BELOW
When he opens his eyes and dares to draw a shallow breath again, he's standing in the middle of a dry, black plateau that stretches endlessly in every direction. Over his head, black water flows in waves like a stormy fresco brought to life. He wraps his arms tightly around his body, against the wind and the dust that the wind kicks up. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to keep his eyes open, even though the light is faint and the only thing truly visible is red fire burning over the horizon. He starts walking towards it, pushing through the heavy air, his feet sticking to the black tar covering the ground. His steps are dogged by the squelches of grey figures that rush from hidden places on both sides of him, trying to touch him. They squeak and wheeze in the tarry ground, smacking their lips and clicking their tongues.
He narrows his eyes, covers his ears, and keeps walking, not stopping until he's suddenly standing in front of an enormous burning tree. It's hanging mid-air with its branches vanishing into the water above. Its roots spread down, twisted and thick, but stop just short of the ground Merlin is walking on, like they're getting their nourishment from the world Above. The roots smoulder inside; sparkling ash crackles and descends down, sprinkling the air like burning confetti while it swirls in the wind.
Under the tree, in between the roots, sits Nimueh. She's holding Arthur draped over her knees like Jesus from Michelangelo's Pieta. Arthur is barefoot and bare-chested, arms hanging loosely and head thrown back. He isn't moving, and Merlin's heart sinks.
"Arthur!" he cries out and lunges towards the Goddess, but stops a few steps in front of her. Right behind her, half-hidden between the tree's thick roots, stands Mordred.
"You!" Merlin spits, pointing his finger in Mordred's direction. "You—how could you do this?"
Mordred takes a step back as if he wants to disappear in the tangle of roots, but under Merlin's angry stare he straightens up and says, "I'm sorry." His lips tremble when he speaks. "I'm so, so sorry. But you know how it is, Merlin. You know! Of all people, you should understand me. I just couldn't keep fighting it."
Merlin's hands ball into fists. He can feel his magic flaring up in anger, bursting out from his chest, wanting to destroy, to take revenge, to annihilate Mordred. He reins it in with all his will, trying to breathe through the rush in his veins and save it for later, for he knows he will need it later. He tames his anger and allows bitterness to take its place.
"We could've done it together. We were a team. Fuck, I thought we were friends."
Mordred looks shattered, on the verge of tears, and his voice cracks when he says, "You lived through this for a summer, and it nearly drove you insane. I lived like this for most of my life. Since I was a boy! Do you know what it feels like for a kid to be followed by Underworld creatures for years? To see them everywhere? To not be able to go pee because they are fucking crawling out of the mirrors?" He pauses to take a breath. "I lost everyone I ever loved, Merlin, and even that wasn't the end of it. I just…I'm so sorry, Merlin."
Yes, Merlin does understand why Mordred has done what he's done. Still, it doesn't make the betrayal any easier to bear.
"Will she leave you alone now?" He looks back to the Goddess, who sits there calmly with her head cocked to the side and small smile playing on her lips as if she's amused by their conversation. She's petting Arthur's hair like a mother putting her child to sleep, and Merlin prays to all the gods and elements that Arthur really is only sleeping.
"I will free him," she answers for Mordred. "I've wanted you, my dear Merlin." She looks Merlin straight in the eyes. "And he's brought you to me. He'll have his reward."
"You have me here now, so you can free Arthur, too."
"Oh, I really don't feel like doing that." Nimueh blinks and looks down at Arthur, splayed on her lap. "I told you, Merlin. One heart for each year you stayed Above. And this heart? Oh, this heart is worth a thousand other hearts. It's a king's heart. It's going to sustain my powers for so much longer than anyone else's would. It's going to be delicious."
Nimueh puts a finger into her mouth and licks it, then brings it up to Arthur's chest and draws a circle. It leaves a black pattern on his skin.
"I'll quench my desire with his life force, and you can walk out of here for another few years, my little Merlin, if you wish it so."
Merlin closes his eyes and swallows. "Please don't," he pleads. "Take me the way you planned to, and let him go."
The Goddess smiles, exposing her glistening teeth. "Unfortunately, you've got nothing to offer me."
"I do!" Merlin cries. "I do have something to offer!"
Nimueh stays silent, as if trying to figure out what Merlin's going to say next. Finally, she says, "I'm listening. What is it, dear Merlin? I can take anything I want. If I want your life, I'll take it, too."
"I can offer you my servitude, my magic," Merlin says, trying hard to make his voice strong and stable. "I know you want me to do. . . things for you here. You can take my life, but it won't guarantee you my cooperation." He stops, not sure if it's working.
"Go on," Nimueh says with an unreadable expression.
"I'll do anything you want me to do—"
"Anything?" Nimueh leans towards him, hunching over Arthur's body. She looks delighted, and Merlin wonders if she'll make him kill for her, if she'll make him torture other people and eat their hearts, or bring them here so she can eat them.
"Yes," he says. "Just spare him. Please. Return him to the life he had before you took him."
Nimueh nods in agreement. "You'll stay here with me though," she says, and Merlin exhales, because yes, he's just bought Arthur's life. "You'll be my Angel of Death. Your magic will sustain my world. You'll bring hunger, droughts, floods and hurricanes. You'll bring cancer and fever. Don't fret though, my little Merlin, you won't have to decide who lives and who dies. You will be but a tool in my hands. The history of disasters and misery is set. The circle of life goes on."
"For how long?" Merlin asks, because he hasn't given up hope yet. Maybe by some miracle he'll be able to escape his fate, too. There's always hope for a lighter sentence.
Nimueh raises her eyebrows, looking bewildered that he's dared to ask. "For as long as I need you."
Merlin takes a breath. "No, I want a time limit, like a month or a year," he says.
Nimueh shakes her head. "You'll hardly learn the things I'll require from you in one year. This is no use to me." She waves her hand dismissively, but then looks pensive. Finally, her eyes brighten up. "You will serve me for Earth's seven years, but under the condition you'll amuse me now and play a little game with me."
"Don't agree!" Mordred whispers. "Time flows in a different way here. Earth's seven years can last ten times longer than that in the Underworld. You'll be trapped in her Kingdom for ages. And when… if she lets you go, you may be as old as the world itself, or dying."
"Silence!" Nimueh snaps and waves her hand towards Mordred, who falls to his knees with a cry of pain. "Seven years if you win the game, Merlin. And your lifetime if you lose." Nimueh presses her hand to Arthur's chest. Her nails extend, turning into sharp claws, drawing blood that drips down Arthur's ribcage. Merlin keeps his eyes trained on the shallow rise and fall of Arthur's chest. He's still alive, and he will live. That's all that matters now.
Merlin bows his head. "I agree. But first, I lead him out of here." He points to Arthur.
"Yes!" Nimueh claps her hands in joy. "This is what the game is about." She stands up and Arthur slides down her knees, falling hard to the ground. He gasps in pain and shoots up to his feet, conscious again.
"Stand still and listen," Nimueh orders, and Arthur is suddenly suspended in mid-motion, his mouth open and his hand reaching for Merlin.
Nimueh walks to Merlin, her long garment leaving a trail in the black mud under their feet. She places her hand on Merlin's neck, icy fingers curling painfully on Merlin's skin. She's shorter than Merlin, so she has to stand on her toes when she brings her mouth to Merlin's ear, whispering, "What is a true journey to the Heart of the Underworld without a little tour?"
The smell of death—sickly sweet, like rotten meat—wraps around Merlin, and he turns his face away from the Goddess.
"Such a beautiful boy," Nimueh coos. "How pleasurable it will be to lie with you."
Merlin feels ill at the thought, but he swallows and repeats in his mind, It's just for a little while. And then I will wake up. "Tell me the rules of the game," he says.
"Ah. There are three tasks." Nimueh beams, straightening up. "Because you see, Merlin? I love fairy tales. People don't tell proper ones anymore. So there have to be three tasks. The first one is this: once you start you cannot look back. Neither one of you can look back." She motions to Arthur.
Merlin's expected something like this. "And the other two tasks?" he asks.
"They will be revealed when their time comes," Nimueh says.
Merlin nods in agreement. He doesn't expect it to be easy. He'll do his best, though. For Arthur.
"We have a deal, Merlin." Nimueh kisses him on the lips, her mouth cold and strangely soft, giving way under Merlin's flesh like a wet sponge. He wipes his mouth when the kiss is over, but the taste of something rotten remains on his skin.
Nimueh goes back to the tree, sits down, and spreads her skirts on the ground, smoothing out the wrinkles in the dirty fabric. Behind her Mordred stands stiffly with his eyes closed, his lips moving soundlessly as if he's praying, and Merlin wonders which side Mordred is on after all.
"Now," Nimueh says, "you have an hour and not a minute longer to get out of here, or my pets will drag you back down. You must not stop until you reach the shores of Avalon. The counting starts now. So, ruuuuuuuun!" she cries out.
Merlin moves to Arthur, who's been suddenly released from the paralyzing spell, and grabs his hand.
"How could you agree to this? I won't let you—" Arthur shouts, but there's no time for arguments, because in an instant they're forced to move.
Behind them the whole place crumbles down on itself, imploding. The tree falls apart to dust, and the light from its fire fades away until they are left in total darkness that sits over their bodies like a dense veil. There's no way of telling directions, but Merlin runs forward anyway, Arthur's hand in his, their feet bogging down in the slimy sand.
They've been running for a while, if the burn in Merlin's lungs is any indication, when they start to hear the chase—footsteps behind them and to the sides, shadowy creatures crawling with grunts and huffs. Once or twice Merlin feels something furry and soft trying to grab his ankles, but he doesn't stop. He focuses on Arthur breathing next to him—the inhales and heavy exhales. He takes reassurance from Arthur's warm hand placed firmly in his.
"Merlin," someone calls. It's a nice voice, feminine and melodic. "Merlin, wait, I'm Kara. Mordred would like me to help you. I'll show you how to get out of here."
He doesn't look back though, and he hopes Arthur won't fall for this either. They can trust no one in this place but each other. Merlin squeezes Arthur's hand and they run.
It feels as if hours have passed, even though Merlin hopes it can't be more than twenty minutes. Thick saliva tastes like sugar in his mouth and it's getting harder and harder to pull his feet up from the sticky mud. He feels how Arthur's hand is slippery in his, and knows they can't keep up the frantic pace for much longer. He isn't sure if they're running towards an exit, or if there even is one. For all Merlin knows, they can be going in circles.
He stops and hunches over, dry heaves twisting his body.
"Merlin, we need to keep going," Arthur pants, trying to hold him up.
Suddenly, there's a choking pressure on Merlin's chest and he falls on his back. Instinctively, he throws his hands in front of himself only to meet a furry, viscous resistance. His eyes open wider and he starts to yell, but the sound is muffled when the creature that has been sitting on him puts its paws over his mouth. The thing doesn't feel too big, but it's very strong. Merlin struggles to throw it off himself, and he feels Arthur trying to help drag the creature away, but its flapping wings make it hard to grip it. Merlin can't see what it looks like, but its face feels soggy, its huge nose dangling like a loose boil.
At last, Merlin manages to push it down, and he throws his hands towards the creature, intending to punch it. Blue sparks explode, and the creature that has been silent up to this point makes a choking sound. The scent of burning fur fills the space around them, and then the thing vanishes with a hushed pop, as if it, too, has imploded. Merlin's left sitting on the ground with his hands extended in front of him.
"Fuck," Arthur cries. "Come on. Come on!"
Something crashes behind them, and Merlin looks at Arthur. In the flickering light of the flames Merlin has conjured he can see his face for the first time—Arthur's ashy skin and terrified eyes. He reaches for Arthur and squeezes his hand once more. "We'll make it out," he wheezes. "I promise."
But the heat of the flames starts licking at their backs, setting Merlin's clothes on fire. They pat Merlin's back, getting rid of the stinging embers that smoulder in the fabric. It hurts, and Merlin suspects there are burns on his skin that will take weeks to heal. They start running again, even though their legs are tired and don't move as fast as they would like.
The fire behind them roars like a monster, but Merlin doesn't look back to check what's chasing them now. The darkness around them keeps getting narrower, walls closing on them like a tight tunnel. When Merlin's about to panic that the walls will crush them, a passage opens and they stumble into a huge cave.
The cave's walls glisten with crystals, forming a dome above their heads. There must be some source of light somewhere, since the crystals reflect it, enhancing it. This glow is sharp and blinding after the darkness they've emerged from.
Merlin covers his eyes, looking for an exit, but it seems like the only way out is the dark corridor that has led them here. Even if they could turn back, the crowd of creatures growling and sniffing in front of the cave's entrance would prevent them from doing so. Merlin's grateful that, for whatever reason, the creatures can't seem to get inside the cave.
"Let's just rest for a moment," he says, allowing his body to fall down on the cold rock of the cave. Arthur sinks to the ground next to him.
Merlin can feel the sweat dripping down his back, chest and limbs, but as his body cools down he realises it's ice-cold in the cave. At first he welcomes the low temperature—it's soothing his charred skin—but his wet palms start sticking to the ground where frost tries to trap them. He sits up and curls his legs to his chest, wrapping an arm around them. With his other hand he reaches for Arthur.
He feels Arthur's palm closing on his again. "You came for me," Arthur says, bewildered or maybe grateful, Merlin can't tell. He wants to answer, "How could I not?" but he's still out of breath and the words won't form in his mouth properly.
"I won't let you stay in here," Arthur says, and Merlin wants to laugh, but it comes out as a breathy wheeze.
He's starting to think that the whole bargain with the Goddess is just a trick to keep them both in Nimueh's land. They're in the middle of Hell, trapped, with demons all around them, and their time is running out. He coughs and scoots closer to Arthur, seeking the warmth of his body. Thick fog forms in the air each time they exhale. The frost is becoming more painful; it feels as if sharp needles are being pushed into Merlin's skin.
Arthur digs his fingernails into Merlin's hand. "Do you hear them?"
Whispers and cries fill the space. Voices of tortured spirits—children weeping lightly, men and women gasping in pain—echo through the air.
"Merlin, how you've grown, my boy," a male voice says.
Merlin keeps his gaze straight ahead, seeing the images that appear behind him reflected vaguely in the crystals in front of his eyes.
"Balinor." He swallows hard. "You are dead. You can't be real."
Arthur tugs on Merlin's hand. "Who are you talking to?"
"We're trapped here," Balinor says. "In between life and death, forever hung in the emptiness of this place. Take me with you." Balinor's words sound like wind whistling through tree leaves.
"How can I?" Merlin asks, voice full of bitterness. "I don't even know how to get me out of here. Go away." He closes his eyes against the images and wills the vision of Balinor to disappear, feeling tears forming and falling down his cheeks until they hit the frost-covered ground and freeze there.
"Don't leave me here!" This time a woman's strangled voice cries. "Arthur, please. Take me with you. I'm your mother, baby."
"Don't you listen to her!" Merlin whispers in Arthur's ear. "She's not real—it's just a shadow. It's one of Nimueh' tricks!"
"Arthur, my son! I've been held here since the day you were ten. My sweet little angel, I don't remember your face. Please baby, let me see your face so I can at least have a memory of you in this deadly place. My son—"
"Arthur, don't!" Merlin shouts, feeling Arthur's body shift next to him, but it's too late and Arthur's already turning his face to look behind him.
A laugh rings out and a wave of wings passes over their heads; dark shadows fly down, hitting Arthur on the face and leaving two thick black lines on his cheek. Arthur shudders and falls on his back, choking, and Merlin realises they have lost.
"No," he cries. "No, no, no!"
He hoists Arthur up while the cave abruptly disappears, leaving them in front of the burning tree again. Nimueh is sitting there observing them with a cheerful smile. Mordred is curled on the ground next to her.
So, they haven't moved an inch.
Merlin crumples back to the ground, the dead weight of Arthur's body dragging him down like a stone. He can't even cry anymore.
"You have failed the first task," Nimueh says. "But there are still two tasks left. The game is on. Here is your second challenge. You know what they say about witches burning at the stake? Shall we test it?"
She leans towards them and motions with her hand to the smouldering tree behind her. She's still smiling, but to Merlin's surprise her expression doesn't look particularly cruel. He's got nothing to lose now, anyway. If the way out is through fire, so be it.
Mordred has warned him not to draw magic from the fire. But there's not enough earth magic in here. And they only have a few minutes left before the clock runs out.
Merlin holds his hand towards the burning tree. He's fingers tremble as he inhales, trying to focus on the energy there, and then he allows it to fill him up. At first nothing happens—there isn't any familiar rush of heady warmth that usually courses through him when he reaches for magic. He wants to withdraw his hand and shake it to try again but finds he's unable to do so. He's being held in place. And then, all of a sudden, it hits him. And God, was Mordred right about the pain, because Merlin is burning. His skin is on fire, his insides melt as if acid is being poured on them, his bones turn to ash, and he can feel it all!
He wants to cry out, but pure fire leaves his open mouth instead of words. He wants to throw himself on the ground to quench the flames, but an invisible force is holding him upright, making it impossible to do anything but stand still. And then he feels the spreading push of demons' bodies crawling up and through him, wanting out of Hell. It's ripping him in half.
He struggles to keep breathing.
The power that is flowing through him is so different than the gentle touch of Mother Earth's magic. He always had reverence for the force of it, and drew only as much energy as he needed. But here, with the fire, there is no cooperation. Instinctively he knows that if he submits to its power now, this fire will eat him whole. He calls out to his anger, to the fury that lives somewhere deep within him that has been brought to the surface by Mordred's betrayal. He will bend this force until the demons are supressed, until this fire bows in front of him and recognises Merlin as its master.
Finally, his lungs let air in. He stops trying to withdraw his hand from the flames. Instead, he holds perfectly still, pointing his hand towards the smouldering tree.
"Yield," he says, and the fire flickers. "Yield to me now."
His insides still burn, but he ignores the pain and focuses on not allowing the demons to use him as a ladder to the world anymore.
Through the buzz in his ears he hears Mordred's voice. "Merlin, please don't leave me here. I am free to go, but there's no way out. Take me with you."
Merlin blinks, and it feels as if eons pass before he's able to speak again. "You made your choice. There's nothing I can do for you now."
He turns to Arthur, who's lying on the ground with his eyelids only half-open. Fire dances on Merlin's skin when he reaches out to Arthur, who flinches, trying to recoil from him.
"Trust me," Merlin whispers and leans lower, embracing Arthur in the flames. He can't be sure Arthur won't get burned, but he feels it, and yes—Arthur seems to be unaffected by the heat. He pulls Arthur up and half-drags, half-carries him towards the tree. When they're close enough to feel the hurricane of scorching air hitting their bodies and singeing the hair from their foreheads, the flames probe at Merlin, checking the magic that hums inside him, eager to join its primary source. He takes one last breath, and he and Arthur step inside the blazing tree that closes itself around them, trapping them in the trunk.
Inside the tree, the flames link with those that still dance on his skin, and Merlin screams as the burning intensifies tenfold. His grip on Arthur falters, and he desperately tries not to drop him. He's sure that without his protective embrace Arthur will burn to ashes, so with his last effort Merlin curls his fingers around Arthur's arms, digging his nails into Arthur's skin till the blood starts oozing, and he grits his teeth, trying to just withstand a little bit more pain.
There's a rush of cool air, and it feels as if they're being vacuumed up, until the cold air becomes more and more dense and turns into pitch-black, freezing water.
At first, Merlin welcomes the change with relief; the water is like a cold poultice being poured over his hurting body. But then the panic sets in when he realises there's no exit here either: he can't see how to get out of the liquid.
He kicks hard with his legs and tries to swim up towards the surface that should be there. He's dragging Arthur behind him, the weight of his limp body a heavy burden. Merlin kicks again, looking for an escape, but there's nothing there.
Something moves on his chest, ripping through his body, and Merlin's surprised as The Dragon that has been tattooed on his skin claws free, bursting out, growing until it's enormous, terrifying and beautiful. He turns his head towards Merlin, waiting, and Merlin grabs the scaly neck with one hand and Arthur with the other, and allows The Dragon to lift them both up towards the surface.
When Merlin's feet hit the bottom of the lake, The Dragon disappears as if he's dissolved in the water. It's still a far way to the shore though, and Merlin needs to get Arthur out of the lake. Merlin doesn't know how long Arthur's gone without breathing. His sense of time is still all distorted, just as it was in the Underworld. The black water feels more dense with every move of Merlin's arms and every kick of his legs. It tangles his clothes and tugs on his shins, pulling him down again.
But they are almost there. Merlin stands up in the shallow water and pulls with all the strength he has left in him, trying to get Arthur up. "Arthur, please, just a little bit more. Please," he begs.
He can't believe that after all they've been through, they're not going to make it. He tries again, with the last of his efforts, but Arthur's heavy limbs just slump in his grip. Merlin stumbles and sits on the bottom of the lake, cold water wrapping him in a chilly embrace. He hugs Arthur and puts his face on Arthur's shoulder.
Tears of grief and anger are starting to spill, but just as he's about to say his farewells and accept the cruel fate of servitude in the darkness without the hope of salvation, he feels himself being pulled up along with Arthur.
"You sorry sod," Gwaine huffs. His clothes and hair are wet. "Stop weeping. Get up. Help me get the Princess out of the water before he freezes his balls off. Fucking amateurs!"
They stumble and breathe hard, tugging and pushing, the water still wanting to grab them and hold them hostage. When they reach the shore, Gwaine throws Arthur's weight off his shoulder, and Arthur lands with a thick thud on the ground. Merlin collapses right next to him, watching the miraculous rise and fall of Arthur's chest as he sucks in fresh air.
Above them the sky is clear and full of summer stars. The night smells of wet grass and woods, and Merlin thinks how much he's going to miss it—the heaven above him, the sounds of the forest, the clean air he can breathe. He scrambles up and hovers over Arthur, making sure he's really still alive. He places a hand on Arthur's neck, brushing his fingers lightly over the soft skin there.
"I love you," he whispers over Arthur's head. He's not sure Arthur's heard it, but just then Arthur stirs and coughs, rolling himself onto his side.
"Gwaine, take him and get him out of here, please," Merlin pleads, scrambling up. "I need to go back."
"Go back where?" Gwaine asks.
Merlin indicates the lake. Gwaine looks at him as if Merlin has lost his mind again. "But why?"
Merlin hangs his head. He can't bring himself to meet Gwaine's eyes. "I made a deal. My… time. And servitude. For his life. Just… Just hold him and don't let him follow me."
Merlin glances back at Arthur one last time.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs. He's not sure whether it's directed to Arthur, Gwaine or himself.
Merlin's muscles shake; his legs aren't working well enough to keep him in a straight line. He keeps walking towards the middle of the lake before they give out completely.
"Merlin!" He hears Arthur's weak voice, but he doesn't look back.