The Wild Hunt
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On Yule nights in years past, when the wind was nigh imperceptible, the sky clear, and the night so cold that even the animals kept to their holes and nests, Mallt the Goddess of Law and Balance sent out her pack of ethereal hounds to hunt among men.
Some say, her hounds were white as the otherworld itself, with ears as red as blood, signifying the death they carried with them.
Others state, they couldn't be seen, you could only hear them coming. Their howling was loudest when they were at a distance, and as they drew nearer, it grew softer and softer. When they came for you, it was a death portent.
Nan used to say, you couldn't see them, nor hear them. They sensed you and all your wrongdoings. When they found you wanting, you'd feel the terror of their presence. All of your darkness would pour out for the world to see. And they'd chase you till you could run no longer…
Such lore has no place in current times. What purpose would they serve? When – instead of red-eared dogs – there is the threat of red-cloaked men? They are the hunters, the slaughterers, the danger. Why fear the hounds of the wild hunt?
Better fear your King, child!
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"Where precisely are we going?" Merlin hurried after Arthur, shoving the large day pack Arthur had told him to carry back in its proper position on his back for the umpteenth time "And why aren't we taking the horses?"
"The horses deserve a day's rest, Merlin," The prince drawled his name as he lengthened his stride.
"Oh, the horses do?" Merlin grumbled in indignation under his breath, nearly falling over his own feet while readjusting the handles of his pack and simultaneously trying to keep up with the prat's pace.
"Well that, plus they are likely not able to follow where we are going."
"Leon and Degore took horses." Merlin commented, having noticed the absence of both knights and their mounts this morning.
"Well, they are not exactly on the same quest as we, now are they?"
"I wouldn't know, sire. As your majesty failed to tell me where-we-are-going." Merlin huffed. Arthur had been rather low on the details yesterday evening when he told Merlin to prepare for another day's hike – and to assist Leon and Degore with arrangements for their own, separate quest. It had squashed all Merlin's hopes for a nice full day of rest and recuperation at the quaint inn the four of them just arrived at.
They'd been travelling for months now, occasionally accompanied by Camelot knights. They had spread around all the realms in Albion and beyond in groups of two to four, travelling in commoner clothing to inquire unobtrusively for Morgana.
As of yet the search parties Merlin had been involved in had resulted only in too many close encounters with bandits, displeased Kelpies and mistrustful villagers but nothing remotely helpful. It was as if Morgause had disappeared from the world and took Morgana with her.
Currently they were in a very bushy forest deep in Mercia, near the mountains of Elmet – the focus of Leon and Degore's quest today, Merlin knew. The purpose of their own quest was what eluded him now. Normally Arthur wasn't this tight-lipped about operations he evidently felt to be secure enough to execute with just the two of them. It made Merlin suspicious.
"If you think you can again dangle me as human bait for some ill-reputed kobolds that claim they contain all knowledge in the world, you have a…"
A sudden whoosh knocked Merlin back midsentence, as if an abrupt gust of strong wind – but not quite - pushed at him. Startled, Merlin looked up. The canopy up ahead seemed unaffected by whatever was pushing Merlin back. Autumn leaves still hung dejectedly down, only disturbed by the light breeze that had been present the entire morning. Ahead of Merlin, Arthur was steadily making his way through the underbrush, seemingly without noticing whatever thing was pushing Merlin back.
"Arthur!" he gasped, desperately grabbing forward to grasp the common clothed prince and pull him out whatever-this-was, but only managing to stumble backwards. Suddenly all was quiet again. Merlin gawped at the still forest in front of him that seemed as innocuous as ever.
Now actually paying attention to his surroundings, Merlin noticed the forest was different from the woods they'd been traversing through. It looked… dead. Leaves clung despondently from carcasses of trees; little to no traces of animal life, no birds, mammals or insects.
Tentatively and curiously he reached out with his magic, poked the area in front of him. The magic was cast back at him as if he'd thrown a bucket of water against a wall.
Still investigating the forest, Merlin noticed in his peripheral vision Arthur stalking back to where Merlin daren't – couldn't? - go further. He was sure to comment on Merlin being a girl, or dawdling, or being a nuisance in general, but Merlin beat him to it "What is this place?"
"This, Merlin -" Arthur placed a jovial arm around Merlin's neck, spreading the other arm wide towards the lifeless trees in invitation as if it was something great to behold " - is a dead forest."
"And… ?" Merlin let the question hang, dreading the answer.
"A magical, dead forest that…" The hand behind his neck now gripped and bodily pulled Merlin forward.
Whatever else Arthur was adding to that statement Merlin completely missed as his body staggered forward but his magic stayed behind. Merlin felt stretched. Pulled thin and oddly like a fish that had just been hauled out of the water. Then his magic slammed back in him, throwing him – and Arthur - forward.
"You, klutz!" Arthur bodily dragged Merlin's disoriented limbs up in a somewhat standing position. Merlin gulped in air like that fish on dry land. His head was slapped. Not violent, but enough for Merlin to make him notice his surroundings again.
He leant against the carcass of a tree. The area was open but felt enclosed. Constricted. Surreptitiously he absorbed the environment now he was inside.
What he'd seen on the outside he felt all the more on the inside. This forest was not only dead, it seemed entirely depleted of magic. He'd never really noticed how full of magic a forest normally was until he missed the steady thrum of the trees and plants, the energetic magic of the birds, the bustle of bees and the comforting magic of the soil. Merlin was dizzy with its absence.
It took him a moment to notice that Arthur was regarding him strangely. "If this is the effect staying over one night in a tavern is having on you, remind me not to stay over in one again for the duration of our search." He stated, before walking away and investigating.
Merlin woozily watched him go.
"Prat."
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in the centre of the dying forest, her slumbering hounds awakened
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It took a bit but the dazedness mostly dissipated.
Merlin concentrated on his feet while following Arthur further into the constricted area.
Merlin noted muzzily, there was undeniably less underbrush here than in the previous – full of live – forest they had traversed. Yet somehow he had a lot more trouble staying on his feet here.
When he finally had his limbs – not his thoughts, those seemed to slip into any direction - well enough under his own control again, they were already some ways into the magically constricted but physically open wood. His dizziness was replaced by a sense of discomfort. The vast emptiness seemed to leech on his magic and – strangely enough - tug on his memories. Thoughts of his mistakes, mishaps, regrets fighting for their place on the forefront of his mind. A fireball hitting Nimueh, Will dying in his arms…
"Could you please tell me why, exactly -" stumble, slip "- we are traversing unarmed and on- foot through this- dead and magic forest?" he haltingly asked, and feared the answer.
Ahead of him Arthur finished carving a subtle mark in a particularly broad tree with the tip of his boot knife – the only weapon he carried when in his commoner disguise.
"You had me worried there for a moment, Merlin. Following without blabbering. Though more glad than worried of course." Arthur directed a grin over his shoulder. Merlin barely caught it - images of witches on the executioners block in Camelot, bandits falling on their own swords or pierced by redirected arrows - but Arthur continued. "When you were looking after the horses yesterday, Leon and I had a conversation with the innkeeper about any magically suspect areas in this region. Of course he told us about the caves beneath the Elmet mountains, but he also mentioned this forest. According to local lore, it started dying around the time of the purge. It has been speculated that sorcerers and witches have used it as their magical hideout ever since."
The prince walked further ahead, staring at the canopy. Merlin dazedly followed his sight and saw blackened carcasses of desolate branches against a grey mid-noon sky. Branches falling, skulls cracking…
"It seems fitting, does it not? A magical forest would be a dead forest, with all destruction magic causes? For once, there might actually be some truth to these rumours."
Merlin had no answer to that, though, despite the weird effect the forest had on him, he felt the opposite was true. It was the absence of magic, rather than the presence, that had caused the forest to die. He felt the loss distinctly. A series of knights dying at the hands of a conjured snake, a risen wraith, a magical illness not stopped in time…
"Here is the plan. According to the innkeeper this area is only a few acres wide. It is enclosed to the west by the plain of Bast, to the north by the cliffs of Aire that tower over the Derwent river and downstream in the east it borders on the foot of the Elmet mountains and its caves."
Caves collapsing upon a body of anonymous men; calling thunder and lightning down from the edge of a cliff abolishing dozens of opponents in one go. Merlin shuddered at the reminder of the futures he had seen in the crystal of Neahtid.
Oblivious of Merlin's inner turmoil, Arthur continued, "We'll follow the perimeter of this forest describing a wide circle. When we're back to this point we'll go a hundred yards deeper into the forest and do it again. That way we scour the entire forest, and if there is any hint of the presence of sorcerers, of Morgause, if there is any chance it will help us find Morgana…" Arthur faltered, ran an impatient hand through his unkempt hair.
Even with his mind differently occupied Merlin understood. Gather leads, investigate, and if there appeared to more beyond the rumour, double back, regroup and come back with a bigger force and a detailed plan. For months they'd travelled like this.
The familiar block of guilt, present ever since he held a choking Morgana in his arms, melted, expanded and rolled off him until it felt almost tangible in the same way his magic normally did. He choked.
The ever increasing fog of fear, guilt and gruesome memories tied his tongue, tangled his limbs and trapped one other prominent thought: we have to get out of here.
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their nostrils flared on the once-familiar scent of guilt and regret
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Arthur was on edge. The forest was eerie – beyond travelling-through-deserted-and-dead-forest eerie.
Of course he would never let it show.
In contrast, Merlin was being his startled-into-oafishness self. Stumbling more than walking and flinching at nothing at all.
Yesterday in the warm tavern, in a fresh set of dreary commoner garb and hearty hot meal in front of him, Arthur had thought this would be a quick and uninteresting quest. Boring even. - Locals afraid of an area , claim magical cause, turns out to be completely natural instead. - Arthur had experienced it too often during this search for Morgana already.
He'd almost sent Degore and Merlin out to investigate, to explore the far more interesting Elmet cave system himself together with Leon. But if this search for Morgana taught him one thing, it was that Merlin would disregard his orders to stay with Sir Degore and follow him instead. Thus it was safer and less time consuming for everyone if Arthur took up the more boring quests every now and then.
This particular quest had progressed from boring to interesting and eerie rather quick.
The dead forest was actually dead, for one. Arthur had anticipated anything from figure-of-speech to natural causes to magically induced but somehow his visualisations hadn't come any near the reality.
The trees, plants, bushes, though certainly dead for years on end - and unstable by wind and weather it looked like – were not rotten. Even the leaves that had fallen and made for a nice noise silencing padding, hadn't entered the phase of usual decay. There didn't appear to be any animals at all. No rustling of leaves by birds or mice, no scampering squirrels or martens, not even a notion of the carcasses one would expect in a not-decaying dead wood.
The second interesting bit was, none of this had been marked on the map he surreptitiously carried with him, even though the detailed record was explored and drawn by an apprentice of Monmouth not thirty years ago. It showed all this regions peculiarities and sites a traveller should be wary of, including the sites that bordered this forest. The tumultuous river of Derwent in the north, the parallel indents suggesting high cliffs on each side of the stream, the upturned V shapes of the Elmet mountain range in the east and the squiggly symbol which he knew referred to the cave system beneath the mountain.
From his conversation with the innkeeper Arthur knew the river really was as treacherous and wild as the wriggly lines pen strokes suggested, the bordering cliffs as high and the maze as convoluted: full of fissures, clefts and caverns cut out by the tumult of the Derwent river streaming through and beneath the mountains.
Arthur made another mark in another dead tree.
Considering its peculiarities, this forest should have been noted on the map too, yet wasn't. Which meant, the magical death and subsequent stupor of this forest were likely as new as the innkeeper suggested. And that made the witches-hiding-since-purge theory all the more likely and Arthur all the more weary. It may even be that dead trees were an illusion, created by magic users to keep intruders out. They may even be observed right now by vindictive sorcerers and witches. He envisioned a smirking Morgause, brown eyes kohl-lined and blonde curls sweeping victoriously on a subtle draft, looking down on him and holding him in place with the power of magic alone.
How would he ever effectively strive against the evils of magic? Seeking that knowledge, even if only to counteract and defend, felt to him like tip-toeing the line of corruption. A line he wasn't comfortable crossing.
Despite his misgivings, they made quite good progress. Merlin held his tongue for once. Though that didn't mean he was being any less loud, falling even more over his feet than Arthur was used from him.
A wolf yowl sounded right behind him. He whirled around but saw nothing except an inebriated-looking manservant stumbling behind him. Merlin startled from Arthur's abrupt movement, but appeared oblivious to the howl Arthur just heard.
He scanned the forest behind him and then in a circle around him. Nothing. Had he imagined it?
Suspicious, he made another mark in another tree. They'd completed near three quarters of their original round. The border on their left now coincided with the Aire cliffs overhanging the Derwent river. He could hear the tumult of the raucous torrent deep below. Arthur estimated only a small round in the heart of the forest would be required to complete today's quest and leave – maybe to return later with a bigger force and a studied plan.
He heard howling again, loud and close, a group of half a dozen wolves or hounds perhaps. Arthur stood stock-still. Merlin bumped into him from behind, causing a clatter of whatever utensils he'd packed. Arthur pushed him back, annoyed, and held a warning finger in his manservant's face. "Sshh!" Merlin's eyes followed the finger droopily, and normally Arthur would have commented on his manservant's state but now he was otherwise occupied.
Intently he listened while checking all their surroundings. Nothing.
Then abruptly, another wail. South to South-West. Still loud yet seemingly further away.
Merlin appeared deaf to the yowls.
With the wolves apparently moving away from them, Arthur took a moment to study his manservant. "Merlin?"
"Hmmm?" The boy did not meet his eyes, tracking something invisible that had nothing to do with the direction of the sounds Arthur heard. Arthur rolled his eyes.
"Merlin" he repeated more firmly, gaining more of the boy's conscious attention. Blue eyes large, face strained, his entire body language screamed fear and panic - perhaps he'd heard the wolves after all - but at least his focus was now on Arthur. It was strange, seeing Merlin like that. He almost always seemed to be the bravest of them all.
"There is - Ther'sssss – something. We sh- sh- leave." As Merlin stuttered his disjointed sentences, Arthur heard another howl, seemingly from quite a distance. Merlin's body made motions as if he was ready to bolt at any moment. He must have heard the wolves too – though if they were there at all, they seemed to be retreating.
Arthur firmly grabbed Merlin's upper arm. Just to prevent the idiot from having any stupid ideas. Like running. "You heard it too?"
Merlin gave a whimper but otherwise did not react at all. Frustrated and alarmed Arthur watched as the boy seemed to shrink in on himself quietly repeating, "No no no no…"
Tightening his grip on his manservant's jacket sleeve, he started to pull Merlin forward, out of this forest. Inconveniently, the cliffs and river on their left currently blocked their route to the closest way out. The fastest, safest route was downstream, following the river's course toward the mountains of Elmet.
Arthur ignored the continued but ever diminishing noises of wolves, the increased muttering of Merlin who seemed to be pleading and apologising now to figments and shadows Arthur wasn't privy to.
Then up ahead Arthur suddenly saw something strikingly white move swiftly through the woods. He pushed Merlin quickly against a tree that shuddered at the onslaught and peered beyond Merlin and the tree to inspect the forest.
First he saw nothing. Then from both the south and south-east stark-white wolves moved with a hunter's grace toward them. He heard their full-throated howls, growing incongruently more quiet the closer they moved. From all directions more wolves joined. Their ears were blood red.
Death portent, whispered the memory of one of his once caretakers. Arthur humphed. Old wives tales, and superstition, more like.
Beside him Merlin whimpered.
Arthur blocked Merlin against the tree, physically protecting him against the threat of the wolves.
"Merlin" he said urgently. "Wolves react to running wild life, but they respect that what appears stronger than them. So we have to make them fear and respect us. Follow my lead." And if you don't, I'll drag your idiot body out. "One. Two. Three. Go!"
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their howl softer and softer the nearer they drew
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Merlin distantly noticed his body being moved about. The oppressing malevolence that poured out a cascade of thoughts and memories and regrets and guilt seemed to stalk closer and closer though no matter where his body was dragged to.
As this malign presence oozed on him from seemingly all directions, Merlin felt the urge to run build. Only a body and a hand held him in place. Then the body disappeared and the hand pulled. It wasn't enough to ground him. The compulsion to flee hit Merlin overwhelmingly.
His arm wrenched away from the hand gripping it. His hand dropped the day packs; his feet stumbled and ran. His ears heard Arthur roaring out his name.
His mind was consumed with one thought.
Flee.
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her hounds gave chase
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Arthur saw the whites of his manservant's eyes, the look of utter horror that appeared to be directed at nothing in specific – not even the noise of the wolves - and then Merlin bolted as if death itself was on his heels.
"Merlin!" Arthur roared out.
The wolves howled. And followed. Arthur noted their howling inexplicably grew louder now they were running away from him.
"Merlin!" he bellowed again. Chasing his manservant's trail.
If there were any unseen onlookers, as he suspected, he paid them little mind. He could not fight against shadows, so unless they started to materialize he would by damn follow his ridiculous servant and rescue him from the plight he found himself in.
He ran along the path that Merlin had cut through the forest and with alarm realised the direction his manservant was heading to.
A big broken branch showed that Merlin must have stumbled and fallen. Yards away he saw the muffled brown of Merlin's attire, crouched in on himself, far too close to the cliff's edge for Arthur's comfort of mind. He did not see or hear any of the wolves.
"Merlin!" he shouted in relief and desperation both.
If Merlin heard it, he didn't show it. His arms protecting his ears as if he was trying to refuse to listen, but failing badly if the shaking of his head was any indication.
Arthur ran as if the hounds were chasing him now.
A chorus of wolves howled in the distance, and Merlin disappeared off the cliff's ledge.
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and hunted the wrongdoer
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Morgana choking in his arms, looking up at him shocked-frightened-accusing. A chandelier dropping on Mary. An axe cleaving Edwin. Obliterating Sophia, Nimueh… Kilgarrah attacking Camelot nights on end. Sooo many deaths. All his mistakes. All his fault.
Monster…
An urge to flee, to run. To jump.
Merlin absently noticed his body falling. His shoulder hit a hard surface; fell through it right after. Freezing wetness filled mouth and nose.
A last thought, perhaps it is better like this…
Then nothing.
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until they could run no longer
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Arthur reached the cliff's edge in a moment, disbelieving what he just saw. "No!"
The cliff was at least thirty feet high here, the river below wild and twisting around boulders. No sign of Merlin.
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like the wrongdoer, magic washed out of her dome
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"You are Arthur Pendragon," a woman's voice. The voice held a note of curiosity, as if she had just discovered something she had been puzzling over for a while.
Arthur whirled around, directing all of his fury to the robed figure that had appeared. Impossible to guess her age - or her gender, if it wasn't for the voice – unremarkable in any way. The dozen or so pure white, red-eared wolves stood behind her. Now they appeared a pack of docile, even demure – but attentive - hounds, seemingly completely under her control.
"Who are you?" he growled, keeping one eye on her and one eye of the pack of hounds – one dislodged itself from the group and started sniffing the air in front of him as if some of his ardour piqued their special interest.
Instead of speaking with her mouth, her voice sounded in his head.
I am the keeper of balance, judge of all things magical, if you will. That is all you need to know, son of Uther Pendragon.
The hounds formed a half-circle around him. All sniffing the air and looking menacing again. He wanted to snarl at them and the woman that appeared to be controlling them. Throw them off the edge of the cliff. But he realised he was barely in a position of power at the moment and weighed his options.
He could jump past the hounds and leap after Merlin into the whirling river below, or try his luck with the woman. The hounds looked ready to devour him as their afternoon meal. The river looked like a guaranteed – but more merciful – death. He winced, thinking of Merlin.
She continued, her eyes staring with an intensity that suggested she was not only speaking in his mind but looking through it and dissecting it.
It took us a bit to realise, my Cwn and I, the magic within you is so small, a smudge, little more. Yet I recognize it, saw it before in a new-born. You see, your birth was rather suspect. And as balance-keeper, I felt honour bound to go and check whether the proper ways were followed and the magical balance was not disturbed.
Arthur fleetingly thought back to time Morgause showed him the mirage of his mother, and uneasily he wondered…
The woman, this self-proclaimed judge, smiled knowingly and continued.
Though the deal was morally questionable, all parties were informed and consenting, all magical criteria were met and balance unaffected. There was no reason for me to interfere or demand reparation.
Arthur started to feel distinctly uncomfortable, and it had nothing to do with the eerie atmosphere of the dead forest, the magical creatures that threateningly surrounded him, his impatience to search for his manservant or the way this sorceress kept speaking calmly in his head – as if she was discussing a matter she was completely impartial to. It had everything to do with the content of her words and what if they held truth?
It was only one season later when we realised, the balance was disturbed. It appeared Uther, that pitiful mundane man - she almost spat the words in his mind, not calm about this -was completely upturning balance all by himself. With his purge! Killing magical beings without a care, spilling all their magic in the air without caring to somehow bind it. The resulting magical storm…
The woman faltered for a bit, as if stumbling over her memories.
I tried passing judgement upon Uther. Right the world of his wrongs. But my powers cannot affect the mundane.
She stared him straight in the eye now, not looking as if she was reading his thoughts anymore– perhaps she had seen all that she needed to see, Arthur thought with a grimace – and told him with a smirk-like laugh aloud, "I am explaining this all to you so that you know why - besides the many valid reasons my Cwn just extracted from your mind - I am passing judgement on you."
The hounds, the Cwn, growled at that and memories of a burning druid camp, howls of sorcerers right before their execution, lifeless bodies of drowned children, a woman charred by dragon's fire fleeted through his mind.
"Understand this, Arthur Pendragon. Your father destroyed balance upon your birth. He will now pay for it with your death. At the same time, your death will also avenge all misdeeds you have inflicted on the magical community."
And with that statement, a flood of memories came over him, together with an irresistible urge to run. But Arthur was not Prince of Camelot for naught. Resist this evil magic he would.
Through the onslaught of memories, he thought of Merlin and how he must have experienced something similar too. Through gritted teeth, and locking his knees so he would not give in to the urge to run or leap he got out accusingly "What about Merlin? How is his death supposedly justified?"
For a moment she seemed puzzled, then realised who he was talking about. "I do not know what troubled his mind. My Cwn passed judgement upon him without my intervention. Which must mean his crimes were severe enough that the penalty was justified."
It struck him wrong in so many ways.
"You dare to let these monsters pass judgement on men, without trial, without the royal right!"
She seemed wholly unaffected by his outrage. "The boy passed judgement upon himself."
Then it appeared all time for conversation was over. The hounds advanced on him, like they had done Merlin, with ears flat on their necks, their lips retracted to show rows of sharp teeth. Their soundless growls chafed at Arthur's resolve and their spell took further hold. All thoughts and memories insistently came to the forefront of his mind and though he valiantly fought back, he felt he was losing.
Screams of women and children, of men, of the druid encampment on his first raid; the desperation of the towns people he could not help during the dragon's attack; a sorceress, found guilty of saving a man's life with magic, screaming on a pyre; bullying servants and townspeople in his younger years; submitting Gaius to the cruelty of the Witchfinder;even guilt about hitting Merlin one time too hard or sloshing him in mop water.
Each thought built an irresistible urge to run. Flee from the hounds, flee from the thoughts, Arthur did not know anymore. Slowly and surely he lost more and more of his steadfastness and control and his feet started to move.
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to be bound to the earth again
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Freezing cold. Relentless, icy fingers dragging him onwards and smacking him against rock. A gasp of air; a gulp of water. Gagging. Heaving. Burning lungs.
The current too swift, the rock face's on each side too steep.
"O Drak- " Another gag of river.
A boulder. A swirl.
Merlin felt himself slip.
A burst of magic. Directionless into nothingness.
Merlin followed.
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stabilising magic's scale once more
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Arthur ran. He did not know how he passed the hounds – or did they let him pass, giving them something to chase? – but he felt them now at his heels rather than in front of him.
He ran through bushes and underbrush. Decades of training kicked in to zigzag and use his surroundings to outrun his pursuers. He tried to keep the river to his left, running downstream toward the foot of the Elmet mountains. But the unnatural, spell-induced panic and fright made his footwork sloppy and his tactics abominable. He no longer knew whether he was running from his thoughts or the followers he could no longer hear or see, but feel distinctly.
Fleetingly he thought, I don't know how long I can keep this up.
Then the whole world crashed down on him.
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the two of them bound
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to a similar faith
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upon drowning and death
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their balance restored
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Author's note: Here's to my first fic ever! Mayor thanks to wryter501 whose on point comments made this story so much more than I ever imagined it could be. Without her observations and encouragement this fic would probably have drivelled in the recesses of my folders for an eternity to come. For those that may be worried about the cliffie, no worries, chapter 2 (also the last) is written already.