "What are you doing to our friend?"

She paused, but any expression was hidden by her mask of hair. The king pulled out the wax from one ear like Gwaine, wincing as he did so, and enquired once more. "What are you doing with our friend, you mangy hag?"

And then the banshee began to hum. The captivating tone embraced Arthur's cleared ear, and his thoughts immediately drifted from his concern for his fallen friend to the graceful beauty of the angelic melody. Gwaine must have seen the bedazzled, yet undeniably blissful look on the king's face, for he also took the wax from one ear again.

"Sweet pineapples," he gasped, exaggerated coolness gone. Arthur simply stared dumbly.

Though they did not know it, they had succumbed to the banshee's enchantment just as quick as Merlin, and so they, too, were helpless as the spectre's veil of hair suddenly flew back, exposing the grey skin and unnaturally long jaw that emphasized her gnarled face. The ghastly, unearthly shriek that emitted from her stretched maw forced them to their knees, screaming in pain and holding the sides of their heads.

"The wax!" Gwaine roared, but his hands betrayed him and refused to halt their fruitless efforts to defend him.

Arthur writhed, falling onto his side as blood dripped from his unprotected ear, his sword forgotten and submerged in a pool nearby. He cursed again and again, unable to hear even himself over the hellish din of the banshee. Putting his head beneath the water was just as ineffective.

And then Gwaine screamed, in a gracefully, almost singing-like manner, the most unsuspecting words ever.

"The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas—"

The banshee stopped screaming just as Arthur yelled, "GWAINE?"

The knight ignored both him and the woman, eyes closed, but his tone lowered to a more smooth, peaceful tone as he continued.

"The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding, riding, riding,
The highwayman came riding up to the old inn door."

Arthur stared at the man in astonishment, not even noticing the banshee's peculiar movements as she winced and cringed as though in pain. Gwaine was actually singing. And not only that, but he was good!

"Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred."

"Gwaine, what are you doing?" Arthur thought the knight had finally lost it all, but Gwaine suddenly made an impatient chopping motion with his hand, and then pointed at the banshee. The king glanced at her, and blinked to see that she was waving her arms as though to ward off an invisible enemy. Her lifeless hair had fallen back over her face, and slowly, but indubitably, she was retreating, floating back towards where Merlin remained prone.

"He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there,
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair."

Without pausing, Gwaine indicated to the servant as he walked forward, singing at the banshee. Arthur understood immediately and snatched up Excalibur before making his way over to Merlin, eyes never leaving the cursed woman. As he stood above him, he nudged him with his boot, and was relieved to feel him stir.

"Merlin? Merlin, are you all right? Can you stand?"

There was no reply. Arthur finally looked down, alarm breaching his defences, and realized that even though he was conscious, Merlin was too weak to stand. The king cursed once more, then sheathed his sword and knelt down. He grasped his faithful servant by the arm and leg before throwing him across both shoulders, despite his feeble protests.

"Hold still, idiot," Arthur grunted, walking easily over to Gwaine, who sung still to fend off the banshee. "Let's go."

The knight continued to release his heart in a surprisingly graceful voice as they retreated from the three houses, leaving the hellish creature, furious but helpless, behind to suffer through solitude forever more.

For over a mile Gwaine sang, Arthur joining if he knew the lyrics, until they were absolutely certain that they were alone. Only then did the king lower Merlin to the soft, mossy ground and turn him onto his back to inspect him. He was relieved to see that the servant was breathing normally, but he was twitching erratically, as though in a haunting nightmare.

"Did Bain mention what banshees do to people?" Arthur asked, composure calm but insides roiling like an ocean storm.

"I'm afraid not," Gwaine replied grimly. He lifted Merlin's eyelid, noticing that the iris was looking up as though asleep, but then flinched, hand retracting, when the servant suddenly looked at him. His pupils were dilated, the sapphire rings around them almost entirely consumed by blackness.

Merlin sat up, sending the others back a little, and paused. He wiggled a finger in one ear before shaking his head. He did the same thing again, an expression of horror spreading across his features.

The king swore. He only had a feeling of cotton in one ear, and that was only from one banshee shriek. Merlin had suffered through three, now four, not protected at all. By the way he continued to paw at his bloodied ears, he must only be...

"Merlin, can you hear me?" Arthur enunciated loudly, tapping the servant's shoulder so that he would look at him. "Can—you—hear—me?"

The youth simply looked from the king's left eye to his right and back again as though searching for an explanation of his deafness in Arthur's gaze.

Tearing away from the contact, Arthur faced Gwaine, discipline keeping his features level and stern; in reality, he wanted to punch something in fury at his servant's unjust fate.

"Great," he grumbled. "Now how am I supposed to tell him what to do?"

"We should wait here for Bain," the knight said calmly, his own internal struggles evident in his tense posture. "We were following your trail when we heard the banshee shrieks. It may take an hour or so, but..." Gwaine fell from squatting on his heels to sitting on his backside, and there he rested, staring at Merlin, arms on his knees. The servant, for his part, did not break down or otherwise show signs of despair, but sat silently, wiping the tickling red rivulets from the sides of his jaw.

Arthur sat beside him, only for the servant to point inquiringly at his bloodied ear. "I'm fine," he grunted, but at Merlin's puzzled expression, bellowed, "I'M FINE!"

Ψ Ѫ Ψ

It was horrible, sitting still and struggling not to fiddle with his ears because they felt like they could be cleared simply by pulling the tufts of fluff that had lodged themselves inside. Merlin remained as motionless as his two companions, who occasionally threw him furtive looks when they thought he wasn't paying attention. He endured the monotonous ringing in his head and watched the moon when the fog dissipated a little, blinking when he thought he saw something fly in front of it. He disregarded it a moment later, figuring that it was merely his imagination.

After a while, Merlin got too restless to sit still anymore and stood. He hunted around for any dry wood for several minutes, but in vain. That was to be expected, anyway. Sitting back down on a boulder, he rested his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands, nonchalant and bored.

He heard what sounded like a dull throb, and then something mushy hit him, making him stiffen in alarm.

Faintly, he detected, "They're here, idiot!"

With a withering look at Arthur, who had thrown a giant mushroom to get his attention, Merlin stood and glanced about, noticing Elyan, Leon, and Bain emerging from the fog. He took no real participation in the relieved greetings, but smiled and nodded where appropriate and let Arthur explain his lack of communication.

He tried to read their lips as they told each other what had transpired since the unfortunate separation of them all, but mostly failed. Then Bain turned to him and said something, but he just stared dumbly, pointing uselessly at the sides of his head. He jumped as Arthur bellowed in his ear (though it sounded like he was screaming through several layers of thick blanket), "He said there's a chance that you'll hear again!"

"THAT'S GREAT!" Merlin roared back, and Arthur retreated a step, looking as though someone had bashed a pair of giant cymbals in his face. The servant flushed, glancing sheepishly at his astounded companions.

"Damn, I didn't know you could be that loud, at least when you're not afraid," joked Gwaine, but as Merlin leaned closer, hand cupping his ear, he cried, "I SAID—!"

"No, that's enough!" Leon barked impatiently with a wave of his hand.

Ψ Ѫ Ψ

Though they could not make a fire, they made camp on the highest patch of ground they could and tried to keep in good spirits. Merlin unravelled his sleeping roll slightly apart from the others and pretended to fall asleep so that they would leave him alone. There he waited until his watch, six hours into the night.

It had been debated whether Merlin should have a watch at all, seeing as he wouldn't be able to hear anyone coming, but when they told (or rather, yelled at) him to just take the whole night off, the servant insisted that he have a watch, reminding them that he still had his eyes.

As he'd planned, they agreed, but gave him the shortest watch of only an hour and a half. It was all the time he needed.

While the moon crept back into its warm covers that were the horizon, Merlin waited as Elyan crawled into his bed roll, now done with his watch, and tried to sleep. Pulling his water-impermeable blanket tighter around his shoulders, Merlin scanned the mists, but there wasn't much to see. He lost interest when nothing happened.

He recited a chosen spell once more in his head before opening his mouth and letting it run smoothly and quietly over his tongue.

A peculiar, tingling, but not necessarily unpleasant sensation tickled his ears, making him twitch and look like he had ants in his pants. As all the miniscule bones healed inside his head, taking all of two minutes, he was overwhelmed by the raucous snores from his sleeping companions, but to him it was a symphonic angel choir. He could hear again!

Within moments, Merlin had magicked both Arthur and Gwaine into an even deeper sleep, to prevent them from waking as their ears were healed as well. They twitched and sluggishly pawed the side of their heads as though dozily swatting away a mosquito, but they remained asleep through the whole procedure, and Merlin was able to enjoy his watch, knowing that everyone's auditory abilities were safe.

Once, in the far distance, he heard a shrill shriek, but he sang softly to himself as the haunting sounded echoed away from existence, leaving only silence over the moor.

Credit to the poem (in the public domain ~ I checked) by Alfred Noyes, "The Highwayman." Great poem, lovely song, especially when sung by Loreena McKennitt :)