Chapter 3

Because of the peaceful atmosphere exuded by the inn, Arthur had assumed he'd be woken by something poetic, like the chirping of birds, or sunlight streaming through his window. It seemed the sort of place that would let you relax and wake at your own pace so that you'd come out completely refreshed and ready for the new day.

He was wrong.

Instead, he found himself glaring, bleary-eyed at the ridiculously cheerful innkeeper who'd unceremoniously ripped back the curtains of his room, blasting him with the harsh glare of the morning sun. Merlin had dropped a metal tray of what appeared to be breakfast on the small table provided with a resounding clang that reverberated through his tired skull.

'Good morning sunshine!'

Arthur groaned pitifully, clamping his pillow firmly over his head. He hated morning people.

His hatred was only reaffirmed when the pillow was ripped from him, the offender still wearing a happy smile. 'If a hungover Gwaine can't beat me at this game, you definitely can't either,' he chirped.

Is that a challenge? Arthur cracked open one eyelid to glare balefully at him.

'Come on, I have some things to show you,' Merlin coaxed him.

Suddenly, Arthur was wide awake. All the events of the past week rushed back to him in an instant and he shot up out of bed. Merlin stumbled back, startled by his abrupt movement.

'Wow, yeah, much easier than dealing with Gwaine. Who, by the way, will meet you in the dining hall in five minutes,' he added helpfully. 'Hurry along now!'

Arthur growled and grabbed the closest thing to him (being his pillow, unfortunately) and threw it as hard as he could at the smug innkeeper. He'd teach him to be so awake in the morning. Who did he think he was?

The pillow froze mid-air.

All of a sudden, Arthur was viciously reminded that he was now alone, unarmed and entirely vulnerable in a room with a sorcerer. A sorcerer who was laughing at him – not in spite, but genuine humour.

'You'll have to do better than that I'm afraid,' he shot back with a goading grin.

And somehow, impossibly, the sudden tension was dissolved in an instant. Merlin gave one last cheery wave and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Arthur glared defiantly at the door, previous ire back in full force.

Challenge accepted.

When Arthur was fully dressed (and armed), he made his way downstairs to the dining hall. As Merlin had promised, Gwaine was already seated at one of the tables and somehow didn't look as deathly as he really should have after the night he'd had. In fact, he was chatting animatedly with the innkeeper, apparently completely recovered.

Magic. It had to be.

Merlin and Gwaine both looked up when the bottom stair creaked, effectively announcing his arrival, and beckoned him over.

'Arthur! What'd I tell you? Merlin here thinks he has a solution to our monster problem,' Gwaine said proudly, by way of greeting.

'Really? You figured out what it is?' Arthur demanded.

Merlin looked rather uncomfortable under the scrutiny but answered nonetheless. 'Yes, and no. It's complicated. The creature that chased you is definitely from the Spirit World, but I don't think it's the one killing people.'

'What? That makes no sense. This thing has been seen – well, glimpsed really – every time a murder has happened, and it doesn't strike me as friendly,' Arthur argued.

'Well I'd say it knew you were after it, which wouldn't make it too happy with you now would it? How would you feel if someone came after you, just for existing?' Merlin shot back.

There was an awkward silence. Somehow, Arthur didn't think he was just talking about the monster.

Merlin visibly shook himself and continued. 'I think that the creature you saw was actually trying to save those people. Here, look.' He grabbed a large tome sitting on the table that had somehow escaped Arthur's notice when he'd walked in, opened it to a marked page, and turned it around so Arthur could see. Depicted in the ancient book was a large, bear-like creature with shaggy black fur and vicious looking fangs. It would've looked terrifying, had the illustrator not drawn it in a docile, unthreatening position. Arthur tried to read the inscription that went with it but quickly discovered a problem.

'What language is this?' he asked, confounded. As a member of the royal family, he'd been given the best education and taught all languages in the region, even ancient ones used in only in a spare few old tomes. He had never seen these strange markings before in his life.

'It's the language of the Old Religion. It's not surprising that you don't know it, as it's been largely forgotten. Even the druids and Priestesses struggle with it. Nowadays, you'll only see it to express instinctive, elemental spells that can't been articulated any other way, or in really old books like this one,' Merlin replied.

'Yes, language, fascinating, can we go back to the monster please?' Gwaine cut in, impatiently.

'Right, sorry. This creature isn't a monster though. It says here that it's a Guardian, a spirit that can be summoned to the Mortal Realm to eliminate any threats that have slipped through from the Spirit World. There are lots of different Guardians, each specific to different dangers. This one in particular is the natural enemy of the manticore.' Merlin explained.

'Manticore? You mentioned that yesterday, what is it?' Arthur asked, fully immersed in the discussion now that he had some solid information. He was almost willing to overlook the fact that a harmless looking innkeeper could somehow read the language of magic lost even to the highest of magical powers for centuries.

Almost.

Merlin flipped the pages to another dog-eared section and displayed the image again.

'Now that one looks nasty,' Gwaine stated.

Arthur had to agree with him. The author had made sure to make this picture seem as threatening as possible. It was a small, four-legged creature that had a frilled neck with harsh looking spikes and a tail like the desert creatures Arthur had heard stories of from some more world-travelled merchants. What was most disturbing though was it's human-like face, depicted in an ugly snarl. It was terrifying.

Below the drawing of the creature was another of an oddly decorated box, seeming entirely out of place on the page. 'What's this then?' Arthur inquired.

'That, is a gateway. A portal between this world and the Spirit World, and this is where it gets complicated. Like I said yesterday, the poison of a manticore looks similar, but has a different effect. Normally it's slow acting and turns the victims' eyes black, not their veins. Unless…' Merlin trailed off, a resigned look on his face. Arthur had a feeling he knew where this was going.

'Unless it's altered by magic,' Arthur finished. Merlin hung his head, looking so incredibly sad that Arthur couldn't bring himself to comment. What was wrong with him? He should be accusing the innkeeper; a man he knows is a sorcerer, who conveniently has all the answers and who willingly goads him every chance he gets.

But he didn't.

He somehow couldn't find it in himself to believe that the innkeeper who laughed with and teased someone he knew was wary of magic and armed to boot, just to try and make him more comfortable. A sorcerer that holds the friendship of a man who, despite his flaws, is level headed when he needs to be and a decent judge of character. A man who looked so incredibly disappointed with the actions of his kin, it rivalled the look Uther gave him when he learned Arthur had helped a young druid boy escape the castle. Such irony, he thought.

'Sorry Merlin,' Gwaine said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Merlin gave a grateful smile.

'Thanks, Gwaine. I knew there had to be someone else involved – that's the only way to open a portal to the spirit realm. In the past though, manticore have been known to trick anyone unlucky enough to find that box and curious enough to look inside into releasing them. They would use their poison to keep the magic-user quiet and force them to do whatever they asked.' Merlin sighed. 'This time though, it seems the sorcerer has made the manticore do their bidding. They've even altered the effect of the poison, which tells us they're no one to take lightly. That kind of magic isn't easy – it takes both power and incredible skill.'

'So, the victims could be people this sorcerer had a grudge against, or just the unlucky enough to be made a statement for someone else,' Gwaine theorised.

Arthur winced internally. Considering the creature first appeared in Camelot, he knew it was likely the latter. His father had a lot of enemies after all.

He caught Gwaine giving him a knowing look, and his heart skipped a beat. Did he know?

'But then what about the Guardian?' Gwaine asked.

'Well, clearly someone figured all this out before we did,' Merlin answered. 'The Guardian had to be summoned as well, though it doesn't need a gateway per say. It'll draw on the summoner's magic to keep itself here, otherwise it would just slingshot back. That means it has to stay in close proximity to the summoner, and would likely be coming and going. The continuous draining of magic would force the summoner to keep breaking the connection while they recover then re-summon it once they have, or the constant strain would kill them. Although,' Merlin added thoughtfully. 'Whoever is trying to stop the manticore must be incredibly determined. Even taking breaks to rest, this would be exhausting. Family of a victim, perhaps?'

'Whoever they are, they're helping. They're probably the reason it's moved so far from where it started – it's being pushed away. If we can let them know we're after the same thing, we can stop wasting time running for our lives from that thing like yesterday,' Arthur decided.

'OK then,' Gwaine agreed. 'First we should –'

A blood curdling scream interrupted whatever he was about to say.

The three exchanged alarmed glances before jumping to their feet and running upstairs. They burst into the wood nymphs' shared room, Arthur and Gwaine with swords drawn to find Nyla motionless on the floor, her two sisters kneeling by her side.

Merlin joined them immediately, mumbling something unintelligible as he ran his hands across her face. Arthur scanned the room with a sharp eye looking for the attacker, and saw Gwaine doing the same. A gasp from the floor brought his attention back to the nymph, and his stomach dropped like stone.

Her eyes were open and pitch black.

'It's been here,' he stated, somewhat unnecessarily.

'How is that possible Merlin? I thought you had this place protected!' Gwaine demanded.

'I do! The amount of protective spells I've cast on the area makes this the most secure place in all of Albion, but I didn't do anything against Spirit World creatures! Did you miss the part where it's been centuries since one was seen?' Merlin exclaimed, hands now resting on Nyla's temples. 'It seems my enchantments did nullify whatever alterations were made to the poison though – its acting like it should. That's good.'

'How is that good?' Arthur demanded, gesturing harshly to the unmoving nymph. 'She's dying!'

The sisters wailed louder, clutching desperately at Nyla's limp hands.

'And if the other sorcerer's magic was working here she'd already be dead!' Merlin threw back. He removed his hands and stood up, glaring defiantly. 'If we can kill the manticore before it kills her, the poison will lose its potency and she'll live. We have to find that box.'

'Or the Guardian,' Arthur interjected.

'How long do we have?' Gwaine asked.

Merlin looked pained.

'A day. We have a day.'

After that proclamation, the inn was a flurry of activity. Merlin had run off to gather supplies whilst Gwaine had opened a map onto one of the dining tables and was marking out the known locations of victims, looking for a pattern.

When Arthur went to give his input, Gwaine took him by the arm and spoke in a hushed voice. 'It started in Camelot, didn't it?'

Arthur stiffened, then cursed himself for doing so. So much for that secret.

Gwaine gave a crooked smile. 'No offence Arthur, but it's kind of obvious. No one reacts to magic quite like the people of Camelot. And yes,' he added quickly, when Arthur opened his mouth to respond. 'I've no doubt that Merlin has figured it out as well. I'd say you don't need to worry about him, but something tells me you already know that,' he finished meaningfully.

Arthur tried to contradict him – really, he did – but somehow he knew the words wouldn't be genuine. Finally, he went with, 'I'm accepting his help, that doesn't mean I'd trust him with my life.'

'Right. Course not,' Gwaine replied. For some reason, he seemed to be struggling to keep a straight face.

Before Arthur could ask though, Merlin came thundering down the stairs, three shoulder bags swinging wildly from his shoulders.

'OK, that's everything. Let's go,' he urged, throwing them a bag each and heading for the door.

'What? We don't even know where we're going yet!' Arthur argued.

'Yes we do!' Merlin called over his shoulder, before stepping outside the inn.

Arthur turned to Gwaine who looked incredulous, but unsurprised.

'You heard the man,' he said, heading for the door. 'And don't look so concerned, this sort of thing happens a lot with him.'

Arthur shook his head.

'Bloody sorcerers,' he grumbled, but nonetheless, followed after them.

After an hour of walking through the forest, Arthur couldn't take it anymore.

'Alright Merlin, where are we going?' Arthur demanded.

'We're following the trail,' Merlin replied with a look that clearly said, obviously.

Arthur made a show of looking around at the clearly unmarked earth. 'Oh yes, right. I can see that.'

Merlin gave a world-weary sigh. 'It's a Spirit World creature, did you really think it would leave a trail that you can see?'

'The other one did.' Arthur contended stubbornly.

'It's also seven feet tall and bound by a mortal, not a magic box.' Merlin quipped.

'Well that's very convenient, isn't it.'

'You didn't have to come you know,' Merlin griped, annoyance creeping into his voice.

'And yet on your own you'd probably end up killing yourself by tripping over your own two feet and breaking your neck,' Arthur goaded.

'You think a lot of yourself, don't you.' It wasn't a question.

'I'm allowed to because I'm not an idiot.'

'No, you're an arrogant clotpole.'

'That's not a word.'

'Is too.'

'Ladies, please,' Gwaine interrupted, before things could escalate. 'Let's focus on the important things shall we? You can insult each other all you like when we don't have a deadline.'

Merlin huffed but fell silent. Arthur ducked his head, embarrassed and shamefaced at acting so childish, even if it was fun to rile the sorcerer up.

They continued in silence, until Merlin abruptly stopped, eyes darting across the forest. Arthur glanced around curiously – he could see nothing about this particular thicket of trees that separated them from all the others they'd past. Evidently, Merlin could see something he couldn't.

'There.' Merlin pointed at two trees that bent across each other, forming an 'X' with their trunks. It wasn't all that uncommon to see in a wild forest like this one, and there were no other visible markings to suggest anything special about the arrangement.

He turned to Merlin quizzically, question half formed when suddenly Merlin spoke in that strange language Arthur had only ever associated with pain. The words though, were entirely foreign to him.

Merlin's eyes flashed gold, and as Arthur watched, the "trees" and surrounding forest melted away into a dilapidated shack in the middle of a small clearing. Arthurs jaw may have dropped – just a little. He determinedly avoided the laughing smile he knew Gwaine was sending his way.

'Nice, Merlin!' Gwaine exclaimed, drawing his sword and cautiously approaching the unstable-looking assembly of wood. Arthur followed his lead, easily falling into the combat-ready mindset drilled into him from birth, face hard. Merlin hung back, watching carefully.

Movement from the shack had him tensing, coiled to spring on the person who had brought so much pain to his people. The door flew open they found themselves being buffeted by a strong, conjured wind.

The sorcerer took his chance to escape, running for the tree line as fast as he could, though hindered by a bulky-looking bag he clutched desperately to his chest. Gwaine stumbled to his knees from the onslaught, planting his sword into the ground for support, but Arthur was more than prepared for this kind of tactic, and managed to carry on after the sorcerer. He found where the wind was least intense and barrelled through, easily catching up and tackling the summoner to the ground. The bag flew from his grasp and fell and few metres away.

The two grappled on the ground, effectively distracting the sorcerer and cutting off the wind. From experience, Arthur had learned that sorcerers preferred to attack from a distance, so coming down on top of them tended to fluster them, preventing the concentration required to cast any more spells.

From the corner of his eye Arthur saw Gwaine get to his feet and sighed in relief. But in that split second of inattention, the sorcerer had drawn a dagger from within his cloak and flipped them around, raising the dagger to Arthur's neck with a snarl on his face. Distantly, he heard Gwaine's shout but could do nothing as the blade pressed to his jugular hard enough to draw blood.

'Arthur Pendragon,' the man hissed, foul breath washing over Arthur's face and making him hold down a gag, lest the dagger cut any deeper. 'Let Uther feel the despair of losing a child – despair he has wrought on so many others!'

Arthur's hand scrabbled desperately for the sword that he'd dropped in the scuffle, but he knew it was a fruitless effort. He would die here.

The Prince of Camelot glared defiantly at his attacker, refusing to look away from the face of death. The sorcerer raised the dagger high.

'DIE! ARTHUR P-'

The sorcerer cut off as he was thrown violently from Arthur, dagger falling out of his grip. The man was flung so hard he hit one of the trees with a crack and slid down, dazed and winded.

Arthur sat up and scrambled to his sword, hefting it and swinging around to face the attacker. Then he stared dumbfounded, sword falling slack with what he saw.

Merlin stood, hand outstretched and the gold fading from his eyes, a determined expression on his face.

Arthur was speechless. He'd wielded such destructive force, and he hadn't said a word.

The hard expression dropped from Merlin's face as quickly as the sorcerer fell to the ground and he rushed over, hands fluttering and eyes darting over his features, looking for injury. Arthur flinched back despite himself and Merlin looked chagrined, hastily putting some distance between them but continuing his inspection.

'Are you ok? I'm so sorry it took so long–'

'Merlin.'

'–But that isn't really an excuse, I mean, I wasn't doing nothing but I should've been doing something–'

'Merlin.'

'–and I almost wasn't fast enough but–'

'MERLIN!' Arthurs shout finally halted his nervous ramblings. Arthur looked him in the eye and waited until Merlin could meet his.

'Thank you.'

Merlin looked astonished, until that radiant grin appeared again.

'I'm OK too, don't worry about me,' Gwaine grumbled good-naturedly from where he was currently tying up the semi-conscious sorcerer, making sure to gag him with a some cloth torn from the man's cloak.

'You tripped over Gwaine, you're fine,' Merlin teased.

'Tripped over from evil magic wind! There could be some serious side effects!' Gwaine exclaimed in mock outrage, tying the final knots with a flourish.

Merlin and Arthur gave him unimpressed looks.

'OK that's just scary. You two look exactly the same.' Gwaine shuddered, looking between them.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Arthur whipped around and lifted his sword again, Gwaine copying the movement.

Standing in front of the sorcerer's forgotten bag was what could only be the Guardian. The illustrator of Merlin's book had done a remarkable job in capturing its likeness, though the threatening growl coming from it's throat didn't match the docile picture the book had tried to portray.

'Put down your weapons,' Merlin said calmly, not taking his eyes off the creature.

'Merlin my friend, you know I trust you, but are you absolutely sure that's a good idea?' Gwaine asked nervously.

'Very much so,' Merlin replied, still entirely at ease.

Arthur exchanged sceptical looks with Gwaine, but lowered his weapon. As soon as he did so, the growling stopped. The Guardian studied them for a moment before returning its dark gaze to Merlin, who continued looking back without flinching. For a moment, nothing happened, to Arthur, it seemed almost like the two were communicating silently through their odd staring contest.

Finally, the Guardian lowered its great head to the bag and sniffed it, before growling again, raising an enormous paw and bringing it crashing down on the bag. There was a loud bang, a flash of light and the sound of ripping fabric as the bag was torn to pieces by wooden shrapnel exploding outward from within.

The creature looked distinctly pleased with itself. Then, with one final glance at Merlin, vanished without ceremony.

There was silence.

'Well, I suppose that's that then,' Arthur said, sheathing his sword.

If he was honest with himself, he really just wanted to go to bed and sleep a few days. His perception of the world had shifted far too much in the past twenty-four hours for him to deal with right now.

'And what about him then?' Gwaine asked, gesturing to the incapacitated sorcerer. 'I imagine you'll want to take him back home to prove that the danger's gone, right Arthur?'

Arthur glanced the now-unconscious man. That was true enough, Uther would want him executed, he was sure.

'We can take him back and leave him tied up in the stables tonight. There's no way I'm letting you go anywhere in this state,' Merlin cut in, and Arthur silently thanked him, shooting a grateful look his way. Merlin just smiled.

'Let's head off then. It's quite a way back to the inn, and you have a long journey tomorrow. Best we get back as soon as we can.'

Arthur closed his eyes wearily before tilting his head back to look at the sky. Back to Camelot, where sorcery of all kinds is punishable by death. Sorcery that had killed dozens these past weeks, and sorcery that had just saved not only him, but potentially dozens more.

Arthur's head hurt, his very soul felt conflicted. He grimaced, resigning himself to a difficult few days.

Merlin looked over at him and gave an almost apologetic smile, as if he knew exactly what Arthur was thinking.

How did he do that?

Bloody sorcerers.

Hey everyone! So, lots happening in this chapter, bit of character development, which is always fun. I tried to get the transition of Arthur coming to trust Merlin as plausible as I could but it still seems a little rushed. Ah well, chalk it up to destiny or something like that. We will get Merlin's story at some point in the next couple chapters too, so that should clear some things up. I'm expecting this story to be around 8 chapters long, I didn't want to go too crazy.

As always, thanks for all the reviews and follows/favourites! The feedback was very helpful, I hadn't realised the line breaks didn't come through the first time but they should be there now, thanks for letting me know. Also, I am Australian, and we're an odd bunch who like to throw 'u's in random places and have some grammatical quirks, so sorry if that's a bit unusual to you, but bear with me.

Next chapter probably won't be until next week due to real life commitments – unless I'm super organised of course. But because of who I am as a person, expect next week.

Happy reading!

~Seagrass12