Cured
By TheAlmightySun
Chapter twelve
"Is this it?"
Arthur was staring at the unimpressive building, dark against the white mountaintop.
"Yes," Norane said.
Lancelot stared at it, as well. He didn't know what it was he'd been expecting, but it wasn't a house. More like a cave. With bats. And ghosts. And evil eyes glaring at him from the deep shadows.
"Are you sure?" Arthur asked, clearly sharing Lancelot's thoughts. Norane ignored him.
"You will find the wizard Merlin inside. He had been held in one of the cells, but he's no longer there." She remained sitting as the two men dismounted, still gazing at the building. "You will not need the horses on the way back," She said, grabbing on to the reins. "You will use the river."
"We will use the river," Arthur repeated, confused.
"And you saw all these as a prophet before you were cured?" Lancelot asked, becoming a little suspicious. A thought had occurred to him during the climb up. They were following this girl's instructions like puppets. What if she was working with Amaroe? Were they walking into a trap?
"Amaroe's cure does not work well on me," She said. "I'm not an average witch. And I've been cured and then given the antidote for the cure and then cured again so many times- it does not effect me like it used to."
With that, she turned the horse, heading back down the path.
"Hey!" Arthur called after her, his scabbard, which he has been taking off the horse, hitting the ground forcefully. "Where are you going?!"
"I'm needed at Camelot," She said, not turning back.
Lancelot and Arthur exchanged looks. Brown moved in place uncomfortably, growing cold.
"Go on, girl," Lancelot told her, leading the animal toward the path. "No need for you here."
He wondered if she understood him as she started walking after Norane, who had now urged Arthur's horse into a gallop.
"I don't like this," he told Arthur, turning back around. The prince glanced again at the building. It was one story tall, built into the rock of the mountain, with a large, oaken door.
"I think there's something behind it," He said thoughtfully, walking forwards carefully. There were no guards lining the entrance. Lancelot supposed there was never any need for them, up here in the frozen wasteland, where no human had set foot in years.
Amaroe didn't count.
They walked around the building, glancing through the windows. Arthur was right. There was a tunnel inside, leading into a dark, sinister stairwell that swirled down into blackness.
"This makes more sense," Arthur said, and turned back to the door.
"Are we just gonna walk in?" Lancelot demanded, following.
Arthur turned back to him, serious. "Any threat we may face would be inside," he said, opening the unlocked doors. Lancelot walked in first, glancing around for danger.
There was nothing inside, apart from a few torches lining the stairwell, lighting the way down.
The two stood at the top, staring down to the blackness.
"Ready?" Arthur asked.
Lancelot started climbing down.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Merlin had been lying on the ground, unmoving, for almost an hour.
It was freezing.
It was painful.
It was humiliating in every aspect.
He could still taste the bitter tang of the potion Amaroe poured down his throat, but he noticed no difference. He guessed his captor was waiting for something. Currently it stood between something occurring, or Merlin going raving mad thinking about it.
The second seemed very likely.
Merlin had never been in such intense pain as he was in now. Not ever, in his entire life. He'd been beaten before, chocked half to death, and was even poisoned to the point of dying just a few months before, when he drunk a toxin meant for Arthur's lips. But none was like this. None was so alive, so demanding, so exhausting and agonizing.
He could think of nothing but.
He had to get out of there. Before whatever Amaroe gave him started working. Before he died. Before he killed himself.
Gritting his teeth he pushed himself up, leaning on his right hand, which he thought had not been hurt, only to discover a relatively old wound he did not remember getting in the shape of a deep cut in his palm. He hissed, and collapsed back to the floor, gasping with the pain of it.
Get up.
He tried again. This time his arm was stronger, shaking only slightly, and he managed to sit himself up tenderly, feeling every muscle in his body strain under the effort. Merlin swallowed, sweat trickling down his brow. He looked up at the hardly visible door before him, beyond which he hasn't yet been able to see.
How could he escape, if he could barely sit upright?
Merlin took a few powerful breaths. He had to use magic. There was no way around it. Amaroe seemed to already be convinced of his powers, and even if he weren't, Merlin wouldn't live long enough to convince him otherwise. But he couldn't heal himself- not in the state he was in. Healing took energy he did not possess even on a normal day, when he had the right amount of blood coursing his veins and remembered the last time he had eaten and drunk. No. He'd have to think of something else.
Merlin glanced at his broken hand, feeling the familiar tint of magic at the back of his eyes.
"Corato li pora," He muttered coarsely, and the pain disappeared.
His hand was still distorted, smashed and damaged, but at least he no longer felt it. It was like a lifeless thing glued onto his arm tightly, heavy and cumbersome.
Merlin turned to his oddly curved knee, and muttered the same charm.
It felt numb, but at least it was no longer painful.
He used the chair and his less-hurt right hand to lift himself on one foot. His head spun with the motion, and he swayed in place, unbalanced.
This wasn't gonna work.
But it had to.
Swallowing hard, he limped as best he could over to the door. He leaned on it heavily, panting. His right leg held most of the weight, while the other dragged behind him inertly. He bit his lip, drawing blood. Then he cursed himself. As if he needed any more injuries to add.
He tried the handle, but it was locked. Merlin closed his eyes, concentrating on the magic. He was so tired. And hungry. And parched. What would happen if Amaroe caught him?
He tried not to think about it, and murmured an unlocking spell. The door ignored him. His foot was screaming against the weight, and he leaned more heavily against the door, resting his head against the cold wood.
He muttered the spell again.
The door paid no attention.
He started sliding down to the floor, letting his useless leg rest. His magic was maddening. He could vanquish his own pain, mask it behind some gentle throbbing, but not perform a silly unlocking charm?
Angry tears threatened to erupt, but he stopped them. There was only one thing on his mind.
Amaroe.
His captor's smile filled his blackening vision. If he ever did manage to get out, there was only one thing he wanted to do, after saving Arthur.
He wanted to smash Amaroe's head into some rock, and choke him with his bare hands.
Merlin breathed in deeply, placing his good- well, better- hand on the knob, closing his eyes.
He let his magic flow through his fingers.
When he opened them, his magic was there, within him, sparkling in his pupils.
He repeated the spell, and heard the lock as it repositioned.
Merlin forced himself to his feet. He was standing before the door, his hand on the knob. Amaroe's men would be outside, waiting.
He swallowed.
Gently, quietly, he opened the door.
Now, I know that this chapter was ridiculously short- but to make up for it, the NEXT chapter will be ridiculously long! And action-filled! And… you know… chapter-ly!
I want to say thank you for everyone who reviews. You don't know how much that means to me. I love reading all of your ideas and thoughts, and also your critic since it makes the story more logical. So thanks. :-)
-TAS