We Daren't Go A-Hunting (part 3)
How long peaceful oblivion lasted, Merlin didn't know. When he was aware of his thought processes again – aware of cold hard stone beneath his hands, his cheek, bruises spreading on his left side, hip and shoulder – he was aware of nausea rather than hunger. And a deep and fearsome uncertainty, the likes of which he'd rarely encountered.
I don't know how we're going to get out of this. I don't know if I can actually stop them taking Arthur and making him like one of them. If I stayed and they did, is it even possible to reverse the process, even if I had forever to figure it out? If I leave, will they torture him like this instead of me? Or will they go hunting again for someone else?
"Merlin." The voice dragged him back to the present, and he moaned in feeble objection. "Come on, wake up, you id… Mm. Wake up, dammit."
He opened his eyes and saw the blue light rippling across the cavern roof. Then Arthur bent over him and he couldn't quite help flinching. The prince probably saw, but he pretended like he hadn't, and Merlin was miserably grateful for it.
"Earlier when we tried to see about leaving, and my feet stuck…" He spoke quickly to Merlin, but his eyes were roving through the enormous cavern, probably keeping track of every one of the folk. "You didn't have the same problem, did you?"
"No," Merlin said, rolling to his back but not moving further. And that magic he couldn't counter, either. He wished he'd been taught more about the different kinds of magic, characteristics and conditions. They were like the troll, maybe, or the dragon, before… He didn't have the knowledge, or the strength perhaps, to apply his magic properly. Sometimes it worked on instinct or emotion, but not reliably.
"Come on, get up," Arthur said, sounding abruptly irritable, nudging Merlin's arm with his knuckles and pushing to his feet himself. "I mean, I know you're lazy, but this is ridiculous."
Each word like salt in an open wound – and he had many of those with his worst memories torn open – but Arthur couldn't know that. The prince never realized how it felt to be him, and… most of the time, Merlin preferred it that way. The last thing he wanted from his prince was pity. Keeping his eyes down, he rolled away from Arthur, finding control of his body shaky but adequate.
"I want you to leave," Arthur went on, speaking deliberately and watching their surrounding captors as if afraid he'd be overheard. "Get out however you can. It's me they want, obviously-"
It's you they'll take, Merlin corrected mentally. It's us they want.
"So you need to go now while you can."
"I won't leave you," Merlin said, and the words fell from his mouth through his ears to the pit of his stomach, dropping hollowly through empty space. He desperately needed them to mean something – to mean everything, after what he'd given up and what he'd lost in spite of desperate clinging. Will, his father, Freya… even Morgana.
"Well, I want you to," Arthur said, sounding cross. He folded his arms over his chest, staring past Merlin's right shoulder. I'm the prince, so I get what I want, every time. "You're useless here. I mean, you're useless anyway…"
Merlin took two steps back before he'd realized, stumbling like Arthur had shoved him. "Why… are you saying…"
"You really are an idiot, aren't you?" Arthur said harshly, without looking at him. "How can I make this any simpler? I don't want you here. Go away."
I no longer require your services – get out of my sight! Leave-go-getoutofmysight!
It was hard to breathe. His lungs were lined with thorns or nails, his body ripping apart in a hundred ways, a little at a time. And Arthur's wasn't wrong – Merlin could do nothing here. Maybe if he returned to Gaius, he could research the fyxen-naedre, find some weakness or strategy…
He couldn't look at his prince. Nodding shortly to accept the judgment, he turned and plodded in the one direction that was away. The fyxen-naedre watched him, and didn't move to stop him.
But every step, instead of getting easier, instead of bringing relief and liberty – and if he asked one of their captors, he was sure they'd return him to the outside world – every step grew more difficult. Not physically difficult as he'd seen the enchantment affect Arthur to keep him contained.
Was he a beggar for punishment. Well, didn't he deserve it. Wasn't he a monster, otherwise.
He turned and looked back.
Arthur was watching him go, and a thought occurred to him. A thought that was a shaft of pure light into the swirling murkiness of his soul – illumination and freedom from the weight of the pain of Arthur's words. Because he knew his prince, beneath the rough and careless words and the misconception that must exist between them to cover Merlin's secret and allow him to guard Arthur, there was the truth that Merlin clung to when hurt and doubt threatened. This was the reason Merlin forgave.
He was a good man. He would be an even better king. When he realized he was wrong, he fixed it.
Merlin began walking again, treading forward toward his prince – his friend, he didn't care what anyone else or even Arthur himself said, dammit – and Arthur's demeanor changed. He dropped his arms and paced the edge of his invisible boundary – two steps sideways, two steps back.
"Merlin," he growled, glaring. "What are you doing. You idiot."
Idiot didn't hurt that time. It felt warm, like it was a code for something else Arthur was saying, that Merlin didn't initially understand. Like the signals for the knights, that no one ever bothered to explain, but Merlin comprehended in stages by experience.
He strode right up to the prince and stopped, looking him in the eye like he rarely dared to do – the daringly claimed equality was a relief - and spoke in a low voice.
"If they let me leave, it wouldn't be til tomorrow that I'd get back to the citadel. And perhaps another day til I could bring a troop of knights, if they believed me at all. And I probably couldn't open the doorway that would bring us here, again, and who knows if the weapons of your knights would prove effective."
Chagrin narrowed Arthur's eyes and he scowled unhappily at Merlin.
"I know what you're trying to do," Merlin added, keeping his voice steady. "You thought you had to hurt me to make me leave, to save my life, didn't you?"
Arthur exhaled, too exhausted and despondent even to attempt a sarcastic denial. "It's not going to work, is it? Really, Merlin, you are an idiot for not saving yourself."
"I don't mean anything without you," Merlin stated softly, but certainly. "But Arthur…" He hesitated, but the situation was dire. And he was only hinting, not confessing. "I hope that you remember this, someday when… when I have to hurt you, in order to save your life."
Arthur gave him a quizzical look – which faded swiftly as he repeated, "You probably couldn't open the doorway."
"Yes, I said that," Merlin responded, slightly annoyed at the shift of conversational focus.
"I was unconscious when they brought us down here," Arthur went on. "But you – you saw?"
"Yeah-"
Arthur didn't let him finish. "Did they enter through some sort of cave? Even if magic was involved, did you see which direction-"
"It wasn't a cave," Merlin said. "They moved forward, and then a doorway leading into the water appeared, but my feet never even got wet. Between one step and the next, we were here."
"And when we arrived in the cavern, the lake was where?" Arthur demanded.
"It was – behind us." Merlin still didn't understand, but when the prince turned and stalked toward the water, he followed. "Arthur…"
Movement flickered at the edges of his vision, and Arthur never touched so much as the edge of the subterranean lake. The fyxen-naedre swarmed them both, dragging them back and even lifting Arthur right off the ground as he struggled ineffectually. Merlin took the chance to try any magic he could, squirming like he was trying to swim out of a school of carnivorous fish. They dropped him, hissing, and he lost his breath for a moment, rolling to keep his eyes on Arthur-
"Merlin!"
In the grip of a dozen fyxen-naedre, the prince fell completely limp, and if Merlin didn't have to hide his magic, he could-
But then they touched him, and he screamed.
You really are a total buffoon, aren't you, Merlin? You really are a complete idiot, aren't you, Merlin?
You bumpkin, you are half asleep today!
It's hardly my fault that I have a lazy idiot for a servant. Ignore him, he's an idiot.
Idiot… idiot…
…
He may be an idiot, but he's a brave one.
That memory of that word changed something. He reached out and seized control of the onslaught, damming the tide with the bedrock of other memories, words and looks that he'd repeated and relived in the quiet of his room and his mind to counteract Arthur's momentary anger and reactive insults.
There's something about you, Merlin, I can't quite put my finger on it…
I believe you… He has my absolute trust.
You're braver than you look… You're smarter than you look… You're a true friend.
It's been an honor… I've got to quite like you.
I'm glad you're here, Merlin.
The more deliberate confessions of truth that lay beneath the bullying nonchalance, that lasted, hidden and secret and precious. You can't fight like you're afraid to get hurt, because then you will, and you'll lose…
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
When Arthur woke, the first thing he noticed was that his clothing had been removed. Every stitch. And his boots. The second thing he noticed was Merlin's bare back, curving away from him as he lay motionless, scattered with reddened scrapes from his earlier ordeal. His uppermost shoulder dropped like he was regaining consciousness also.
The third thing Arthur noticed, as he rolled away to get to his feet in preparation for whatever was to come, was that they were surrounded again by the strange blond folk – and that there wasn't a single red cap or green jacket or feather-covering among them.
At first he thought not to look at them at all. But his training kicked him in the – stomach – and he raised his eyes deliberately, alert to any further threat.
He noticed something else. None of them were exposed. A fall of long golden hair or the turn of their stance or even an effectively placed limb. And then he noticed that they were each linked to the next, eerily casual about touching, clinging to their naked neighbor whether male or female where everyone else could see. It wasn't sexual so much as it was… proprietary. Familial.
He turned in a slow circle – keeping his hands over himself, and deliberately not looking at Merlin – yes, everyone was joined. No one left out. The circle closed.
Then he noticed Merlin.
Not like that. Because they each, while facing forward, had unconsciously angled away from each other. Arthur from an instinct of training, to widen the range of their combined vision, Merlin probably from modesty, Arthur thought, and if they ever got out of this cave, he could tease him about his girlish sensibilities later. As long as he could be sure he wasn't hurting-
But Merlin's hand was at his side.
Odd enough to warrant another quick glance, just to be sure nothing had – happened to the younger man, before turning back to the surrounding crowd of spirits. Yes, both Merlin's hands had been at his sides, rather than in front to cover himself, but not hanging there limply, stupidly. He was tense; the curve of Merlin's absurdly-pale and irritatingly skinny body said every muscle was tight and ready. Like a hunting dog scenting prey and waiting to be loosed. Like a veteran warhorse scenting battle and waiting for the command to charge.
That was a ridiculous comparison. This was Merlin, after all. Merlin, who when danger threatened, took his chance to hide.
Only, who was hiding now?
Like the warhorse and the hound, Merlin seemed to lack all embarrassment in his natural state. So focused that he was utterly unself-conscious.
Arthur had heard that his forebears would battle completely unclothed. He couldn't imagine being able to concentrate – without armor, he told himself. But that glimpse of Merlin put the memory of his adolescent snickering at barbaric ancestors to shame.
Maybe Merlin's fear was greater than Arthur's, or his bizarre sense of responsibility for Arthur's safety overcame his fear – he always did refuse to leave Arthur in the middle of danger, for whatever reason – or maybe he sensed a greater threat than Arthur was aware of. It happened, he'd admit it; Merlin was as sensitive as a girl.
But in that moment, Merlin had absolutely no thought for himself, safety or modesty.
"When we assimilate your master-" Again, Arthur could not see anyone's mouth moving, but more than one spoke at once. And why were they addressing Merlin?- "You may choose to leave. Or to stay and sustain us. As long as you may last."
Merlin growled. Actually growled, and whipped his head around as if aggravated that there were folk behind him.
Arthur was going to break any hand that touched him. Even if there was too many all at once to move. But he had an idea they might not have to touch him to assimilate him, and his stomach sank.
"You should go," he told Merlin in a low voice. "Get back to Gaius, find a cure or something…"
Merlin shook his head, still slightly crouched, hands out, and his voice was different when he spoke. It held the deeper timbre of grave wisdom and fathomless determination that Arthur never knew how to respond to. "They're not going to touch you. I won't let them take you."
Taking that as the challenge it sounded, the creatures shifted, slipping around and past each other, still betraying no glimpse of offended privacy. Arthur turned away from Merlin, stepping closer though obviously, being undressed, they wouldn't actually put their backs together.
The blue eyes gleamed eagerly. Pink lips parted and – were their teeth pointed?
Merlin made a noise like his breath had been punched from his gut, and Arthur only just stopped himself whirling around again. A wave of warmth washed over his skin, palpable as a breeze save for the temperature, passing over him back to front and leaving him as comfortable as if he wore armor. He'd felt something like this before, when things seemed dire and he had no idea how survival could be grasped – and then circumstances seemed to hand it to him. Fatalism, maybe. Things can't possibly get worse, so somehow – somehow – they've got to get better…
He hoped they were in the center of a circle, and none of the creatures were close enough to touch Merlin, because none were close enough to touch him. And anyway, the ones he could see were confused and upset; it looked like they were trying to push closer and couldn't.
Maybe someone made a mistake with the enchantment that made Arthur's feet stick when he tried to escape?
"Arthur. Move toward the water." Merlin's voice came out as a guttural snarl.
It sent an inexplicable chill up his spine, and he didn't question, tone or suggestion. He slid his feet carefully along the rough stone ground, and the creatures slowly gave way before them.
"What are you doing?" they said.
"You can't! You can't! He can't, can he?"
Merlin's elbow bumped his, and Arthur moved faster to avoid any further skin-to-skin contact. The folk avoided the edge of the water for their own reasons, and in a moment there was only a single line between them and the lake – and then a gap.
"Don't you ever…" His soft-spoken servant's outrage had never been so deep or so deadly, speaking to Arthur. "Ever, try this again. Not on any of our citizens. We will know if you do. Camelot is under… our protection."
They skittered, some retreating while others still made attempts to get closer. Arthur turned as his feet splashed into the water – it was frigid and his breath caught high in his lungs. He was not looking forward to this. Although, if it worked…
"Go," Merlin said to him – not facing him either, but the sound of it. "Head for the girl's island, and then down. I think. I hope. If I'm right…"
Merlin's hopes were good enough for him. Just don't ask him to admit that to his cheerfully sarcastic servant's face. If he still had a cheerfully sarcastic servant when this was all over.
"Go… go!" Merlin's feet splashed into the water, running, then lunging, then diving forward in a long pale shape.
Arthur was only a moment behind him, fighting his body to take a deep breath, then nearly freezing stiff in pained shock as the icy liquid closed over him. He cringed to open his eyes to the lake-water, but the sight of Merlin's indistinct figure, kicking and stroking away, fired him, and he forced his limbs to propel him in his servant's wake.
His progress seemed horribly slow. And could they not surface for a breath of air, for some reason?
There was the hazy-edged island or raft above them. For a moment he wished they could rescue the girl, and then she moved, thrusting her face down into the water at them – her eyes an unearthly glowing blue – and her mouth spread inhumanly wide to shriek in anger or alarm-
The sound passed unnaturally through the water and Arthur was nearly paralyzed with horror and the conviction that he would float helplessly up and up, into her clutches.
Merlin's fingers closed around his wrist, and he could move his head to look away, ice-cold currents plucking at his hair. She was already lost, beyond saving, whatever she was now. Merlin dove deep, his bare feet just past Arthur's right shoulder, kicking the water into a froth of murky bubbles, and he was able to follow.
Was down really the right way to go? The weight of the water pressed and dragged and the cold impaled him with a thousand glassy slivers. His hands and feet felt like literal paddles, wooden and clumsy and then – there was an amber glow of daylight.
The water surrendered its grip, little by little, and seemed to push him toward the growing illumination – and then it was unquestionably upwards, and his face was breaking the surface.
He gasped aloud, the chill Samhain air prickling his lungs like he'd inhaled a handful of lance splinters. Merlin sputtered and splashed only a short distance away – Arthur could feel sloping mud between his toes, and blindly struck out for shallower water, hoping for an edge, and a bank.
And – if any of the gods were willing to be kind – clothes? a cover or shelter of some sort, anyway, so they didn't actually freeze to death.
Merlin flopped onto shore moments before Arthur, facedown and still up to his ribs in silty water. Arthur made a clumsy fist and nudged him; both of them were shuddering with reaction to the cold. Out of one kind of danger, but right into another.
"Come on, out. Or we might still lose this fight."
Merlin huffed, then whimpered in pitiful amusement. "The next time I say, we shouldn't be here…"
"Yes, all right," Arthur growled.
Since it seemed like they were going to survive this after all – somehow - in the future he would listen to Merlin more often, dammit.
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
For one moment Merlin was sure that he was exactly wrong about the way out.
And maybe drowning in an attempt to save his prince – drowning with his prince – was preferable to what the fyxen-naedre had intended.
You are magic, he'd been told. So even in their realm – the Cythe – he'd brought his magic with him. And maybe it couldn't touch them at all, but maybe then… it meant that they couldn't touch him, either.
And it worked. He would have laughed incredulously – deliriously – if he'd been able to spare the concentration.
Arthur prodded him, trying to make him leave the dangerous cold of the water and the muddy bank, but Merlin was spent and starting to feel warm. His prince was safe and they hadn't been followed, and he was done. He tried, but he was shaking, and weak as a kitten, and didn't want to move. And didn't want to Arthur to know it and tease, so he tried a joke. "The next time I say, we shouldn't be here…"
"Yes, all right," Arthur grouched.
The sun was setting, the warm gold of the world turning to cold ashy gray. Merlin lifted his head to look up the bank – was this bit of forest familiar? – and found himself meeting the astonished gaze of a fully clothed knight. Sir Leon, chainmail and scarlet cloak.
He was astonished, himself.
"Sire?" Leon said.
Arthur realized – then recognized – then relaxed. "Leon!" he said, explosively relieved. Then, more confused than Merlin had energy to be, "What are you doing here?"
Leon didn't immediately answer, looking over his shoulder to a bit of clearing behind him, horses and – others. "Get a couple of blankets, right away!" he shouted. "We'll get you dry, sire – we found your clothes just over there… did you go swimming?"
Merlin felt his ears heat, and kept his head down, crawling up the bank on hands and bare knees. And of course they'd look absolutely ridiculous when they were found instead of presenting some more heroic portrait – or at least he would. Arthur would look about as ridiculous as a charger or hunting dog drenched from the rain – which was to say, not at all, just majestic in a different sort of way. Merlin would look like a drowned rat, pathetic and laughable.
"No, we-" Arthur paused, taking Leon's hand and allowed himself to be pulled out of the water.
Merlin didn't dare lift his eyes higher than the prince's knees. Their mutually naked state was more awkward here and now than his presence attending Arthur in his bath in his chamber ever was.
"We thought we saw a girl in the water," Arthur went on, in a slightly different tone, accepting one of the blankets offered by another knight. Merlin could hardly unfold his to wrap around him, his hands were shaking so, and numb with cold. "I thought of Morgana."
"So you took all your clothes off and jumped in the lake?" Leon asked, managing to be respectfully incredulous. "At this time of year?"
"If we'd jumped in with our clothes on, then they wouldn't be waiting for us warm and dry when we got out," Arthur pointed out, with exaggerated good sense. "And if it had been Morgana…"
Leon nodded, understanding. "But it wasn't."
"No. We were wrong, there wasn't anyone there at all."
Arthur concentrated on rubbing himself down vigorously; Leon shook out his trousers, shirt and jacket over his elbow, and Arthur stepped into them, pulling them up to his waist. Someone dropped Merlin's clothes next to him, but he couldn't make the blanket cooperate to dry himself off. His hair dripped onto his skin and he shivered incessantly; he was sitting on a poky twig and it hurt when he shifted and he was so terribly clumsy when he was tired and any minute now someone would make the first joke and it would probably be Arthur… Just now he didn't think he could bear that.
"Come on, Merlin." But that was Arthur, bending over him, using his own half-damp blanket to wipe Merlin's skin and tousle his hair. "That water was damn cold. Let's get you dried and dressed, and – look, the boys are lighting a fire for us."
Correction - the boys were lighting a fire for Arthur.
"That'll be welcome." Merlin's teeth chattered, making his words sound odd and putting him in danger of biting his own tongue. He didn't stand up to pull his trousers on; he knew he'd tumble over on his face if he tried. "And – dinner? Depending on… what supplies they brought… I could-" Cookfire sounded warm, at least.
"I could eat a horse," Arthur declared. His shirt was on and his jacket, left unbuttoned for a moment because he was kneeling next to Merlin to help him work out that his shirt was backwards and ought to be twisted around the right way before he put his arms in.
"I've got Oswald fixing something to eat," Leon told them. "I'll send a rider back to Camelot with the news we found you, and you can eat and get warm and we'll spend the night here before returning to the citadel in the morning."
Merlin pulled his boots on. Arthur pulled his boots on, leaning back against a tree for balance.
"Why are you here?" the prince asked again.
"You've been gone two days," Leon said, as if unsure why Arthur should have to ask. The story about thinking there was someone in the water, and maybe Morgana, didn't explain the passage of time. "When you didn't return for the Samhain feast, the king ordered us to track you, in case… something happened. He was quite distraught."
As much as he didn't pity Uther Pendragon, Merlin felt a pang of regret that stole his breath for a moment. Having just lost Morgana, and to think he might have lost Arthur too, to an abduction by someone with magic…
"Come on," Arthur said to him again, reaching down to pull Merlin to his feet. "Can you walk?"
"I can stagger," Merlin suggested, breathless. A bit lightheaded to feel safer surrounded by the knights, than by magic folk.
Instead of any one of a hundred quips he could have made at Merlin's expense, to set the others snickering and chuckling in appreciation of his wit and Merlin's absurdity, Arthur said, "That's all right, as long as you can make it."
The rest of the troop was setting up camp and arranging dinner, and evidently Merlin wasn't going to be expected to do anything contributive. The fire was crackling invitingly, and as Leon led them toward the growing blaze, Arthur stepped close enough to murmur in Merlin's ear; he tried to control his instinctive flinch.
"About what happened…" Arthur took a breath, and was he trembling? Shivering still, in spite of dry clothes; Merlin wasn't yet steady himself. "Ah. Let's not… say anything about those creatures, or what really happened, hm? We can… talk about it later."
"Fine by me if we never talk about it," Merlin managed. He needed to rearrange his memories again, cover over the thoughtless insults with the shy half-compliments and be able to see the truth when he looked at his prince, without having to answer and deflect the questions that Arthur was sure to ask.
"Mm. Yeah, I suppose…"
Merlin sank down gratefully as close to the hot dry comfort of the fire as they'd let him, leaning back against a fallen tree – the jutting stump of a branch providing a rest for his head as he relaxed.
He was going to have to take a nap before dinner; he could not keep his eyes open even to identify who else had come along, as the knights joined them by the fire, dropping down to claim a seat. Their voices murmured, interrupted sometimes with laughter, and he caught enough to realize they were describing the missed feast to the prince.
For a moment he deliberately sent his senses questing as far as they could extend, through the forest surrounding them, toward the leafy lane and the mere. It felt utterly abandoned, and he relaxed, ready to believe the fyxen-naedre were going to take his warning seriously. Camelot was Arthur's hunting grounds, not anyone else's.
"So who's got a good Samhain tale to tell?" someone asked aloud. "Sire?"
Arthur, whose shoulder was propping up Merlin's knee, snorted, and Merlin couldn't help the noise of protest in the back of his throat. But Arthur looked back at him, blue eyes and golden hair gleaming in the fire-glow – tired and complicated and alive and imperfect and himself-
And said, "It's fine, Merlin. Just rest."
Maybe it wouldn't last, this new solicitous mood. And maybe, when he did learn of Merlin's magic, he'd be furious and hurt and cold before it mattered to him that the lawbreaking and the lies were necessary to save his life. And maybe then Merlin would miss the days of his prince's casual sarcasm, maybe more biting than he intended at times because he was ignorant of so much of Merlin's existence, but it was still a rivalry that hinted at equality, much more so than if Arthur's notice brushed blandly over him.
And today he was certain of the goodness of Arthur's heart and that, after all, was why he did all of it. And why he would keeping doing it.
Up the airy mountain, down the rushy glen
We daren't go a-hunting, for fear of little men…
A/N: If anyone recognizes the first bit of the poem, it's quoted by the Tinker in the 'old' version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the scene when Charlie Bucket notices through the iron gates, that Wonka's factory has started up again…
Spells and dialogue from various episodes you can recognize (do I have to credit each of them?)
Also, there are elements here that I've mentally borrowed from Robert Jordan's "Wheel of Time" series, mainly book 13, Towers of Midnight, and from Stephanie Meyers' "Twilight" series, mainly Breaking Dawn, as well as H.G. Wells' "Time Machine". If you didn't recognize them while you were reading them, then I'm glad.