Merlin froze. He stopped moving as the sharp edge of steel sliced a trail of fire across his throat. He could feel the warm, wet presence of his own blood. He glanced from the blade at his throat to the man holding it. His prey. Blue eyes stared defiantly back at him as if daring him to move forward. The man's grip remained firm and unwavering on his sword, the only sign of his fear in the speed of his pulse. It sung to Merlin, a steady rhythm teasing him from afar. It was very distracting.
"Tell me, monster," the man said roughly, "any words before you die?" He shifted his hand slightly.
Merlin leaned back as the blade inched toward him but eyed him curiously. He seemed so boring before, eyes and voice flat, lifeless. Merlin thought he'd be a quick and easy snack, but a challenge was exciting in its own way.
"I don't think a sword can kill me," Merlin said, trying not to smile. "But it might hurt if you're rough," he added thoughtfully.
The man's face shifted from focused to irritated.
"I wasn't lying," Merlin continued quickly. "I am lost and hungry. You offered me food, um… Arnold. And yet you deprive me. Have you no honor?" Merlin gestured his hand toward him dramatically but stopped short as cold steel tickled his throat again, a warning this time.
"It's Arthur," he snapped, "and you know nothing of my honor." Merlin rolled his eyes. His throat burned with hunger, but he cleared his throat and pushed it down.
"That's the problem, is it? If I call you Arthur, will you bare your neck for me? I can be very gentle," Merlin said, smiling at Arthur innocently.
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "I suggest you watch your mouth. I could take you apart with one blow."
Merlin laughed, ignoring the bite of the sword as he shook his head. "I could take you apart with less than that," Merlin said with a smirk.
"Enough, Merlin. I'm in control here." Arthur clenched his jaw and continued, "Who sent you to kill me?" Arthur looked at Merlin expectantly. Merlin felt overwhelmed by Arthur's unfounded arrogance.
Merlin hesitated, unsure how to proceed. Part of him, albeit a very tiny, inconsequential, absolutely minute part, wanted to ask Arthur for help. Nothing has made sense to Merlin since he awoke in this endless forest of exotic green and damp earth. Everything felt unfamiliar, even alien. He eyed the thick trees surrounding them endlessly. He remembered the overwhelming smells of foreign air invading his senses when he first gained consciousness. Where am I?
The cold tip of the blade brushed distractingly against his throat, irritating his shallow wound and blurring his senses. Why does this weak, ridiculous looking demon act like he's some god? Every thought Merlin has tried so desperately to suppress flooded his thoughts. What destiny, Kilgarrah? To his horror, Merlin's eyes prickled with tears.
Time stood still for a moment as their eyes held, an awkward, almost suffocating silence between them. Arthur slowly lowered his sword from Merlin's throat to the damp Earth, his movement an echo in the stillness. Arthur's behavior was a mystery to Merlin, but he was most concerned by his own vulnerability and his sudden inability to breathe. At least Arthur looked as uncomfortable as Merlin felt. He shifted forward cautiously and opened his mouth to speak. As if to console him.
Merlin reacted quickly, Arthur's throat in his hand, back pressed roughly into the tree, before he could utter a word. Arthur yelled in surprise and his sword dropped to the ground with a dull thud. This wasn't amusing anymore. Merlin was done playing with his food.
Merlin moaned as his teeth sunk into the skin of Arthur's throat, rich blood rousing his appetite. The press of the trees, the buzz of his own thoughts, and the whisper of Kilgarrah's cryptic words faded away. Merlin distantly noted Arthur's hands pushing against his chest, but his frantic efforts grew weaker as the seconds passed. The slide of blood danced along his tongue and soothed his burning throat. After he felt satisfied and properly centered, he reluctantly pulled away, licking the remnants of blood that swelled out from beneath the skin. He looked at Arthur's face, pleased to see his eyes open and conscious.
His pleasure turned to concern, however, when seconds passed, and Arthur remained as still as a statue. Merlin gently slapped his hand against Arthur's cheek. "Don't be dramatic. I left plenty of blood for that tiny brain of yours," Merlin teased, trying to hide his concern. Not that he cared, but he did avoid killing for blood. It would be excessive is all. His prodding paid off when Arthur swatted his hand away and took a steadying breath, though Arthur looked fixedly away from Merlin.
"What now?" Arthur asked, voice thick.
Merlin blinked at him, perplexed, but Arthur refused to meet his eyes. "Do what you want. What am I, your mother?" he said casually. He only meant to liven the mood, but Arthur only clenched his fists.
"Honestly," Merlin tried again slowly, backing away to give Arthur more room. Arthur gaze snapped to Merlin, but his eyes were unreadable. Was Arthur ever not tense?
"I'm hopelessly lost, and I was hoping for directions. I'll do anything you want," Merlin said, though he felt a bit silly. For all he knew, Arthur was an idiot with no more knowledge of the area than Merlin.
Arthur slowly bent to retrieve his sword while his eyes carefully tracked Merlin. There was a determined set to his face that confounded Merlin. The whole display was unnecessarily dramatic. In the end, Arthur's pride was almost comically fragile, acting Merlin was the first to beat him at his own game, which couldn't be true. He did seem to bounce back quickly though. Was he entirely sane?
"Right," Arthur spoke, interrupting his thoughts. "Take your shirt off then."