Ch. 5
"I've never cared for destinies," Jimbol said. He was sitting at a table, now - long, charcoal gray, ornate and as decayed as he was – sipping blood-red wine from a black goblet. Merlin sat across from him in a crumbling chair, glaring at him since it was all he was capable of doing.
"Bit too full of themselves, toying with people's lives like that. I mean, you've got a choice but it's never a pretty choice, is it? Succeed and life is posies and roses. Fail and it's endless misery and your possible execution."
Jimbol stared at Merlin over the goblet. He arched a ragged eyebrow, slammed the cup down and laughed.
"Sorry. A bit stupid to assume this destiny of yours all about saving your own neck. Or maybe it is, I don't know." He shrugged and drank greedily, the cup never going empty. "Doesn't really matter one way or the other. But the thing about destinies is you never know where one ends and another begins. Because for all you know the death of all three of you brings about this golden age of yours cause it's your destiny to die. And, in dying, fulfill another destiny. One that's been waiting around for bloody damn ever."
Jimbol tossed back more of his drink. It ran from the corners of his mouth down his chin and onto the remains of his shirt. When he finished, he smacked his lips louder and winked at Merlin.
"You thoroughly confused yet? I'd think you'd be used to riddles. You talk to dragons after all and they're so bloody cryptic they'll make your brain bleed. Me, I'm not cryptic. I just like holding all the cards. They're mine to hold, you see. I don't have to tell you squat. And I know you're begging for answers. I can see you screaming for them in every inch of you, but you know what?"
He leaned forward, smiling to make his filmy eyes squint. "I'm not going to tell you."
Somewhere in the shadowy, nameless chamber where the table sat, someone shouted. Someone else shouted back, and in between was a noise like rumbling thunder.
"It doesn't matter, anyway," Jimbol said. "You'll be waking in a minute. I'll be seeing you soon, young Emrys. But," he chuckled, "you're not going to like it." He poured the cup out, blood gushing like from a broken dam and filling the chamber.
~oOo~
The third thud reverberated through the room setting Arthur's teeth on edge. It was just their luck that Merlin decided to not only wake at that very moment, but to wake choking on air.
"Gwaine!" Arthur called.
Gwaine broke from his ready stance by Arthur's side to tend to a flailing, gasping Merlin. Arthur glanced back to see Gwaine gather Merlin to him, pinning him gently to stop him from hurting himself while whispering soothing words. Another violent thud ripped Arthur's attention back to the door.
The wood had cracked, and the bars were beginning to bend. The horses skittered in place nervously.
Another impact and the bars bent another inch. Whatever was throwing itself against the barrier snarled in anger. It wasn't going to stop, not when it was so close to getting in. Arthur shuffled back until he was next to Gwaine and a shuddering Merlin.
"We need to leave," Arthur said. "Gwaine, get Merlin on the horse, I'll get the side door."
If there was one thing Arthur always grudgingly respected about a dilemma, it was the extra strength it gave him to do what otherwise might have been beyond even his endurance. He pushed the heavy table clear of the door and well enough away for the horses to get through.
The moment he did, the door flew open and crashed against the wall. A gust of wind like a massive fist nearly shoved Arthur off his feet. The horses squealed, and then they were charging straight for Arthur, too frightened and mindless to see the living, breathing obstacle in front of them. Arthur dove to the side. The horses barreled past, one clipping the table with its chest, and vanished outside into the blinding blizzard. Arthur scrambled to his feet and ran after them.
"Arthur, no!" Gwaine cried. His words were swallowed by the howling wind. One step outside and the snow was on Arthur like it truly was an attacking army. Arthur threw his hand up to shield his eyes from the stinging snow. There was so much of it, like a solid wall of white, and the horses nowhere to be seen.
A sudden shove to the shoulder and Arthur was spinning around bringing his sword up.
"Arthur!" Gwaine called. "We need to move! It's almost through the door!"
Arthur could barely make out Gwaine's shape and the bundle he was carrying in his arms.
"Keep to the walls! We'll get lost in this if we don't!" Arthur said. "You go first! I'll take the rear should it get through!"
"Right!" Gwaine said.
They pressed their shoulders to the cold wall and slid along it, following its contours to where ever it took them. The wind was a blade cutting straight through Arthur, numbing him down to the marrow of his bones. He gave up glancing behind him. There was no point, the snow too thick and disorienting. There was no way that whatever had been coming through the door would be able to find them in this, Arthur didn't care how powerful or unusual whatever-it-was was.
They stumbled blindly through the curtain of white, going where the curve or bends of the wall coaxed them too. The cutting cold and brutal winds stifled all sense of time, minutes becoming an eternity of endless walking, piling snow drifts soaking into Arthur's pant legs and turning his skin to ice. His hand felt frozen to his sword hilt.
For a moment, in a sickening heartbeat, Arthur wondered if this was how they were to die, forever lost in the cold and the snow, never to be found. All of Camelot, Gwen, the knights, Gaius, left to forever wonder, forever watch the horizon searching for those who would never come.
Arthur coughed out a sob.
"Here! A door! Here!" Gwaine called out sounding as desperate as Arthur felt. His voice was like a slap to Arthur's face, waking him from the veil of dark thoughts that had smothered his mind. There was a thud, followed by the abrupt manifestation of light. Arthur surged forward following the hazy silhouette of Gwaine.
They stumbled like drunks into the warm, golden glow of a stairwell, staggering down the steps and not caring where those steps led as long as it took them far from the storm. Their destination was a chamber, nothing remarkable except for the large hearth roaring with a welcoming fire. On the other side of the chamber was another stairwell.
Gwaine went straight for the hearth and settle Merlin as close to the fire as safely possible, opening the blanket and cloak enough for the heat to reach him. Merlin tried to huddle into a shivering ball. Gwaine wouldn't let him.
"You have to warm up, Merlin," Gwaine said, breathless but smiling like a loon. He chafed Merlin's chest, then arms, then hands to get the circulation flowing and the blood to warm faster. Arthur moved over to them to check on them and to warm himself. He could already start to feel his legs again and was able to release the hilt of his sword. Gwaine was pale from the cold, Merlin practically white, and Arthur didn't need a mirror to know he wasn't any better off. It was like the entire territory right down to the weather was hell-bent on killing them.
"W-w-why did we run?" Merlin asked, teeth chattering.
"Something big and nasty wanted in and it wasn't taking no for an answer," Gwaine said, still warming Merlin's hands in his own.
Arthur glared into the fire, gnawing the inside of his cheek. "I suppose..." he said. "You may have had a point about the door."
Gwaine snorted. "Yeah, I don't think I did. Those kitchen doors were strong, solid. I think at this point no door will be our salvation."
"And we can't leave," Arthur said darkly.
"Then if this place does have an armory we should find it. Stock up on what we can and hold out for as long as we can," Gwaine said.
Arthur rubbed at his chin with the edge of his finger. He found it odd, cruelly ironic even that everything he had wanted to avoid was happening against their will, as though there were something listening in on them and using what they said to decide the rules of its sick game. Arthur looked to Gwaine and Merlin, Gwaine still in the process of warming Merlin, Merlin looking right back at Arthur, guilt like a pinched mask over his face.
Of course the idiot would be feeling guilty. Arthur hated that he was because, damn it, it had been Arthur's choice to go, and like he told Gwaine he would damn well have gone for anyone of his men regardless of status or how much they annoyed the hell out of him. But unfortunately now wasn't the time to get that through Merlin's thick skull, and not that he would listen, anyway. Merlin had a guilt complex bigger than Camelot.
And right now Arthur needed to get him and that over-sized guilt complex somewhere safe. They could worry about how the hell to get out of this place later.
"We need to go," Arthur said, pushing away from the fire. "Gwaine, take Merlin. Merlin, let him carry you without whining about it. I'll take the lead."
Either Merlin was too exhausted to disobey Arthur's orders or too exhausted to complain. The only sound from him as Gwaine gathered him up was a small, pained grunt, followed by a weary sigh. It looked awkward, Gwaine cradling such a long body, and yet Gwaine moved as though Merlin weighed nothing at all. Arthur took position in front of them with his sword in both hands. They took the stairs on the other side of the room that spiraled down into shadows. Those shadows were chased away by torches and another roaring fire of yet another, empty chamber. The stairs on the other side of this room spiraled up.
"This place is a bloody maze," Gwaine hissed.
But since the stairs were the only choice they had, they followed it. It went longer than the last set, Arthur was sure of it, taking them past two landings that a quick look revealed more chambers, more doors, more stairs going up and down. Gwaine was right, this place was a maze, and the deeper they went the more lost they became.
They came to the top of the steps and a room about the size of Gaius' chambers, but painfully sparse – two empty bookshelves, three tables under three stained glass windows, a small fireplace and that was it. There were more bloody stairs, but wooden and leading up to a trap door. The stained glass made it near impossible to see out the windows but Arthur didn't need to in order to know they were at the topmost parts of the castle, possibly a tower or that trap door leading to a tower.
"Is this how it's going to be?" Gwaine said. " Checking every blasted room this place has and hope we find something suitable?"
But there was no challenge to his voice, only a resigned weariness, stating a fact rather than arguing the inevitable. And he was right – again - this was how it was going to be; wandering from stair to hall to room until they either found somewhere to hole up or ran into another of Gwaine's demon dogs.
Arthur stared at the stairs leading to the trap door. They were more like a ladder, really, too steep for the beast to use it and still have enough leverage to slam it's body into the door. But the desire to find an armory pulled at Arthur. A door would only hold for so long but with weapons – crossbows especially – they could build traps, fortify the barrier beyond mere locks.
He took note of the trapdoor and it's location, just in case. The more they knew of this place's structure the more they would be at an advantage. Right now, he counted them lucky that it was only a scattering of beasts they had to contend with. Strong beasts capable of knocking down a sturdy door, but few and far between or they would have ran into more by now.
Arthur turned back to the door, Gwaine with him, Merlin a quiet bundle in Gwaine's arms. Arthur had his foot on the first step when he paused.
"Do you hear something?" he said.
Both men stilled their breathing and listened. They didn't have to. The noise in question was close and coming closer – the unmistakable clatter of running footsteps, and something snarling.
"Back up, back up!" Arthur hissed. They clamored away from the stairwell just as the first source of the footsteps materialized around the turn.
It wasn't a beast, not unless some of them could walk upright and dress in cloaks. But the hand holding the wickedly curved blade was most definitely human flesh. The rest was hidden within a cowl and cape of black with impossible designs stitched in gold. Arthur, battle trained since he could walk, took everything about this man in at a glance. Then the man was on him, and he wasn't alone.
Arthur heard before swords began to clash Merlin yelling, "Put me down so you can fight, Gwaine! Now!" Then there was only the battle, the harsh vibrations of their swords, the solid movement of Arthur's arms, every footstep they took, every parry and attack they made. Arthur's opponent was decent with a blade but his attacks were frenzied, wild, an attack meant to drive the other back into a corner for a quick kill. But whoever this man was he was small, lighter than Arthur, an advantage when it came to footwork and eluding an enemy but this man was relying on brute force, and it was a mistake.
A lunge when the man should have parried, and Arthur drove home for the kill with a deep slice through the belly. It freed Arthur long enough to glance back and see Gwaine holding his own with the second man and Merlin, having lost the blanket but still wrapped in the cloak, staying smartly out of the way in the far corner, Gwaine's dagger gripped tight in his hand.
Merlin's eyes rounded over when they met Arthur's gaze. "Arthur, look out!"
Arthur swung around, raising his sword just in time to block the blow of his next opponent, another cloaked assailant, another idiot using strength he didn't have. Arthur mirrored the man's tactic and drove him back instead.
The man changed tactics, finally getting it through his head that he was going about things all wrong. He ducked Arthur's swing and danced back, light on his feet. His moves became defensive, ducking whatever Arthur gave him and only going in when he thought he saw an opening. The tables had turned and it was all Arthur could do to avoid being sliced himself.
The man went in for another attempt at a hit, swinging low as though to give Arthur a taste of his own medicine with a cut to the gut. But the man must have overreached. He suddenly stumbled, staggering sideways and scrambling fast to find his footing.
Behind Arthur, Merlin screamed.
Arthur charged in fast, and with a downward thrust cut the man from shoulder to hip. Arthur spun around to Merlin.
Three men now littered the floor but two more had made their way in during the battle. Gwaine was grappling with one. The other stood over Merlin who was writhing in agony on the floor, hands clutched to his chest. A boot to the stomach rocked Merlin onto his back. The man raised his sword, the point directly over Merlin's heart.
Arthur's battle-sharpened mind reacted. He threw his sword with all the strength he had, and the blade found its mark in the man's back. The man went down choking on his blood. Arthur ran to the body, yanked the blade free then plunged it deep into the back of the man hammering at Gwaine. Only when the man was down did Arthur turn all his attention to Merlin. Gwaine didn't need an order to stand guard by the door.
"Merlin!" Arthur called, taking the boy by his shaking shoulder to hold him in place while he looked him over for wounds. The only color to Merlin's face were the bruises and scabs. His features were twisted in pain, making him even more gaunt than he already was, but it was only his hands and wrists he seemed to be protecting. Arthur cursed silently. The bastard who had tried to kill Merlin must have pulled him down by the shackles, reopening the wounds. Blood had soaked through the bandages and was dripping on the floor.
"Arthur?" Gwaine said. Arthur wanted to ignore him and keep his focus on Merlin, but the way the man's voice had cracked wouldn't let him. He turned to Gwaine.
Gwaine was backing up, slowly. "Arthur, we have a problem."
That problem crept up the steps into view. Suddenly, Arthur understood Gwaine's terror, the bone-deep certainty of your doom only steps away from ripping out your throat if you should falter. The creature was huge, hideous, a bulbous lump of exposed muscle as big as the wild boars of the deep woods, a fleshless horned dog right out of tales too dark to ever tell.
It wasn't battle instincts that had Arthur gathering up Merlin and moving back to the ladder along with Gwaine. It was something else, something cold, primal and thoughtless, its existence centered only on the need to get away, to survive, to not let this thing kill him whatever it took.
Arthur clamored backward up the stairs first, shoving the trap door aside with his shoulder. Gwaine followed, and that's when the beast lunged, bellowing.
"Go!" Gwaine screamed. They were up the ladder, through the door. Gwaine kicked it shut and wasted no time tipping a heavy wooden table onto its side and shoving it over the door. Arthur helped, once again using his shoulder, refusing to let Merlin go until the only entrance was blocked. Gwaine added a bookcase to the door, then finally a few chairs.
Either the beast couldn't climb or figured its prey wasn't worth the effort with so much fresh meat already lying dead on the floor. It made no attempt to get in. Arthur and Gwaine looked at each other, Gwaine wide-eyed and as terrified as Arthur had ever seen him. A terrified Gwaine wasn't something you saw everyday. It was something you barely saw at all.
Merlin shivering in Arthur's arms reminded him of other pressing matters. The room was smaller than the study below and round, confirming Arthur's assumption of a tower. He set Merlin on the floor against the wall, as far from the trap door as possible. Besides the furniture piled on the door, there were two windows, another book shelf and rolls of parchment scattered everywhere from Gwaine's hasty barricading.
"Merlin?" Arthur said, gripping Merlin's arm's above the shackles.
"M' all right," Merlin said, sucking a pained breath through his teeth. "Th-the pain's getting better."
Arthur moved the shackles up Merlin's arms as much as he could and grimaced. The edge of the metal must be sharp, the bandages and Merlin's skin a ragged mess of reopened wounds, but at least the bleeding seemed to be slowing. Arthur had to cut the hem of the cloak for more bindings, cursing himself for having tied their packs to the horses. He doubled the bandages, hoping it would offer better protection. Merlin hissed with clenched fists but managed not to pull away.
Arthur called Merlin a coward but they had always been words, never a belief. You couldn't believe someone a coward willing to ride into battle with you, face dragons and hoards of the undead with you, without armor or sword. You couldn't believe someone a coward when they were fighting obvious pain in order to let another do what needed to be done. And bandaging the wounds was causing Merlin great pain. He was shaking harder, moisture making his eyes shine and tension pulling the skin of his face taut. When Arthur finished, Merlin gasped out a choked breath, the next breath a shuddering, ragged inhale. He curled up on the floor, hands clutched tight to his chest.
Arthur rested his hand on the back of Merlin's head, ignoring the oily grime that coated his hair.
"Merlin. The moment we get home, I'm having the servants draw you the best bath you will ever have."
That is, he mostly ignored it.
Merlin lips fought to form a tremulous smile. "I'm h-holding you t-to that. I-I've been wanting to b-be clean for s-s-o long. F-forgot what it's l-like."
Arthur removed his hand to pull the edges of the cloak around Merlin's quaking body. "Rest for now. It's going to be a while before we go anywhere." Merlin did as told and Arthur doubted it was because he'd ordered him. Arthur looked to Gwaine standing by the trap door, watching it like a fox watching the hounds from its hole.
"I now see what there was to be afraid of," Arthur said.
Gwaine gave him a smile that went nowhere near his eyes. "The thing that attacked me was a pup compared to that beast down there." He then dropped to his hands and knees and put his ear to the door. "I don't hear the braggart. Something that big, we should be able to hear it snuffling a mile off."
"You think it's gone?"
"Or it has enough brains in its skull to keep quiet and make us think it went away. You can never say with magical beasts."
"You're that certain it's enchanted," Arthur said with the annoyance normally reserved for Merlin and his weirdness.
Gwaine just smiled at him, and this time some of it did reach his eyes. "You're that certain it's not?"
Gwaine had him there, much to Arthur's further annoyance. Never mind the fact that even Merlin had stated such a beast didn't match the descriptions of anything in the bestiaries, the thing's mere presence screamed of magic.
As Gwaine had said, you knew without a doubt that to be killed by this thing would be worse than death. It was more than the creature's ugly looks that said as much; it was something that could not be explained, only sensed and sensed strongly.
Arthur sighed, scraping a shaking hand down his aching face. "Whatever it's doing, at least we're safe here for the time being."
"Unless more men come and try to break through our barrier."
Arthur glared at him. "That thing would eat them first."
"Not if it's under their command."
"You are bound and determined to see only the negative, aren't you?"
Gwaine sat back on his haunches. "I take offense to that and were we not in such dire straits I'd probably knock you on your arse for it, king or otherwise. Seeing as how we are in dire straits, I'll let it slide, for now."
"I'm ever so grateful for your clemency," Arthur said drier than a fallow field in the dead of summer.
"You should be," Gwaine said cheekily, then quick as a blink sobered. "I'm just trying to be logical about this-"
Arthur barked a laugh. "You, logical? You're about as logical as Merlin."
"Heh, you'd be quite surprised how logical Merlin really is. In fact he'd probably be saying what I'm saying right now if he wasn't being molly-coddled by Morpheus. Our lot in life has been strange the moment we found this castle, to the point that a bunch of demon dogs being controlled by a bunch of sorcerers seems almost sane. Either that or they've all gone so mad it's kill first and ask questions later, never mind the blokes who could probably help these people rid the castle of these beasts. My money's on the former – these things are pets and we're their next meal."
"Either way," Arthur said. "There's nothing we can do about it right now. The men who saw us are all dead, that beast either waiting for us or having wandered off. We need to rest and buy ourselves what time we can until this storm passes."
"If the storm isn't enchanted as well," Gwaine muttered under his breath.
Arthur narrowed his eyes in silent order for Gwaine to shut up. But it was too late, and Arthur now had something else "dire" to consider.
~oOo~
"Oh, you are a glutton for punishment, you," Jimbol laughed. "Or is it some hero complex? You can't help but acting and damn the consequences when it's your kingy in danger?" He clapped his hands together and the action sent bits of rotting flesh flying. When he smiled his wide, sickly smile, it was to show a mouth empty of teeth. "That's it! It's a hero thing, right? You just can't help saving the day."
Merlin wanted to open his mouth, scream spells that would burn Jimbols' body to dust, but his lips seemed fused and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
Jimbol, still sitting at the table in the dark room, sucked on the end of a bloody rib bone.
"Not much point to it, though. You're not escaping this destiny. You see..." Jimbol leaned forward, waving the rib bone in circles. Merlin realized with a twisting stomach that it was far too big to be from a pig. "Your plight – that of you, your king and your knight – is a plight where words such as futile come in handy, because it's futile, what you're doing. You can't even call it putting off the inevitable." He bit the bone that crunched and snapped.
He said, as though Merlin had argued the matter, "It's really not, I promise. There's been far too long a time, far too long to plan, for you lot to ever find a way out. We need our key and we will bloody well have our key. We're not waiting around this cesspit for another one. Gets too hard to cross back and forth, the longer we wait. So my suggestion would be to sit back, relax and let the inevitable happen."
Jimbol sat back and crunched the bone with relish. "Of course that would be boring, wouldn't it? Hope you still have that hero complex when the time comes, boy." Jimbol smiled, showing bloody, naked gums. "You're going to need it."
~oOo~
Merlin woke with a shudder, a small whimper and his wrists on fire. Lords, how using his magic like that had hurt. It hadn't even been much a spell, just a bit of force to shove that black-cloaked man off his feet, and yet Merlin's wrists felt as though they'd been branded. It was a pain that had radiated through the rest of his body as an ache, adding to the still-throbbing aches already there.
He hurt, not just his ribs and wrists but his shoulders, head, neck, back, all the way down to his feet and it made him long for a brand new body.
The thought of ribs, of rib bones snapping and crunching, made his stomach squirm. To distract himself, Merlin looked around as best he could from the floor.
Arthur was positioned at Merlin's feet, propped against the wall with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. Gwaine was adjacent to him, staring as though hypnotized by the trap door piled with furniture. Other than the colorful stained glass, some shelves and a torch in a sconce, there was little else to see.
There were the parchments, most of them scattered within easy reach. Merlin pulled one to him and unrolled it, a task made annoying by his shaking, weak hands.
"Doing a little light reading, Merlin?" Gwaine said.
Merlin snapped his head around, which with an aching neck and skull was a terrible idea. He had to wait until his vision stopped swimming to answer.
"Just looking. Might as well while we're here." He looked back – slowly – to the parchment. It looked to be architectural drawings, and though Merlin was no architect he still knew the basic outline of a castle when he saw one.
"Gwaine, look at this," he said, his voice subdued by the aches that insisted on lingering.
Gwaine joined him, crouched at his head. Merlin showed him the scroll and Gwaine smiled.
"Well isn't fortune favoring us this hour," he said, putting down that scroll to pick up another.
It's futile, what you're doing. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut as though it could block out the words that echoed in his head. When he opened them, it was to Gwaine looking from one scroll to the next with the wide-eyed expression of a boy opening birthday presents.
"We could use these," Gwaine was saying. "We can finally put a path to this blasted maze- hello. What do we have here?" The scroll he opened next was massive, so massive he had to lay it out on the floor and use a few spilled inkwells to hold it down. He stood to survey it at a distance.
"This isn't of the castle," he said, mostly to himself.
Merlin struggled upright as much as his body would let him, which was mostly to his elbows. It didn't show him the entire parchment but it did show him what looked to be a real maze.
"Catacombs," Gwaine said. He chuckled, shaking his head with his hands on his hips. "Forget the bloody armory, we stumbled onto gold. Look here, Merlin." Gwaine crouched and traced out a particular passage marked out in red ink. "I'll bet you two flagons of mead that's a way out. Castle and fortresses always have a back entrance. If we can find this place we'll not only have a way out but plenty to places to hide."
"Unless the people who attacked us are already hiding there," Merlin said.
Gwaine chuffed and muttered something along the lines of "now who's being negative?"
"What?"
Gwaine shook his head. "Nothing. I'll wake her highness."
Arthur wasn't happy about the interruption to his rest, saying it couldn't possibly be is turn for watch, yet. His annoyance was immediately set aside for the maps.
"Gwaine this is brilliant," Arthur said.
"Thank Merlin. He was the one in the mood to read."
And, yet, where there should have been joy over finding such an advantage, what Merlin felt was something niggling in his chest like a worm, a thought he knew was important but that wouldn't surface.
It's futile, what you're doing.
"Do either of you find something... odd about this?" he asked.
"That we happened to stumble on their maps?" Gwaine said. He shrugged. "We were bound to stumble on something we actually wouldn't regret."
"No, he's right," Arthur said. He was looking through the scrolls, each one another drawing detailing the various parts of the castle. "You don't keep plans like these in some random room in some random tower where anyone could get to them. These plans show everything – its most strategic points, its most vulnerable sections, its secret passages and hidden entrances. An enemy would sell his soul to get his hands on these. They should be locked up."
Gwaine deflated. "Maybe someone borrowed them and forgot to put them back?" he tried.
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Not unless these people are idiots. Even I can't look at Camelot's designs outside the vault without at least to guards present."
Gwaine tensed. "Do you think these were put here for us to find?"
Arthur's answer was a grim look.
It's futile, what you're doing.
"I think he's right," Merlin said, struggling again to sit up. This time Gwaine helped him and he was able to get into a sitting position against the wall. "I think these were meant to be found."
"Why in the world would anyone want their greatest weakness to be found?" Arthur scoffed. "What could anyone hope to accomplish by showing their enemy the way out-" he snapped his jaw shut.
Gwaine said what they were all thinking. "To set a trap."
It's futile, what you're doing.
"We are being led on," Arthur said. "But why? Those men we fought couldn't have been the only ones here. If they know we're here then why not just come for us? Why these games?"
Of course that would be boring, wouldn't it?
Arthur began grabbing scrolls, some he discarded, others he stuffed into his coat.
"Arthur?" Merlin said.
"Trapped or not it's still an advantage. We'll at least know where we're going."
"And where we can go when we have no other choice," Gwaine said, folding instead of rolling the map of the catacombs and handing it off to Arthur.
The gutteral sound of something snarling, something big, froze them all in place. The sound was coming from their right. They turned their heads as one, not wanting to look but having no choice. But all they saw was the window being pelted by a mad flurry of snow.
Until a massive clawed and hairless paw smashed through the window. All three men ducked against the rain of glass, then panic sent them into a frenzy of motion – Merlin trying to scramble to his feet, Gwaine trying to cover him, and Arthur shoving and tossing their barrier aside piece by piece. It took Merlin's terrified brain too long to realize the beast's bulk was making it difficult for the thing to get through. But it sure as hell wasn't going to let a little thing like size stop it. It's upper body was already in, the rest squeezing painfully after with a crunch of manipulated bones.
"Go! Go!" Merlin screamed, terror freeing his body of its pains just enough to let him get back on his feet to help Arthur clear the barrier, Gwaine joining them. But no amount of terror would give him the needed strength, leaving all the work to Arthur and Gwaine.
They cleared the door just as the beast had worked it's way in up to its waist, far narrower than its bulky chest. Arthur swung the door open heedlessly and climbed halfway down.
"The way's clear!" he called. He leaned back as Gwaine helped Merlin halfway down the ladder. He and Arthur then turned as one, closing the trap door as one just as the beast finally cleared the window. The door rattled and creaked dangerously from the creature's furious attacks.
"Let's go," Arthur said fiercely. He led the way, Gwaine supporting Merlin, the fear unable to keep up the supply of adrenaline in his battered body. It did clear his mind, enough to notice not only the lack of dead, but the lack of anything to suggest there had ever even been any dead.
"They're gone, all gone," Merlin said as they hurried down the stairwell.
"Yeah, best not to think about it. There's enough testing the limits of our sanity as is," Gwaine grunted.
They turned into the first hallway they came to, a narrow stretch that hemmed them in with no doors in sight. They did not go far when they heard echoing snarls and the shouts of men heading their way. They ran back to the stairs.
"Damn it, we're not being led, we're being bloody herded, Gwaine snarled through a clenched jaw.
The next hall they turned into one flight down was, thankfully, quiet so far. They followed it as far as they dared, seven doors in, to the right down yet another hall, then five doors in before they barged into the nearest room.
It was another bedroom, a mirror image of the last one they had been in, and for a moment Merlin was overcome with the sick thought of them going in circles when he realized this bed still had its blanket. Arthur wasted no time pulling the various drawings from his jacket, and Gwaine wasted no time setting Merlin on a bed he wanted nothing to do with. He was tired, and sore, but it paled to his need to get the hell out of this place.
"What the hell is going on in this place!" Gwaine growled. He took his anger out on the stone wall with the meat of his fist.
"They must want us for something. That has to be the reason why they haven't killed us," Merlin said.
"Or we've been lucky," Arthur said.
"You really think that?" Merlin said. Unfortunately, Arthur was too focused on the parchments to notice Merlin's long-suffering, you-must-be-jesting-with-us glare. Gwaine looked as though he would love nothing more than to agree with Arthur but couldn't quite seem to bring himself to do so.
Then Arthur countered with, "What makes you so sure this... place and these people or these creatures have a purpose for us? Perhaps they're merely, I don't know, trying to scare us off. Maybe we're not being led anywhere, maybe we're being run off, simple as that."
Merlin thought of his dreams, the dreams that made absolutely no bloody sense and yet...
And yet...
You're not escaping this destiny.
What did that even mean? And how did Merlin even begin to use it as any kind of confirmation that there was more to their being hunted than being chased off the property?
Oh, well, you see Arthur, as much as I would love to agree with you there're these dreams I keep having where Jimbol's dead body goes on and on about destiny and how we're doomed but he won't tell me why and it's rather hard to listen to him because he's always eating something disgusting and bits of him keep falling...
Oh, yes, that would go down wonderfully.
But the inability to explain, clearly, why the dream and what it had to say mattered aside, the dream still mattered. Merlin knew, without a doubt, as he knew that being killed by that beasts would be beyond horrible. He knew it was more than a dream because no dream had ever been that vivid, that tangible. He had ifelt/i in that dream – the cold air, the hard, splintered wood of the chair digging into his spine. He had smelled Jimbol's decay and the metallic stench of blood. And when he thought back to it, it was not the fading garbled image of a true dream, it was with the solidarity of a real-life memory.
The only waking vision to ever come close to such realism had been the images in the crystal, images that still haunted his dreams as fresh as now.
So what the dream had to say mattered. And what it had to say was that they were not leaving this castle.
Now how to get that across to Arthur without looking any more like a traumatized lunatic?
"Well, it's been my experience that when someone wants you to leave they either order you out to your face or throw you out by the scruff of your shirt," Merlin said pointedly, and stared just as pointedly at Arthur's back.
Arthur tilted his head back with a sigh. He then whirled around, glaring fire brands at Merlin. "It doesn't matter why we're being chased! We're being chased, that's the facts, making the 'why' completely obsolete unless we don't find a bloody way out of here. So both of you keep your 'whys' to yourself and, please, do me the favor of focusing on 'how' – namely how the hell do we leave this place."
"I say we meet these bastards head on. See just what it is they're making us run to," Gwaine said.
"Give the sorcerers with beasts and greater numbers exactly what they want. Oh, yes, Gwaine, that's absolutely brilliant," Arthur sneered.
"Well it's not as though running about like headless chickens has been doing us any favors."
"It's been keeping us alive!" Arthur wailed like that should have been obvious and Gwain was an idiot not to see it.
Gwaine bristled. "No, it's been putting off the inevitable. This place isn't going to let us leave. You've seen what it has to offer every time we try, that storm included because you can not tell me that there is any way that blizzard is natural."
"You're doing it again," Merlin said above them both, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Both men rounded on him and said as one, "Doing what!"
Merlin flinched back in alarm. "Um... that. Getting, you know, all hot-headed and contradicting and... such." He added a little more bravely. "And it's getting us nowhere."
"Then what do you suggest we do?" Arthur said hotly, or tried to. Instead, the words came out heavy and exhausted, deflated by the growing weight of their situation. It wasn't defeat, more like the precursor to defeat, as rare in Arthur as fear was in Gwaine, and it made Merlin sick inside to see it.
What did they do, when the very place that had trapped them was hell bent on keeping them trapped?
A sudden thought made Merlin perk up, only to immediately sag.
"What?" Arthur pressed, having noticed.
"Well, I was thinking maybe those books Gwaine found might tell us something. But that would mean finding our way to that library."
Arthur looked like he wanted to bash his head against the wall. But he shook it off, straightened his shoulders, grabbed the parchments in one hand and lifted his sword in the other. "You know what? That's as brilliant an idea as we're going to get. Let's go."
TBC...