"Merlin." The great wolf advanced upon Gwaine undeterred, taking no note of how the man scrambled back as swiftly as he could even while trying not to move in a way the beast would find threatening, kept going until his back hit a tree, scraping it painfully.
A/N: So mainly filler, but this sets us up for our first major plot point. Next chapter should be out next week! PLEAD READ AND REVIEW!
Chapter 5: Enter
"Merlin, I know it's you, I know you're in there. Come on it's me, Gwaine. Look at me, mate, I'm not going to hurt you." Still Merlin came towards the knight, taking long strides. It was night, and Gwaine had made the mistake of venturing out into the woods. For what purpose, the wolf didn't care to know, instead he just made sure that the man would not attempt to leave. The knight made an attempt to stretch his hand out to touch the wolf on its snout but the low, predatory growl the canine emitted had him snatching his hand back as quickly as possible.
The moon shone brightly overhead, casting a low blue glow over everything underneath it. It gave Merlin's fur coat an ethereal look, turning it silver in hue and almost lulling Gwaine into continuing to stare at it, stare at the way the light shone and trickled through it.
"Merl-" The voice cut with a pain gasp as the wolf swiped at Gwaine with a gargantuan paw, knocking him to the ground where he groaned and attempted to sit up, hands clutching his chest. "MerLIN!" The gasps turned into a wet cough as the beast came ever closer, and for the first time, Gwaine feared Merlin. He was well and truly frightened of his best friend, more so than ever as he saw the Wolf suddenly bound toward him, gaping maw and all. He had expected death, welcomed the idea of it sometimes, but not like this. Never like this.
"No!"
NO, no no, stop it, stop it -
"STOP!" Merlin shot up in his bed, and it took him a few moments to register his surroundings. It was dark, and only from the presence of a flickering torch up on the stone wall, Merlin was able to realize that he was in what had been Circe's chambers. He was drenched in sweat and shaking, Merlin realized belatedly, that he'd been clenching his fists so tightly in his sleep that he now sported four bloody half-moons on his palms. The warlock was aware of the intense pain his chest and realized he would have to calm down first an exercise he now had to partake in daily. He shifted in his bed, made of some kind of down, and cast the clear white sheet that had been covering him aside.
It had been 3 years but still the sight of his own body, huge and muscular, still jarred him and though Merlin missed his own body, he now couldn't remember what it felt like to have thin wrists and to be able to move unnoticed in the background since his size now made him a sight to behold.
Of his clothes, only the trousers, shredded as they were, remained. Somehow, though Merlin could not wear them all day, he chose to wear them in his sleep, a reminder of where he had come from, a comforting presence when he didn't know where he was going.
The dream kept replaying in his head, in particular, the ending, where his vision went red and he could hear Gwaine's screams. Though the dreams took a physical toll on him, Merlin took them as reinforcement of his decision to live as he did, venturing out only when in need of supplies. He shook his head and stood, knowing that there was no more sleep to be had now, not with what he'd just witnessed in his own mind. Merlin took a whiff of himself and wrinkled his nose, he desperately needed to bathe, it had been 5 days already since his last wash.
The warlock padded out of his chambers, now devoid of everything inside except the bed and torches and made his down the cold stone hallway passing by the room that he had stumbled into the first day, ignoring it entirely. Merlin passed another door, staying as far away as he could from it. It murmured strangely to him, tugging at something within him, and thus far, he had managed to resist, but today, for the first time, he could feel the restraint fraying. He tried to center himself and moved on, instead opening the door to what must have been Circe's private bathing pool. The chamber was massive, the door opened to reveal a shallow stone ramp, perhaps 10 feet long that descended into the water and ended by leveling off with the bottom of the pool.
It was perhaps the warmest room in the decrepit castle, the steam rising from the water itself had Merlin thinking that it source must be from somewhere underground, and shed his trousers, and walked into the water. The torches on the walls were lit, perhaps enchanted, and cast a warm orange glow in the cavern, that did nothing to warm Merlin's heart. Every time he saw himself, his reflection, he felt he was losing a portion of what he used to be. He could no longer remember what his true body looked like. Al that remained was this distorted image that he didn't recognize. Merlin took a deep breath and submerged himself fully, opening his eyes underneath and seeing the world from a different perspective.
It was different, doing this now, his lungs no longer burned with desire for air, he was able to hold his breath for much longer than he used to be able to. The warlock resurfaced and waded in the waist chest high water back to the edge of the pool and leaned his head back, resting against the warm stone ledge.
Arthur's face flashed unbidden through his mind. It had been no use, no matter how much he tried to make himself forget, Merlin had been unable to stop thinking about the King. The werewulf remembered all too clearly the panic on his face when the boulders came down, effectively separating them forever. He couldn't remember anything after that, just the sight of Gwaine and Arthur being yanked out of harm's way by Percival.
He closed his eyes and gave up, mentally tracing a picture in his mind, the sandy blonde hair, the striking eyes, and the countenance that inspired a desire to follow and watch unasked. It was regal and real and made Merlin want to succumb to the tears he had locked away three years ago, sitting on the floor after his first succesfull change and vowing never to weep again. After all it wasn't as if he were the victim anymore, he had become what he feared the most, the beast. The creature of lore that would lay waste to villages and tear families apart. A life of sin must be met with a life of punishment.
Such was the rule of life.
Hunith had tried. Really, she had. It wasn't as if she'd chosen this. But often in life, things do not go according to plan, as Hunith had learned.
Hunith mentioned to Arthur, on many occasions, that she would prefer that he drop the word "Lady" in front of her name, but the King hadn't listened, only explained that he was free to call her whatever he chose, unless the title offended her personally. But then he'd pinned her with such a sad look when he considered that she might be offended that his name for her was uncomfortable that she had to say of course she didn't mind, and he'd brightened right up after that approval and was gone, leaving Hunith in the same predicament in which she'd arrived.
It just wasn't normal, anyone could see that. Merlin was a man-servant – had been – a manservant. She was only replacing her son's position, so why then, did he insist on calling her by such a formal title so far above her station. It was only a matter of time -
"Honestly, it's as if the woman believes that the world is at her feet just because the King favors her a little." Hunith sighed. Too late, she thought as she entered the room in which the dirty linens were to be deposited and she heard a group of castle maids come walking down the stone hallway, walking slowly.
"Exactly. That woman, Anna, had the nerve yesterday to tell me that she was going to King Arthur's chambers to give him his freshly washed clothes."
"No!"
Brat. That' s because I needed someone to be able to tell the Head Lady Maid where I was in case she asked, Hunith snorted to herself.
"Yes! The old woman was showing off! As if her job is special or something! I've gone to deliver his clothes to him myself, it's not as if she's the only one."
"I never. Farina, she's so unbelievably full of herself, as if the fact that the King calls her Lady Hunith changes the fact that she's a maid, just like the rest of us." The scoffs from the other women was familiar to Hunith, it came from a group of young women who had just started working at the Camelot, just before she had. Hunith supposed the animosity sprung from the fact that her duties that she did now had been the collective responsibility of the group outside. Her appearance and the King's familiarity had seemed to spark some kind of hostility from them.
She supposed it made sense, after all the King, before Merlin's death, had had a well-known affair with Gwenivere and she supposed that many of these women felt that it was possible he would do the same with them, given the chance. It didn't bother Hunith, she had lived most of her adult life in a village that had sought to make her life hell, so a couple of gossiping children barely registered in her mind, though it did put her out a bit when she came to her quarters to find her bed soaked or her clothes sullied in mud.
"I know! Just the other day," another maid chimed in, her voice turning conspiratorial. "Carine from kitchen maids swore she saw Hunith enter the King's chambers at midnight. The King himself let her in!"
The others gasped, scandalized.
For the love of - he'd just wanted to talk about Merlin! Hunith sorted the linens neatly as she couldn't help but listen. Even she had to admit, they spun rather fantastical tales.
"You don't suppose -?"
"What is there to suppose, it's clear as the day, she's clearly gone and made herself his harlot."
"But she's so old."
Hunith shook her head, as the women passed the room, unaware she was inside, walking towards the end of the hallway where the pathway split into a fork. She made sure to keep her steps quiet as she exited the room, unwilling to attract their attention, she had places to go and dealing with them would set her back. Those that preferred to gossip always made her wary, you never knew when they would turn on you.
"Old or not, a whore never loses out to experience."
Hunith stifled the urge to walk back five paces and smack Anna. Impertinent child, you must have missed the day your parents taught decorum to their children. She wiped her sweating brow with the handkerchief she kept stowed in a pocket in her dress.
"Do you think the King prefers women like that?"
"Like what?"
"You know, matronly."
Hunith dropped her handkerchief in indignance. Matronly?
"Well, I've seen her in the bath, and her breasts are simply just -" Here the maid a sound indicating the mediocrity of Hunith's body.
"Perhaps she's good at other things?"
The suggestive tone in Anna's voice left little to the imagination, and Hunith could only roll her eyes to herself as she leaned down to pick up the fabric, she stopped short at the sound of a terrified gasp and turned to look despite herself.
Hunith almost wished she hadn't. The group of five women had made it down the short hallway to the fork, which was rather rounded, and had come face to face with none other than the King himself. Not only the King, Hunith corrected herself as she rose back up, clutching the handkerchief to her chest, but the entirety of his Knights as well, all dressed for travel, in armor and capes.
Hunith had never seen the expression the King currently wore, in her 2 ½ years working in Camelot, it was obvious that he had heard the maid's conversation. Arthur's face was thunderous, and Hunith somehow wished she had stayed in the linen room when she saw the King's eyes dart around and land on her, expression darkening inexplicably. Now he knew that she'd heard whatever he had heard.
He walked forward slowly, in silence, the maids trembling at the rarely seen fury in Arthur's eyes. Suddenly he spoke, slow and measured, a symbol of his restraint.
"I would advise, that before you choose to gossip, you consider, ladies, about whom you speak." The words were icy and sent shivers down Hunith's spine. It was a new side of him that she was seeing since he only showed her two faces, the man grieving for his friend and the kind man that sought to make his Kingdom a haven for all those who would choose to reside there.
"I will not tolerate speech like this, Lady Hunith is someone I care about, and the next time you make the ill –advised decision to spout such unrefined commentary on my personal life, I will quite courteously suggest that you find employment elsewhere."
Silence reigned quite thoroughly after this and after he waited a moment, Arthur spoke again.
"Well?"
"Yes, Your Highness!" The maid cried, frightened to their core and at Arthur's curt nod of dismissal, they quickly scurried down the left hallway at the fork though Hunith was inclined to think that they were perhaps supposed to be going down the way Arthur had come but were too scared to walk past him.
Arthur met Hunith's eyes and she couldn't help but smile. The anger he showed in her defense, reminded her much of Merlin's own ineffectual raging at the villagers when they shouted abuse at her.
She looked up at the ceiling for a moment as Arthur and his company walked down the hallway to her.
How she missed her son.
Merlin had been trying to avoid it all day. That single room, in this castle that he had yet to enter. He knew it was silly, but after passing it only a handful of times, he could sense that whatever lay inside was not natural. It spoke to him in whispers as he passed it, encouraged him to enter, told him it would grant his desires, listen to his tortured heart.
The werewulf had managed to avoid it for 3 years, but today, there was a gnawing sensation inside that urged him to enter, to see the wonders within. So here Merlin stood, hand on the door, feeling the strange energy pulse through the stone, apprehensive and yet curious, despite his better judgement. It called to him, beckoned him closer. What else could he do?
He entered.
