Author's note: This odd little one-shot is very different from the adventure stories I've written before. It kind of just showed up in my head the other day and refused to leave. I hope you like it!
Disclaimer: Sadly, it is true: I don't own Merlin.
Rescue
Merlin found himself standing in a sunlit meadow as wide as the eye could see. The tan-and-olive grasses rolled like waves in a steady wind that somehow failed to touch his cheeks. Overhead, clouds darkened and tumbled over one another, piling high and thick. As they crossed the sun, the air darkened. Merlin felt a frisson of fear pass through him. Something was wrong. How had he come to be here? And where was here, anyway?
The sky continued to darken as if night were falling. All around him Merlin could hear the hissing of the wind through the grass, though he could no longer see it clearly. Soon the horizon was a faint line between the black land and the purple-black sky.
As Merlin watched, something crossed that line, an enormous vaguely humanoid shape that rose and rose until it towered above him. He tried to turn and flee, feeling as if he were running through water. The creature reached for him, huge craggy hands at his back. A scream tried to burst from his throat, but somehow it would not come out. It was as if his throat was paralyzed. He tried again, forcing the sound through. All that came out was a choked whimper. Nevertheless, he kept trying as he ran, calling for help that did not come.
The grass had disappeared. His steps fell silently and with impossible slowness on old flagstones shining with moisture. A panicky glance over his shoulder revealed the creature still behind him. He slipped, tilting and flailing, and fell to the stones. The impact was intangible, somehow, yet the stones felt cold and wet against his skin.
The thing stopped. It bent down and ripped up a flagstone, which came up with an incongruous clank and a screech like the rusty hinges of a cell door. As the creature lifted the stone, Merlin choked out another scream. He felt a sharp pain in one hip and then another in his ribs.
"Shut up, rat! Keep whining, and you'll regret it!"
"We should give him more of the potion. It'll keep him quiet."
"It's too soon. You do it, it's your head. Boss said to keep him alive."
"Curse it. Alright, then. As long as this thing shuts up!"
Another sharp pain blossomed, this time on the outside of his thigh. Again there was that raspy screech. Merlin turned to look for the source of the sound, and discovered that his eyes were closed. He fought against the weight on his eyelids for a moment, then his vision cleared.
The meadow was long gone, and the flagstones were nowhere to be seen. The creature had vanished. Ah. A dream. He was in his bedchamber. From the angle of the sun, it was early morning, though not early enough. Why hadn't Gaius awakened him? He was about to be late for work again.
Merlin hastily rolled out of bed, threw on the first clean clothing he could lay his hands on, and ran downstairs. Gaius wasn't there. The physician must have been called out to tend to a patient, Merlin reasoned. He hustled out the door and into the corridors of the castle. There was nobody about, surprisingly. Even at this early hour the halls were usually bustling with activity as servants of all kinds hurried about their jobs.
He turned into the main hallway of the castle, and felt dread rise in his gut. There was no one. Nobody at all.
Merlin sprinted up the stairs that led to Arthur's chambers and arrived at the prince's door. He tried the latch without success. Locked. When a quick look around confirmed that the corridor remained empty, he returned his attention to the lock and spoke the spell that would unlock it. The spell was simple; it should have worked. It did not. Merlin's magic did not respond. The door did not open.
From behind Merlin, there was a familiar metallic clank followed by an equally familiar rusty screech. As he turned to look for the source of the sound, movement near his feet caught his attention. There was something tiny wriggling like a worm against the dry flagstones. Merlin bent to see. It was a tendril, delicate and spring-green, growing from the bare rock. Even as he watched, it grew visibly, swelling and extending into a sturdy vine that wrapped itself around his ankle.
In a spasm of revulsion, Merlin tried to kick free, only to find that another vine had crept stealthily up his back and was attempting to curl around his neck. Other vines wound around his arms and shoulders, thickening and strengthening by the moment. In the next moment Merlin found himself being dragged inexorably downward, wrapped in vines that held him tightly.
He tried to lash out with his magic. There was a crash nearby. Then suddenly water was pouring down over him, soaking his hair and splashing against his face. It clogged his nostrils, suffocating him. When he opened his mouth to breath, it flowed inside, filling his mouth and choking him, leaving him no choice but to swallow.
Bitter fluid seared his stomach like fire.
His magic flickered and died.
"Hold him, curse you!"
Hard hands pinned him roughly against cold wet stone.
A sharp pain bloomed in the side of his head. "Swallow the rest!"
He was drowning, dying. He swallowed. The fire exploded upward from his guts to his head and the world upended in flames.
-o-o-o-o-o-
When Merlin next became aware of his surroundings, he was back in his bed, gasping for breath. The sunshine through the window now struck him as suspicious. The dream with the vines had started just like this. He looked around. All seemed to be as it should be. Was he finally awake?
Just as the thought occurred to him, the big warning bell atop the North Tower began to toll. Merlin shot out of bed and ran out into the corridor. Knights and guards were hurrying past on their way to their duty posts. Arthur ran up to him, buckling on the last of his armor. "My sword, Merlin, quickly. Meet me on the north wall."
Merlin changed course and headed for the armory. He opened the door to find a scene of controlled chaos. The room was full of men hastily donning armor, scooping up weapons and flying for the door.
Merlin began working his way through the crowd toward the rack on which the prince's sword was stored. He was halfway there when, in eerie unison, every man in the room froze. After a moment of sinister silence, each one readied the nearest weapon. Then each man turned and attacked his neighbor.
Merlin scrambled back and took shelter behind a weapon rack. Surely this was a dream. The knights of Camelot would never behave so. Then a footfall behind made him turn. Sir Ector was advancing on him, a curiously blank look in his eyes. Merlin frantically pushed outward with his magic, trying to shove the knight away. Nothing. His magic did nothing. The din of the battle was unbelievable; the clash of swords echoed off the stone, as did the shouting of angry men and the cries of injured ones.
"For Camelot!"
"Take that, you!"
"Got him!"
"Yield, or I run you through."
"Search them! We need the keys."
All around Merlin, the din in the armory died down as men stepped back from their erstwhile foes. Sir Ector turned away from Merlin, crossed the room, and opened the door to the corridor. It opened with that same clank and screech Merlin had heard before.
"Arthur, get down here! I found Merlin."
Then the armory faded away - so it was just a dream! - and Merlin was again standing in the sunlit meadow. This time the sky was clear and bright. Abruptly Merlin was cold. A shiver ran over him.
An enormous wind rose, whipping the grass until it sang mournfully. That wind was blessedly warm and Merlin leaned into it gratefully. It wrapped around him, tugging at his clothing, pressing against his skin.
"Merlin, it's okay, we're here."
"Merlin?"
"Something's wrong. I don't think he's seeing us."
The wind increased, pressing harder against him. It whirled around him, warm and insistent, tumbling him off his feet onto something that was not meadow grass.
"Merlin, can you hear me?"
"He's so cold. And soaking wet."
"Hardly surprising. Look at this place."
The wind lifted him, gently turning him this way and that. Merlin did not resist, for the wind was warm and comfortable. He turned his face to the sun, seeking that additional warmth.
"Curse them. Gwaine, look."
"I'm going to kill them. All of them. He's been beaten. And starved."
"Merlin." He was shaken slightly. "Merlin. Can you hear me?"
In the meadow, the ground shook violently. A form rose from the grass, looming over Merlin again. It lifted a giant craggy hand and reached for Merlin. He recoiled and tried to flee, but the vines grew again, pinning his arms. This time, though, the vines felt yielding and their grip was kind. Gently and persistently they encircled his chest and twined around his forearms, smothering his struggles and pulling him back to lean against something warm.
"It's all right, Merlin. I've got you."
"Merlin, take it easy. You're safe. We're going to get you home."
"Leon! I need a stretcher. See what you can cobble together. Merlin, be still and rest. Here, Gwaine, help me get this wrapped around him."
Something soft and thick enfolded him.
"That's it, Merlin. Rest. You're safe."
The wind lifted him and blew him into a dream of warmth and peace.
Author's note: I almost didn't publish this. It's a bit - weird. Did you like it? Does it make sense? Please consider reviewing and telling me!