I have no idea how to do this.
Really, there's absolutely no reason why I could do this. I very much doubt there are instructions to follow when this exact situation has occurred. Nobody can blame me for being clueless here.
Okay, my main goal is getting back to my body. After that...well. Improvisation has worked before. One step at a time.
Assuming, of course, my physical body is still alive.
Shut up, Merlin.
…
Did I just channel Arthur?
Focus, Merlin. You apparently aren't that good at it.
Focus.
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Magic.
Magic.
His papa used magic.
Bedivere was struck dumb. He had seen that look on the woodsman's face before, the one where it looked like he knew something nobody else knew, but he hadn't thought it meant much. It never did mean much.
Now, though, it meant a lot.
The prince jumped up almost the second he hit the ground, and Bedivere shrank back, even though the prince didn't even look at him.
Because for the first time in his life, he saw someone scarier than his papa.
The Knights got up too, but not as fast as the prince. They looked like they were mad.
Bedivere saw the woodsman look at the Knights, then at the scarf man - Merlin. His face twisted, and Bedivere saw him mouth the words "Damn sorcerers."
He didn't actually say it aloud, but Bedivere had heard him say it before. He looked, alarmed, at the Knights, but they didn't seem to be able to read lips.
Think, Bedivere, think!
Bedivere screwed up his face in concentration. He brought the prince and Knights out here, so they were here because of him. That meant that if they got hurt it was his fault. If they died, then it would be his fault too.
The woodsman moved his hand so that it looked like he was grabbing a doorknob and twisted his hand, then his eyes were gold again. They looked odd. Weren't the eyes supposed to be really gold? The woodsman's looked different; a little darker. They were almost reddish-gold.
The Knights shouted, and the dark-skinned one and Sir Gwaine circled around on his right side, while the prince and the dark-straw-haired Knight went around his left. They moved quickly, but Bedivere saw they were being careful.
Which was smart. The woodsman was backing away so he was out of the space between the four Knights, and his eyes were still that strange reddish-gold. That meant he was casting a spell, right? Why wasn't anything happening?
"Step back or I snap him."
Bedivere tried very hard not to freeze up when he heard his pa - the woodsman's voice. It was the same as ever, scary and quiet and hard.
The Knights paused, and Bedivere saw they looked confused. The woodsman's actual words came to him and he frowned also. Snap?
The woodsman said in an even voice, "Right now I have hold of his mind. Let me go, or I will drive him insane."
The Knights stiffened, and a shot of fear spiked through Bedivere. Insane? He would drive the scarf man insane? Like the poet?
The woodsman stood calmly, red-gold eyes burning.
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I suppose the first thing to do is to actually make the effort to get back to my body.
…
Great plan, Merlin. You have an admirable knack for stating the obvious. How exactly are you going to do that?
Well...
What if I concentrate? If I concentrate on getting back to my body with intensity, and I focus on it to the exclusion of everything else, and at the same time direct magic in my concentration, that could work, right? Maybe?
In theory, I suppose.
Well, the only thing left to do is to test it.
Literally, the only thing to do.
If I still had lungs, I would sigh.
This is annoying.
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The woodsman's mind worked at lightspeed.
The job didn't matter anymore. Attempting to complete it from some pigheaded idea of revenge or professional honor was suicidal. The only goal now was to get away alive and intact. Using the sorcerer as a bluff was, quite honestly, the only card he had left to play.
He also had to rein in the side of him that was calling to rush forward, stab and slash and hack and spill blood, gallons of blood to spray the forest floor and coat his skin and pour down his throat until he was full and satisfied, bodies littering the ground, ready to dance in the wind and his magic sated -
The woodsman caught his breath and strained to keep a calm expression on his face as he heard his own blood rushing in his ears, a sign of his magic. Losing control would only end in his death. No rage, however much bloodlust it contained, would be a match for four trained knights.
Hence the need for a bluff. Briefly, he wondered if he actually could drive the sorcerer insane, but discarded the idea. His current spell would take effect soon enough. He had power.
He could wait.
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Bedivere knew the grown-ups couldn't stand still forever.
Something had to happen. The woodsman was very, very smart. He knew that the Knights cared about the scarf man. That meant they wouldn't do anything that would make the woodsman hurt him.
But Bedivere knew the woodsman.
He would hurt him anyway.
Bedivere felt tears sting his eyes. It wasn't fair. He had done his best to save the scarf man, even taking the scroll from the prince's room, which was illegal. Even the fact that the scarf man was a sorcerer didn't mean much. He was still sick, and that meant he needed he -
Wait.
A sorcerer.
The scarf man was a sorcerer.
Bedivere felt the blood drain from his face as the idea hit him.
Energy pumped through him as he looked at the clearing again. He was about eight yards from the scarf man. Not that far to run.
Not that far on a not-hurt foot, that is. Bedivere scowled at his leg. Stupid, stupid, stupid...
He had to save the scarf man. To do that, he would have to reach the scarf man. That meant running across the clearing, which he couldn't do.
Which means he will die.
No. No, the scarf man couldn't die. The prince was his friend, and the dark-skinned Knight and Sir Gwaine and the dark-straw-haired Knight and the pretty lady and the big Knight were all his friends too. It was horrible to lose a friend, like the night boy and the poet and the fine lady who were all strung up in the trees. When he had learned what death was, he had cried himself to sleep.
The scarf man couldn't die.
Bedivere clenched his teeth as he heard a strange rushing sound in his ears. It was wrong, that the scarf man would die and he couldn't do a thing about it, it was wrong the woodsman would hurt him when he had already hurt a lot of other sick people.
So Bedivere would make it right.
He rolled over onto his knees, and stood up.
