Cured
By TheAlmightySun
Chapter Seventeen
The entire mountain seemed to be crumbling around them.
It wasn't an earth quake, but something worse. Arthur knew, somewhere inside him, that Merlin did this- somehow, using magic few could even dream about. His silly, unbalanced servant was the cause for the walls around them shaking, the stairs moving beneath their feet, the ceiling collapsing on top of them and large chunks of rock and ice falling off it and onto the ground far below. Merlin, who was now motionless between himself and Lancelot, his feeble weight hardly slowing them as they fled, surrounded by panicked skeletons that had once been people but were turned, here in this horrid place, into something else.
They avoided each other's eyes, concentrating on the task at hand- maneuvering through the hysteric crowd without dropping their friend. They'd given up on trying to not hurt him, to not to touch the distorted hand, or the broken leg- there was simply no time for it and they were too crowded by everyone else. Up ahead he could almost see sunlight streaming down into cave. It was his birthday.
And then they were outside, and the air was freezing and snow covered everything. Sorcerers streamed out of the large doors and disappeared among the trees and bushes, and the carriage was gone since someone has had the sense to use it for their escape. Arthur glanced over at Lancelot, who was looking at him, clueless. They had no horses, it would likely start snowing soon, the river was freezing cold and they had to get back to Camelot, quickly, before Uther could get furious enough to decapitate his own son and everyone involved in his disappearance.
"Where's Amaroa?" Lancelot yelled over the noise of the running people. Arthur frowned and turned back to the cave they'd just vacated, hidden beneath the beautiful house his father had built.
"Must be in there," He said, feeling oddly satisfied. Nothing was coming out of that ruin alive. Amaora would be buried within it, still breathing, and even if the falling debris didn't kill him, he'd surely starve to death before managing escape.
They propped Merlin up higher between them and trudged on toward the river. What had Norane said? How were they supposed to get down the mountain, back to the city?
"Sire!" Lancelot said excitedly, and pointed at the bushes up ahead.
Arthur frowned, blinking against the rising sun to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was.
"It's a raft," He said finally, as they stopped at the edge of the water and looked down, where a small raft made of wood floated innocently, hitting the river bank time and again as the water streamed powerfully around it.
"It's a raft." Lancelot agreed. Arthur looked at him, bewildered.
"What's a raft doing here?"
"I don't know."
They blinked down once again.
"Should we use the raft?" Lancelot asked, and Arthur glanced back, where the remaining prisoners were coming out of the cave.
"We should use the raft." He said, and they put Merlin down on the snow next to them, reaching out to grab the thing.
"Do you think Norane got it here?" Lancelot wondered.
"Seems likely. She said we'd get down again by the river."
There was movement behind them, and when they turned Merlin's confused blue eyes were staring at them weakly.
"Good morning," Lancelot said, and Arthur turned his eyes away. He didn't know how he felt about everything yet. Frankly, Merlin unconscious and nonresponsive was a lot easier to deal with then the powerful sorcerer he suddenly was.
"What day is it?" Merlin asked, as if this had just occurred to him.
"My birthday," Arthur said tensely, and Merlin's eyes bulged.
"I don't- how-?" He looked up at Lancelot helplessly, and the man shrugged.
"Amaroa's cure had you pretty messed up, I heard," He said in way of explanation, but Merlin only grew paler, and glanced quickly in Arthur's direction.
Feeling the tension building to ridiculous proportions, Arthur chuckled nervously.
"So," he muttered, when the unnatural laugh began to creep him out.
"So," Merlin repeated, studying the prince's face intently.
"You're a sorcerer."
There was a moment of tense silence, before Merlin glanced up at the sky thoughtfully and sighed. "You know," he mused, studying the swirling storm clouds up above, "You'd think being a power hungry sorcerer would be better than a power-hungry king. But no. They get all the girls and all the glory."
Arthur glanced at him with a weak smile. It was still Merlin.
Only not.
Damn it.
"Alright," He said, sounding odd in his own ears. "Can you get on the raft?"
"Sure," Merlin looked at the unsteady contraption doubtfully. "Just give me a few centuries, and I'll inch my way right on it."
Arthur rolled his eyes before he remembered that things were different now, and then his face became very red. Curses flew around in his mind but he paid them no notice.
"Either you get on, or I drag you on," He said commandingly, and Merlin muttered darkly and familiarly under his breath.
"What was that?"
"I said you're an egoistic prat."
"Come again?"
"You're a charming and charismatic worthy heir to the throne, sire."
"I thought that's what you said."
Hissing and flinching Merlin edged his way onto the raft, with the others' help. Icy cold water splashed loudly around them, soaking their cloths and hair.
"It's cold," Lancelot commented, and Arthur glanced at him cynically.
"Is it really? A river at the top of a snow cupped mountain in the middle of winter? Cold, you say?"
Together they pushed the raft off shore and into the water, and then jumped on quickly. Inwardly Arthur wondered how it hadn't flipped when they landed on it- it wasn't very large or very steady- but his gaze landed on Merlin's fading golden eyes, and he swallowed. How did he not notice that before?
"Ready?" Lancelot was saying. He held on to the rope that kept the raft away from the currents, and now held his sword over it, ready to cut.
"No," Merlin said, and the rope gave out with a loud snap.
For a moment, they remained as they were, still in the rushing water.
And then the current caught them, and they held on for dear life.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Atora didn't follow the healers as they led Gwen and the rest away, nor did she follow Lora as she strained to convince her to go down to the dungeons where everyone else was hiding. Instead, she found herself once again in the arena where hours ago she sat and waited out the pointlessly torturous sword tournament.
It was deserted. Shields were left strewn about, as were flowery umbrellas and fans. The breeches were scorched. In the distance, she could hear the dragon roaring as it massacred the people in the town.
"How do you know so much about dragons?" she asked once.
"I don't know. I dream about them sometimes." He answered, grinning at her from over the baskets of corn they were bringing to the market to sell. "They keep calling my name. Over and over again."
"What do they want?" she asked, only so that she could hear his voice.
"I don't know," he said. "I never follow. I'm fine right here."
Wings flapped powerfully around her, and her hair whipped forward over her face in waves of gold. She heard a grunt as it settled in disarray around her shoulders, and turned around slowly, wondering why her heart wasn't quickening and why she felt to fear.
There was the dragon, giant and darkly scaled, his intelligent eyes gazing at her calculatingly.
"Are you going to kill me?" She asked, because it did not move.
"No," He said, and his voice filled her mind, though his lips remained motionless. "I do not believe I will."
"Why not? You've killed others," She said bitterly. He gazed at her for a long time, and then his mouth curved with a scaly smile.
"They were not like you," He said.
"What about me?"
"You are like Prince Arthur," He said. "You were created out of magic."
"I doubt that very much," She said, but the dragon only laughed, and the sound of it shook the entire arena.
Then he flapped his wings open once more, and released a blaze of fire into the cool morning air, leaping again into the sky. She could have sworn he looked back at her a moment more before flying back toward the castle, his fire growing larger and larger the closer he got.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
The doll's left arm had been torn off years ago.
She looked down at the rugged thing, its once blue skirt brown with filth and age, torn in every which way, the once yellow strands of hair coming off in large chunks. But she loved it. She carried it around everywhere.
There was another roar from the window, and she heard her baby brother whimper by her mother's breast. He was very small. Almost as small as the doll. He had a small, mushy bold head and startled green eyes that were now filled with distress. Her mother rocked him gently, glancing at the rest of her children as they all cuddled in the closet.
It was her, the baby, the doll, and her older brother, who was six and bore an expression of determination. When she looked at him, knowing tears slid down her face, knowing her fingers were shaking, he smiled encouragingly, so she wouldn't be afraid.
There was a dragon in the city.
The stench of smoke filled her nose, and she burrowed her face into the doll's familiar scent. Her mother made cloths. She was very good at sewing and stitching things together. All the girl could think about was how she was missing her sewing lesson, and how was she going to learn a craft this way, with dragons messing up the study schedule?
She coughed, her throat burning. This wasn't the comfortable smoke that came out of the fireplace. It was sharp, churning, and it brought more tears to her eyes. Her brother was pulling at her to get up and follow Mother, who was up already and rushing to get out, because the one room they'd made into their home was burning, along with all the cloths her mother was going to sell tomorrow, along with the food and the socks, and the pretty cloth fairy she'd made last winter, all on her own. Run, he said, so she did, clutching the doll to her chest. Last time the dragon came, her father never came home, and her mom started crying all the time, and the little baby would screech loudly every night, and no one would come to calm it. The girl thought that if her doll ever started crying like that, her dad would surely come back. He cared about the doll. He was the one who gave it to her.
The streets were filled with grey, and she couldn't see anything. Her brother was still pulling, and his hand over hers hurt. There was yelling and screaming, people panicking in their haste to escape, and after a while her mother's screams for them to follow vanished amongst the crowds and they were alone, running in a random direction and trying not to be stepped on.
People kept bumping into them, their large legs taller than her, and when she looked up she saw their eyes large and hysteric, and their voices were high, and her brother stayed quiet and pulled her forward, his tanned hand over her white wrist. And then the doll was gone.
"Wait," She said, and stopped, turning around.
"No! Come on," He said, pulling her harder, hurting her.
"Stop! Stop it, stop it! I have to-"
"Come on! We can get you a new doll!"
"I don't want a new doll! I want-"
"No! Come back! Where are you going?" She had broken loose, but the doll was far behind and people where now running toward her, and she was four, and short, and frightened.
Someone stumbled over her and she fell, and then feet, large, booted feet were over her, tripping over her, stepping over her small hands and feet. She screamed, and the doll was nowhere to be seen, and then her brother was on top of her, and his six year old body was the one to suffer the stumps and the boots and the stampeding hordes, and his eyes stared down at her and all she could do was cry for her doll.
And then the people were done, all gone, and only smoke filled the streets, thick smoke, that made her eyes burn and she coughed and cried, and pulled herself from underneath him, locating the doll a few feet away, stranded and ruined on the dirt.
She ran and stumbled to pick it up, and pulled the yellow hairs out of its face. It was full of dirt and mud, but she didn't care. She hugged it to her chest once more, taking comfort in its familiarity.
Then she turned. They had to find their mother.
She ran back to her brother, who was still on the ground, trying to protect her from the crowds.
"Come on," She said, pulling at his hand. "We need to find Mommy."
She sat next to his head, and watched something red dripping out of it.
"Come on Leo," She said again, pulling at his hair, like she always did when he ignored her. "I found Dolly. We can go now.
"Leo?"
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
The Ork River splashed and surged around them. The small raft was a lot less steady then it had first seemed, and none of them had considered it very balanced to begin with. The wood was rough and edgy, cutting into the skin of Arthur's palm cruelly, but he didn't dream of letting go. He was at the back, his hair and armor quickly soaking in the freezing water, with Lancelot up front and Merlin between them, his eyes blinking upwards in exhaustion and pain.
Gaius can fix him, Arthur knew. Gaius can fix anyone.
The river turned sharply, and his palm tightened over the wood. This wasn't the sort of travel he was used to, with the drops and the small waterfalls and the jugged twists and turns of the water as it coursed its way roughly between the forests of the mountains. As they passed they glimpsed villages, small children playing in streams, fishermen, and women with large baskets collecting plants and fresh water. Arthur has never been in this side of the kingdom, though it was so close to Camelot. He always found himself at the borders, armored for battle against the forces threatening his father's rule. Maybe it was time to travel the area for a while.
As the river coursed they gained more and more momentum. How long have they been holding on to the raft, he didn't know- it seemed like hours, and yet the sun was only just rising. On horseback it would have taken at least a day of riding. Maybe this was Norane's purpose- to get them back to the city as quickly as-
The raft tipped over the edge of a hidden drop, falling down lower and lower before splashing once more upon the Ork's water, disposing of its inhabitants in the process. Arthur gasped as he was engulfed in water and kicked vigorously upwards, toward the surface, feeling the cold water seeping into his cloths. Currents and turbulences caught him and he fought against them as they swirled him here and there powerfully, pushing his body against rocks in the river and ice that has been broken off at the mountain top and floated downward alongside them. He felt sharp pain in his side and gasped, allowing the meager amount of air still held in his lungs to escape. He felt himself being propelled lower and lower, until his hands groped the sand of the river bottom, where the currents were more timid and less violent.
There was a bright light. Arthur knew it from somewhere. He had seen it before, in a cave, lighting his way to safety…
His lungs filled with air, and in a split second he repositioned his legs, and pushed himself up off the ground as hard as he could. He shot upwards, cutting through the water with his arms, not allowing his mind to get foggy though blackness was playing at the edges of his vision. He did not escape Amaroa's caves only to die by a stupid current.
And then there was noise. His head broke through the surface and he inhaled, trying to keep aloft. The sun shone over the blue sky and he found a log to hold on to, trying to calm his gasping breath.
He'd traveled far down river. He was starting to recognize the river bank. The village coming up was just an hour's horse ride away from the gates of Camelot. They were close to home.
"My lord!" He heard, and turned, spotting Lancelot's relieved face. He had grabbed on to what looked like the remains of the raft, and was also panting heavily. "You're alright!"
"Yes," Arthur replied, and then frowned. "Where's Merlin?"
Lancelot gazed at him, shaking his head. "I don't-"
Arthur didn't let him finish. He took a large breath and sunk down once again under the water, keeping one hand on the wooden log. Clouds of sand obscured his vision and he squinted against them, mind filled with thoughts.
Merlin is injured. Even if he weren't, did he even know how to swim? Were there any lakes or rivers next to Ealdor? How was his untrained, untalented servant supposed to brave the strong currents of the Ork?
And then the golden light again, engulfing him in its glow, so that he was lifted higher and higher and breathed fresh air once more.
"You're both blind," A voice said, and Arthur turned, relief filling every inch of him. Merlin was sitting at the river edge, smirking at him weakly, and he could almost have seemed fine if it weren't for the pain lining his face and the frightening paleness of his skin.
"How did you-" Arthur started, but then shook his head. "Never mind."
He rowed his way to solid land, finding the currents a lot more manageable with the strange light surrounding him. His heart was beating loudly in his ears. He tried not to think about how very wrong this felt, using magic.
Lancelot made it up also, and they shivered in the cool wind for a short while, looking at each other thoughtfully.
"The city's that way," Lancelot said finally, and Arthur nodded.
"There's a village a few minutes walking," He said, pointing higher up the mountain. "We can get horses there, make it to Camelot before the morning ends. I'll go, you two wait here," He said, starting to walk in that direction.
"Sire?" He heard Merlin's voice behind him.
"What?"
"There's… the city. I mean, Camelot."
"What about it, Merlin?" Arthur said, exasperated.
"It's… there's smoke," Merlin finished, and the two others turned quickly, squinting against the sun.
A large tower of black smoke billowed above the treetops, sinister and dark.
I hope you enjoyed that!
Thank you so much to anyone who reviews, and especailly people who review earlier chapters... if you have any criticism about the writing, the plot, the characters or anything at all that you find less/more interesting, please let me know! I love getting advice and always try to use it... so... :-)
The next update would be in two weeks, because I'm going to Germany... (A hundred million smilie faces inserted here) I'll tell you all about it when I get back.
(The second episode was so cute. There were a lot more Arthur/Merlin bickering moments. I love those two. :-) )