AN:So, I've come back to this, because I guess I was feeling angsty aha.
I received phenomenal comments by you guys about this one (and some rather threatening PMs to continue it haha).
To say that I was floored is an understatement in the least. I recently went through a bit of a tough time (my dog was killed) and reading comments like that cheered me up and I realized my creativity, my writing is what helps the most.
So here I am.
Hopefully you like the second chapter. Leave me a comment if you like it ! :)
Chapter 2: A Legend Re-Written
{"And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief" - William Cullen Bryant}
The silence in the aftermath of the collapse was deafening. Where Merlin had stood seconds before, in pain and in resignation, was now indecipherable from the snowy wasteland surrounding them. Arthur knelt on the ground, having been pulled back from the entrance by Percival's strong grip. He stared blankly at the broken heap of stone and snow in front of him, the comprehension evading him.
The others around him were silent. There weren't words that could adequately fill the space and there was no one willing to attempt it. Suddenly, Arthur shot into action, darting forward, still on his knees and scrabbling at the frozen ground with his bare hands, now beginning to pinken dangerously in the frosty temperatures of the mountain.
"No no no no no." Arthur muttered, the words growing more frenzied the longer he clawed at the snow, struggling to get up and forward and stumbling in the process. "No. No. NO. Merlin. Merlin? Merlin!" The last was said with such emotion that Lancelot could do little else other than look away. Gwaine hadn't moved since the mountain had come down, Elyan was softly speaking to him, trying to draw him out, leaving Lancelot, Percival, and Leon to deal with their King.
Arthur shoved a large boulder from the entrance away with the strength of pure emotion, the expression on his face quickly morphing into something that the others hadn't seen before. The movement caused the other rocks to move from their positions and come raining down in a minor slide. One clipped Arthur in the head, opening a gash on the left side of his head, staining the gold hair crimson, but he paid it no mind, continuing to scratch at the stones until his fingers were starting to become bloody.
Leon moved forward hesitantly, putting a hand on Arthur's shoulder, only to have it shrugged off in his haste to continue with his efforts. Leon took a critical look at the situation and sighed. He grabbed at the King again, this time more forcefully.
"Sire -"
"Let go - "
"Sire, pl-"
"I said unhand me!" Leon firmly pulled Arthur away from the wall of stones, expertly ducking from the blows that Arthur was inelegantly trying to land on his assailant. Nevertheless, the knight kept a strong grip on his struggling armful.
"It's futile, Your Highness, he would have never have survived - "
"I said LET GO! I have to save him! He could be in there !"
"He won't - "
"I can't leave him alone - "
"You cannot stay!" Leon began to drag him down the mountains, with the others following him, all of them casting glances back to the collapsed castle. They knew it was useless to attempt to dig out the place by themselves, their best bet would be to return with reinforcements, hoping that Merlin would somehow keep himself alive – if he was alive.
"I'll die here if I have to ! I'm NOT leaving without him!"
"You must!"
"Why can't you see that I can't leave?!"
"And then what becomes of Camelot?! If you perish here, in the cold, like a beast on the mountains, what will become of Camelot, heirless and defenseless against her enemies?! The Kingdom your ancestors protected on threat of their lives?"
The wind howled through, cutting through cloth and skin, chilling them to the bones. Distantly they could hear the bugles of Ealdor, signaling the beginnings of a blizzard and the warning to find shelter urgently.
The mention of Camelot caused Arthur to stop fighting against Leon's hold. He slumped against the man, whose back was towards their prison, though he faced it.
"I killed him."
"We don't know that he's dead yet, Sire."
"If we don't return by sun up tomorrow, he will be." Some vestiges of Arthur's logical sense finally shone through the hysteria of moments earlier.
It wasn't until Leon had managed to drag Arthur more than halfway down the mountain that they first heard it. Half frozen as the blizzaerd picked up and the wind numbing their extremities, a low, mournful whine echoed through the mountain, freezing them to the spot and chilling them to the core. There was something about the sound that was so injured. They were shocked still, the sound filling the snow covered forest almost unbearable.
Gwaine and Arthur, half mad with hope and fear, turned back only to be held back by Leon and Percival, who looked rather shaken themselves.
"I know, Sire. I can hear it, but we don't have any proof that it's him, and in this weather, going back there means suicide. We must return to Camelot now. If he is alive, we must return to the kingdom, bring more soldiers and properly search for Merlin."
It was the first time anyone had said his name since the Castle had collapsed, and the name was already feeling foreign to him. He couldn't shake the last image he had of the man, bare chested and eyes flashing from human to feral constantly and in consistent pain. What were the chances that the servant had survived? Would he want to be rescued even if he had? He was caught between man and beast, neither one or the other. Would he not wish for death? What if he was rescued and the man wanted nothing more than death? Would Arthur be his curse or his savior?
There was another moment of silence as the King visibly fought with himself. He couldn't fathom the thought of continuing to Camelot, the very act feeling like a betrayal, but he could also no longer trust his own judgment. If he were to continue like this, it would be as Leon said, they would perish in the cold and Camelot would be left vulnerable.
In the end, Gwaine made the decision for them. He turned to the direction of Ealdor, and listlessly began to walk.
Normally, the sight of Camelot's turrets rising above the horizon never failed to inspire a sense of pride in the King whenever he approached his Kingdom. This time however, it only made his heart heavier. He dreaded the idea of having to tell Gaius what had happened, even if there was a slight chance they would find Merlin alive when they went back.
His expression firm, he decided that he would stay only long enough to switch horses and gather more supplies before heading back out to rescue his manservant.
The rest of the Knights had been subdued the entire trip back, each lost in their own thoughts. They had been expecting a fight, even maybe to experience a few casualties, such was the fate of a Knight, but no one had considered the genuine risk their quests placed on the servants they brought along. Merlin had been nothing but a servant boy, a mouthy but efficient one.
Now, he was most likely lying dead under a pile of rocks, alone in a cavernous mountain with no one but the beasts to keep him company.
It was with somber faces that they rode up to the castle, their eyes set and mouths grim. Gwenievere, having received word that the King had arrived, was waiting at the front steps of the palace, ready to take his things from him.
It took her less then four seconds to realize something had gone horribly wrong. Lancelot could see her eyes rove over their party and immediately realize that they were returning short of one person. She looked up at the King as he ascended the stairs.
"Where's Merlin?" The question was slightly alarmed, and when she received no response, she grabbed at Arthur's arm.
"Arthur. Where's Merlin?" If there was one thing that Arthur could wish he could forget, it would have been the look of utter devastation on Gwen's face and of that on the face of his Royal Physician.
Arthur looked at her, and for the briefest moment, Gwenivere couldn't see anything but crippling fear, and stumbled back at the intensity of it. She looked to Elyan and Lancelot next as the others passed.
"No." It was barely a whisper, but Gwenievere didn't need much else to understand what the solemn looks of the Knights meant. If Merlin was alive they would be in a flurry to rescue him, but to be this sombre, something far out of the realm of the regular must have happened.
The last of the Knights filed past into the castle, leaving Gwenivere with Gaius, both of whom just stood there in shock. Suddenly, there were shouts and the clanging of armor coming off the stone floor inside. Gaius, though shaken managed to turn and amble inside, deciding to deal with what he could first. Gwen followed him as well, hitching up her skirts and running when she caught sight of Arthur and his entire company of Knights, collapsed and struggling to move. Arthur was the most stubborn of the lot, brought to his knees but refusing to collapse, despite the sweat pouring off his brow from the effort.
"Sire!" The castle guards and maids were beside themselves while Gaius knelt by each of them, trying to determine their symptoms. Gwenivere could see that they were struggling to breathe, the skin becoming pale in comparison and the perspiration dampening their hair.
"What's going on Gaius?"
"This is magic. Terrible magic."
"Are you saying someone's enchanted them?"
"No, I think they were exposed to it, a bit like inhaling pipe smoke for too long, I'd wager. We've got to get them into their chambers. They must rest to recover." At that, Arthur's hand shot out to grip painfully onto Gaius's though the old man didn't flinch in the slightest.
"No-No. I can't – Must get to the mountains – Merlin -" Gaius wiped his eyes, rubbing at the tears that swam unshed at the mention of the young man, unsure of what to say. At this point, a man, from what Gaius could tell, Leon's second in command leaned down to reassure the King.
"Fret not, Sire. We shall set out right now, to retrieve your manservant."
All Arthur could remember after that was mumbling the directions to the castle ruins and then slipping into fitful unconsciousness.
When the King next woke, it was as if his body was made of stone. There was a moment of insanity where he expected the voice of Merlin to come floating down next to his ear, nagging him for letting himself get manhandled by a measly witch. Of course that was when he remembered that he needed to go back, to that mountain, to the infernal prison that had stolen his manservant from him.
Though he couldn't really open his eyes, or generally move, Arthur struggled to move, to sit up, only to find that his attempts to do so were quickly negated by a pair of hands pushing him back down into the bed, (his own he presumed).
"Ler-let go – gotta fin- got to find Mer – Merlin."
"Sire -"
"Gaius?" Arthur managed to pry his eyes open a smidge, enough to see the physician sat by his bedside, with Gwenivere hovering anxiously behind him. The man gave him a small smile, though the King could see that he was haggard, with a few days of hair growing from his chin. The sight gave him pause.
"How long - " God's his voice was ruined.
"3 days, Sire. You have been unconscious for 3 days, Arthur. The best I can guess is that you were exposed to some significantly powerful and evil magic. It left a mark on your bodies, you and your Knights. Those that are not used to living around beings of magic cannot defend themselves against the toll it takes on the human body. It's something like a very bad drinking binge. Except that this one can kill you."
Magic users. His mind went blank, remembering everything that had happened and his hand tightened on the bed clothes.
"My Knights, what happened -?" A powerful bout of coughing wracked him then, stealing the breaths from his lungs and rendering him helpless. Gaius handed him a tumbler full of lukewarm water, which he gulped down greedily, letting it coat his parched throat in warmth.
"Your Knights are no worse off than you, my boy. They too are receiving care from the other maids, under my orders."
Arthur put the cup down, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, finally noticed the soldier stood uncomfortably in the corner of his chambers, his shoulders stiff and his eyes unwittingly betraying the anxiety within. Clearly whatever he had to say wasn't good.
"What is it?" He asked bluntly. Or as bluntly as he could, seeing as he was laid out on his bed like home weakling. He should be out there, in the blizzarding snow he could see swirling past his window, searching for his manservant.
The man jumped, at being so abruptly addressed. After ascertaining that the King was indeed speaking to him, he hesitantly came forward. When he got close enough, Arthur looked at him expectantly, an eyebrow quirked in frustration.
The man cleared his throat and seemed to steel himself.
"Apologies, Sire, for disturbing you. I was – I am -"
"Get on with it."
"Of course Sire." The man gulped again. "I am Sir Bors, I went out with the company of Sir Lamorak, to see if we could find the servan -" One look from Arthur had Lamorak hasitly amending his words. "To see if we could find Merlin."
The change to the King's face was instantaneous. It hadn't changed at all, but the pure naked hope that shone in his eyes was disarming and the Knight quickly said a prayer to the Gods to spare his soul.
He strode to the bed, forcing himself to be as brave as he could be. He had been warned that the King was particularly tetchy when it came to his manservant, though no one could really fathom why.
Lamorak hesitated only slightly before bringing his clenched fist forward and opening it to show the bloody red kerchief within. Arthur's blood ran cold at sight, his heart lurching, the square piece of clothing was folded in half, creating a triangle, and he could spy something within the folds. Reaching out a trembling hand, some part of him noticing the revolting contrast of his clean white skin to the muddy rust iron color of the kerchief, soaked in blood.
Merlin's blood, his mind helpfully supplied.
The King couldn't fathom how truly terrified he was now, in this moment. All he had to do was open the fold and yet his hand only hovered, frightened, above it. He forced himself forward, to quickly flip it open and see, a thin shard of crystal, about as long as his thumb, one half caked in dried blood, resting in the middle.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gaius close his eyes in grief, his throat bobbing with the restraint it took to not cry, and Gwen, a hand over her mouth, horrified. He quickly grabbed the kerchief, clenching it in his fist, his breaths becoming labored.
"Arthur - " Gwenivere tried to rest her hand on his shoulder only to find it shrugged off.
"Get out."
"Wha - "
"Leave." His arm tensed hand over the cloth in his hand, the tendons stretched impossibly.
"Sire -"
"I SAID GET OUT!" Arthur roared, flinging his still half full tumblr at the men at the end of his bed, who all took one look at the distressed man in bed, and turned tail, running out the doors of his chambers. Gaius and Gwenivere soon followed, sending nervous looks his way as he flopped back on to the bed, throwing the arm that held the kerchief over his eyes.
A dry sob escaped his throat, making itself known despite the King's desperate attempts to shove it down. His body shook with unexpressed tears, tears streaming down his face. He didn't understand himself why he was reacting this way, but something inside him just seemed to break at the realization that Merlin was dead. The young King wrenched the covers off of himself and staggered to the table placed next to the fireplace, already stacked high in his 4 day absence from the castle's courts. The sight only enraged him more as he picked up the lot and threw it into the fireplace, letting out a muted grunt of grief as he did so.
Then he noticed the threadbare shirt, sitting folded neatly over the back of the chair placed near Arthur's wash tub. He remembered that Merlin had sat there just the night before they had left, mending it while the boy had incessantly chattered on about Lancelot was definitely trying to woo Gwenivere and his strange realization that it no longer bothered Arthur the way it once had. He lunged toward the shirt, letting out an ungodly yell of rage and sorrow, throwing it as well into the fire, only belatedly realizing that he'd thrown in the kerchief in as well.
"No!" The sound was barely recognizable, raw from disuse and choked with an emotion more striking than he had felt when his Father passed. Arthur scrambled to the fire, haphazardly digging in the glowing embers, for the cloth and the shard of crystal, now so hot from just a moment in the heat, that the blood caked on was cracking and almost liquefying again.
The young King's hands were properly singed by time he managed to pull them out, slumping to the floor in defeat, the shard and the kerchief strewn across the floor. Somehow, the King couldn't help but imagine what it must have been like, to be crushed under the weight of ice, stone and snow.
It then dawned on him, finally, that Merlin, the manservant, the errand boy, the apprentice, Merlin the friend, had died. He would never again wake Arthur up in the morning, he would never mumble snide insults when he thought the King wasn't listening and he would no longer talk back to him. He would never talk again.
The King, who'd resolved to be a man when he took the throne, the one who'd promised his courts and his people that he would never be weak, that he would never bow to despair, lay down on the rug before the blazing fires of his fireplace and sobbed.
Once again he was bereft of that which made him whole.
In the following week, once the King was released from bed rest, if anyone was aware of a new accessory of the King's, a red kerchief tied tightly to his wrist, they knew better than to mention it.
If they noticed how he kept it close to his heart when he talked, it was never addressed.
If they noticed that it was never removed, it was ignored.
If it was noticed that he occasionally clamped a hand around it when stressed, no one breathed a word.
After all, it was customary to wear an item of someone beloved.
Elsewhere, in a mountain, in a cold so deep it became painful, in a land so unforgiving one could break from the slightest misstep, something occurred. No one would know, in the years to follow, that this simple shift, could lead to a new era.
To a new time.
To a new Albion.
And all it took was one moment for a legend to change.
Merlin woke up.
