(Author's Note: Still don't own Merlin or Next to Normal. This is from third person POV. Set before Le Morte d'Arthur. The symbols in the middle of sentences are a name that Arthur doesn't remember. )
Part 2 Taken
Arthur woke up with the worst headache of his life. He couldn't remember where he was. Hell he couldn't remember much of anything. He sat up and blinked a few times as colorful spots of light danced in front of his eyes. He felt slightly sick. He reached out for something to steady himself on and someone caught his hand.
Dizzy and confused as he was this set him on alert. He looked over and saw a boy kneeling down next to him. He was tall and skinny with black hair and a crocked smile. His deep blue eyes shone with relief.
"Arthur, you're ok!" Arthur looked at him confused.
"Who are you?" All the color drained out of the boy's face. Before either of them could do anything a woman in a blood red dress appeared out of thin air behind the boy. Arthur cried out a warning but too late.
The woman moved with the speed of a deer, as she pressed a sliver knife to the skinny boy's throat. He froze releasing Arthur's hand. She wrapped her free arm around the boy's waist and forced him to stand. His eyes were filled with anger and fear. Arthur wanted to help this boy. He reached for his sword but it wasn't there.
"Arthur Pendragon, I wish you farewell. I have what I came for." Her voice was cold and dripping with triumph. Arthur tried to stand but the dizziness came again and he wobbled. He heard the woman, the witch he remembered that much, laughing. He looked up helpless and watched as she pressed the knife harder against the boy's throat. There was a piece of fabric in her way. She released his waist and tore the fabric away, dropping it. Then she resumed the pressure on his neck.
The boy whimpered in fear and pain as crimson droplets began to drip from where the knife was pressed. Arthur felt unexplainable anger, pure and white hot, burning through his nausea. He made to lunge. But the witch saw this coming and began to chant in a language Arthur didn't recognize. A language of magic. There was a powerful wind and the boy cried out as Arthur was forced to cover his eyes to protect them from the wind.
"Arthur!" The boy was pleading for help. Arthur opened his eyes and the boy and the witch were gone. He regained his balance and ran to where the witch had dragged the boy. The cloth that had been around his neck was laying there in the mud. The already bright red fabric had small spots of crimson staining it. The rage built again. But why?
He didn't know that boy. He had never seen that boy before in his life. Or had he? He couldn't remember. There were gaping holes in his memory, holes that couldn't be explained. He knew that even if he didn't know that boy, he couldn't leave him to suffer at the hands of that witch. The image of the boy's eyes when Arthur had asked who he was haunted him. The pain, the fear, and the unshed tears there ate at his conscious.
He had to help this boy. He couldn't not help him. But where would the witch have taken him. Then his head burst with pain once more. Images flashed in front of his eyes. The boy in his room ducking as a goblet was thrown at his head. A map laid out in front of Arthur, an area circled there.
'So is that where we're going?' The boy again his voice sounding slightly annoyed.
'Yes ~~~~~~. That's where she's hiding, so that's where we're going.' The boy rolled his crystal blue eyes.
'You do know it's probably a trap, right?' Arthur felt himself nod.
'Doesn't mean we aren't going.' The boy sighed.
It was Arthur's fault. Arthur had insisted that they come here and the boy had been right. It had been a trap. It was his fault that the boy had been taken. The pain ebbed away. Arthur stood and ran to the horses. He dug in his saddle bag and found it. The map.