A/N: Helllooooooooo. Im late. I know. And after I made that fuss about posting soon. ugh. But here I am! *dodges rocks* Heh Heh. Anywho please follow, favorite and review! I live for the feedback!
Chapter 4: A Lost Man
"Gwaine. Gwaine. Gwaine stop it. That's enough - "
"No -" Gwaine's response became muffled as he gritted his teeth through the exhaustion it caused him to attempt to get up from his bed where he'd lain in frustration for the last three days, "I have to – we've got to go get Merlin."
"Gwaine, there's already a search party gone - "
"No!" The force of the word and the way it erupted from the Knight's mouth startled the others into a shocked silence. "You don't understand, none of you understand. How can I just sit here when Merlin is out there?! Alone?" Gwaine's face became grimace of pain as the remnants of the magical exposure weakened him and made him stumble, finding support in Percival. "He – He – Merlin's the reason I'm here, that I even stay sober half the time – I can't leave him. He's my friend." Gwaine looked around the room, at the rest of them, begging them with his eyes to understand what he couldn't articulate.
"But Gwaine, Gwen already told me this morning that a search party left the day we came back, " Elyan laid a placating hand on Gwaine's arm as the knight leaned against Percival. "they haven't returned yet with news." No one mentioned that the sun had long set with nothing resembling the slightest bit of 'news'. Here Gaius cleared his throat, setting his apothecary kit on the the wooden table in the corner of the drafty room the knights inhabited on the west side of the castle.
"Given the circumstances, I thought it best if King Arthur spoke to you first but seeing as things are getting out of hand I feel you should know - "
"He's gone." The room dropped into a deathly silence as they all turned to find Arthur standing in the doorway. No one knew how long he had been standing there or how much he had heard, but it didn't matter in the wake of the two words the King had flatly said.
Gwaine seemed to blanch, the color draining from his face making him seem bizarrely sick.
"Gone?" The words came out as a hoarse whisper. Lancelot stood up suddenly from his own cot, using the wall for support.
"Are – are you sure?"
"Gone." Arthur repeated, holding out the red kerchief and the white blood crusted crystal, Leon couldn't help but notice in his own detached way that the King's eyes were red rimmed and slightly puffy. Attention to that detail was torn away by the sudden collapse of Gwaine who had gone limp, losing his grip on Percival and gone crashing to his knees on the floor.
"Gone." Gwaine mouthed the words numbly while Gaius struggled to maintain composure, he hadn't even had time to process the news himself and it was all he could do to remain in control.
"He shouldn't have died like that. Alone." Gwaine whispered. Lancelot uncharacteristically growled in frustration.
"He shouldn't have died at all." He seemed to have regained enough strength to knock a bedside table over, huffing over the energy it took. "He was stronger than any of us, stronger than -"
"Strength of your heart or your stupid spirit doesn't help you in battle!" Gwaine yelled finally. Arthur remained silent, still not having crossed over the threshold into the room, as if that mere action would separate him from the grief of the group as a whole. His was hard enough to handle, how was he going to deal with theirs?
"He shouldn't have been with us at all! Merlin was never trained for combat! He never knew how to do anything except run! We all knew this would be dangerous. We knew we were going to end up fighting. Anyone we fight knows we bring Merlin with us! Our very own servant," Gwaine's lip curled in disgust. "As if we were on some kind of leisure trip. Did you see that bitch? The way she went after him? She knew." He rounded on Arthur at this point, still on the floor and now pounding the stone floor with his fist.
"This is your fault! You knew what this could have turned out to be. You knew Merlin couldn't defend himself and you brought him anyway! For what? Entertainment? Someone to distract us when we should have been focusing on that bitch enchantress?" Gwaine's face crumpled then, tears finally breaking through.
"I hate that I can still remember it." His voice became faint under the tears. No one had to ask what he meant. " I hate that I just stood there while the damn roof caved in over him."
The silence after that stretched uncomfortably long before Lancelot spoke.
"I hate that he was tortured because of us."
"Because of me." Arthur's voice shook. The first indicator of emotion since appearing. "Because of a blasted sword that disappeared right after I used the thing." The bitterness in words were acidic, a clear reflection of the guilt he felt.
"It doesn;t matter why he died, what matters is that he's gone." Leon heard himself say. It was odd, he'd had minimal interaction with the manservant, but he felt the death keenly. Like a villager had gotten in the way of a dispute between warring Kingdoms, like he failed in protecting someone who shouldn't have become a casualty at all.
An innocent life lost. Once again, he was left to wonder how many of those who were blameless would perish for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He was sure, that if he were there, Merlin would have said the right thing.
He would have.
Elyan tried to bring back some semblance of control, signaling to the crystal shard still in Arthur's hand.
"Isn't that the crystal from thing on Merlin's chest?" Gwaine's attention was momentarily distracted from his self-loathing. Gaius collected himself long enough to step toward the King and gingerly gesture toward it, wordlessly asking for permission. Arthur granted it with a tight nod of his head and Gaius delicately picked it up from his hand and almost instantly dropped it.
This garnered more interest than Arthur had shown all day.
"It's a Lesh magic." The revulsion in his voice made Gaius's words tremble with sorrow as he put it back in Arthur's hand and resisted the urge to wipe his hands. Not in front of Arthur.
"Lesh?"
"Mind control. The enchantress controlled her prisoners with it. Total subservience, they would have no choice but to obey. And if - " Gaius swallowed once, eyes darting to Arthur, remembering the King's fevered mumbling of Merlin being turned into something, could he dare to hope that it wasn't as he thought -
"Merlin killed her though. He ignored her orders and killed her." Leon spoke, brow furrowing at the memory. Gaius flinched at the words, eyes wide and raised his hands to the heavens in supplication.
"Then it is a mercy that my boy is dead." He shook his head at the sentiment, elaborating for the sake of the incredulous looks he was receiving from the young men. "A life as one controlled who has no one to serve is a fate I would not wish upon my worst enemy."
That particular scene would haunt Arthur for decades to come, the look of guilt on Gwaine's face made him realize that Merlin wasn't just his to mourn. His manservant had been important to others as well. As the banquet progressed and the entertainment was brought out, Arthur found his gaze straying repeatedly to Hunith leaning against the wall off to his right with a water jug balanced in one hand, watching the jester juggle his torches of fire. Arthur watched her delighted eyes following the up and down movements of the entertainer's arms and then to his own knights, seeing them smile truly for the first time in three years as they knocked back tankards of ale and talked amongst themselves. No one knew better than him how the road to accepting Merlin's loss had been rocky and fraught with obstacles. One could not move far in either direction within the castle without encountering something that would remind them of the young man. But as time did, it soothed the wounds and faded the sting of grief, turning it into something more bearable. For them.
For Arthur, Merlin's absence was an injury that was dealt to him daily, from the moment he opened his eyes in the morning to the moment his eyes closed at night to chase another night of wretched dreaming. Arthur smiled at a noblewoman waving coyly at him from across the room, he could not have been less interested. Little held any kind of fascination for the him anymore. Arthur recognized the path he was weaving down and instead chose to look back at his knights, taking in the changes in his men in the three years that had passed.
Gwaine's hair remained long, but the knight now sported a gruff beard that made him resemble the isolated mountain men they would come across in their travels. Lancelot's hair had grown quite long as well, seemingly following in Gwaine's footsteps, his eyes had taken on a weary quality beyond their general genial look, a quiet sadness that permeated him, lurking just below the surface. The others had dealt with Merlin's passing, which Arthur chalked up to their own methods of grieving. Not everyone could wail and carry on as he had, as had Merlin's two closest friends. Percival was just as large as before, however now, he had taken to the drink much like Gwaine, the two having become fast tavern buddies. Leon remained much the same, keeping a close on the knights and providing himself as a silent and invisible shadow at Arthur's back. Elyan had become Gwen's rock in the last few years, making up from the years that were lost, now her best friend, much like Merlin had been, but somehow not enough.
Arthur knew Gwen would never tell Elyan how he fell short, but Merlin's death had left a noticeable void, one that couldn't be filled. It would floor him sometimes, how the unassuming man had managed to unknowingly become such an integral part of their lives, felt only when he was no longer there to occupy that part.
He wondered briefly noticing the evidence of the passing of time on his knights, if Merlin had been alive right now, would he have changed as well? Or would he have remained ever the same?
What would the Merlin of today look like?
It hurt.
Merlin's head swam with the overload of information in it. The sights, the sounds, the smells. Even as a human, the sharper senses of a wolf overtook his human ones, giving him greater insight to the world around him. But his mind and his chest hurt. Through it he heard Circe's garbled voice, giving him unintelligible commands and his body rebelled against him, trying to obey despite having no idea what he was being ordered to do.
It made him stumble around the alcove, vision hazy and unfocused. Merlin knocked items off the shelves and crashed into more than one wall trying to control himself, a control that didn't exist. It was as if his mind needed some kind of cage, something to rein it in, to rein in the sheer power and magic he felt coursing through him, closer to him than his own blood.
He recognized the feeling, knowing that it came from his act of murdering his creator. With Circe dead, hatever hold she kept on the creatures she created died, and left in its wake anarchy.
Now somehow on the floor in the hallway beyond the main room, one flooded with snow and water, Merlin tried to regain some kind of focus on himself. He could feel a hollow sensation in his chest, tracing down the length of it to feel the crack in his chest. Merlin blinked, ignoring the havoc in his brain momentarily, the act of concentrating his mind in one area brought the confusion to some kind of halt. Looking down, Merlin saw the crystal in his chest, still glowing bright despite his owner being dead. Before he could investigate further Merlin heard a sound and smelled a scent that made his blood run cold.
His hearing now considerably heightened, Merlin scrambled to his feet and became aware of horses galloping up to the entrance of the crumbled castle. His nose picked up the distinct smells of horses and suddenly he knew, just by sounds of people dismounting from their steeds that these were knights. Camelot knights. It had to be.
Only Camelot would be aware of this ruin, especially in after the storm that had just passed. Merlin thought frantically, looking at the reflection of himself in a pool of melted ice at his feet. He was gargantuan, with shoulders broader than Percival and a physique to make the man feel like pre-pubescent boy. His hair had somehow grown to below his shoulders, giving him the appearance of a man who had long abandoned society, not to mention that he was clothed only in what described as shreds of fabric that had once been trousers.
No, he decided. There was no way he could go back. Not like this. As if to accentuate the point, Merlin felt his teeth elongate dangerously at the smell of delicious live prey, knowing he was a danger to himself and to others. He had to do something, something to leave and never come back. Merlin wasn't sure what his new life entailed, but he knew he could not dream of resuming his place as it had been.
The warlock thought quickly, looking for something to distract them, when he spotted a red scrap of fabric on the floor, near the bench where he had been tortured. His eyes strayed momentarily to the bench, remembering the feel of water trickling into his nose, the feeling of drowning on dry land before he forced himself away. He crept towards the red cloth, not daring to breathe or move faster than necessary for fear of alerting those outside. Once Merlin had his kerchief in his grasp, his eyes landed on a pool of crimson liquid and an idea suddenly made itself known to him.
He looked down at his chest and braced himself, already knowing it would hurt. He stuck a fanglike nail in the edge of the crack in the crystal and pressed down hard, muffling a snarl of pain as a piece of the jewel splintered free, falling in the kerchief he held outstretched. It was instantaneous, he could feel the break, that something was missing, that he wasn't whole. Merlin paused only for a moment, feeling panicked as he realized that the knights were now digging in the snow, inching closer, then slow-crawled to the pool of blood on the floor, swiping both crystal and cloth through it, and then shuffled close to the snow that barricaded him inside and kept the others out.
It was torturous, being so close. Merlin could smell them clearly through the snow, soft flesh and warm, pulsing blood that he could hear pumping furiously to keep the body of the knights warm. He bit down on his lip, feeling the fang pierce through and focused on using his magic for the first time since his capture here.
He placed the carefully wrapped crystal in the snow and pushed with his hand, using his magic to continue the journey, making it travel through the snow until it was sure to find its way into searching hands. The warlock held his breath as the cloth moved without him, painting the snow red as it went, despite more falling to fill in the cavity it left behind.
Merlin heard a shout suddenly, and knew it had been found. He took a deep breath and put his hand on the ground, feeling the stone pulse underneath his palm, and concentrated. The answering rumble in the mountain around him spooked the knights outside into remounting in a hurry, and soon, all Merlin could here were the receding galloping of the men as they no doubt returned with their bounty.
Merlin allowed himself the small comfort of knowing that they had at least tried to come back for him and would have found him, were it not for his own interference. He sat there, on the floor for a moment, staring at the wall of ice and snow before him, the only defense between the world and himself. Merlin supposed he ought to get used it, heaving himself up and turning to the vast network and rooms unexplored in Circe's castle of horrors.
His new home.
He supposed he fit the bill, a monster needed to live in a home fit for a monster. It was only right. He took in the mangled corpses of Circe and her first werewolf, and decided he needed to dispose of the body. He could already smell them beginning to rot.
Steeling himself against the revulsion he felt, Merlin grabbed what he could and began a slow journey down the flooded hallway, long and narrow. It was dim, and only vaguely lit, some light from outside filtering in from somewhere he had yet to discover. He kept going, dragging the carcasses until a similar smell stopped him in his tracks. He was in front of wooden door, from which the unmistakable stench of rot emanated from.
Merlin put down his fare and warily pushed the door open, hesitant of what he would find.
He was right. Merlin couldn't help but double dry heave as he saw the vast pile of bodies within, all bearing the marks of a wolf.
It was the beginning of hell. He just didn't know it yet.
Three Years Later
"Ector!" A woman wrung her hands in agony, watching her young boy gag and cough and the strong currents of the river pulled him under again and again.
"ECTOR!" She waded in and was knocked back as currents pushed her out, almost conspiring against her in order to take her child from her. The river was less than 4 feet deep but her child was so small that he couldn't find his footing to save himself.
"Mam -" His wail cut off as the water converged on him again. Ector felt nothing but absolute terror, he hadn't meant to go so far in, but there was a shiny rock, and Mama loved shiny things, and if she had it maybe she wouldn't be so sad about Father. He took a huge gulp of air and was met with only water, his vision started to blur as his lungs burned and his body went limp.
Ector's suddenly flew open as a large hand descended down, down into the water and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. He coughed and sputtered, spitting water out of his mouth feverently. His wide and terrified eyes took in his savior.
A man easily as large as a bear, huge and intimidating, was staring at him, his ice blue eyes briefly turning gold before going back to normal. The man cocked his head to one side, giving him a once over, still holding him by the back of his shirt. His eyes flickered to something past Ector, and began wading toward shore. He unceremoniously dropped Ector into the waiting arms of his mother, who looked equally scared and grateful.
"T-thank you." She eked out, holding the boy close to her chest, mesmerized and yet frightened by him. "Thank you for saving my boy." She managed a small bow towards him.
"It wasn't his time to go." The man with the shaggy black hair replied simply.
A shout sounded from over the embankment.
"Hello? Is anybody there? I heard screams."
The woman turned, cradling Ector to her, and saw 2 knights crest over the hill. The men took in her bedraggeled appearance and strode to her side.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes, my boy fell into the water and almost drowned but thankfully this man -" She turned and discovered her savior had disappeared. "-saved him." She trailed off, the giant mountain of a man now nowhere to be found.
"Who?"
"A man. He was just here. He saved Ector." She sounded confused, and didn't see the Knights exchange a worried glance. She only thought of the deep, sorrowful look in his eyes.
"Who was he?"
"A lost man."
