Chapter Two
Merlin vanished.
Arthur's breath caught in his throat. One moment, his ridiculous manservant had been standing grumpily beside him, nattering on about his girlish feelings of danger, and he had only been hoping for a bit of fun, and the next second, Merlin was gone. He kept looking at the spot where his servant should be. The dark haired boy should be flailing like an upended turtle, his gangly arms and legs working until Arthur couldn't stop laughing. Merlin was gone.
Arthur's mouth went dry as he realized that only sorcery could have done this. He drew his sword and took a breath, plunging through the doorway, steeling himself for some nightmare horror of magic, but there was nothing. There was only the scuffled fall leaves and the idiot's name on his lips.
"Merlin!"
He turned again, looking through the doorway again, noting how the leaves glowed golden and the motes of dust shimmered in the stillness as they settled.
"Merlin!"
Arthur walked around the arcane doorway, but he found nothing and he felt foolish. There was no way to explain what had happened, and there appeared to be no way to find the servant.
Merlin. He seldom remembered the name of any servant. He had been horrified when his father had given the gawky boy the post of manservant, but there was no denying the Merlin had saved his life. He was a terrible servant, always late, mostly useless on the training field except as a mule for equipment; Arthur had quickly surmised the sword would never be this boy's weapon. Curiously, despite his ineptness in any battle, Merlin showed absolutely no fear. He was a puzzle.
Arhtur shook his head. What was he doing? The boy was gone and he needed to get back to Camelot. No need to stand here thinking.
He touched he warm brown stones. He recalled Merlin had been wary of him touching the stones, but truly, he felt no difference. Arthur passed through the doorway again, his hand still on the stone, but the outcome was no different. Nothing.
He thought about what his father would do when he heard the news of this incident. There was no denying, he already knew how his father would react. Uther would dispatch a patrol to destroy the doorway. And another faceless servant would take Merlin's place and the matter would be finished. Somehow that seemed horrible.
Maybe Merlin was dead already. The thought discomforted him. Arthur turned his mind from that possibility like the strategist he was, as he decided on his next action.
If the doorway was destroyed, Merlin might be trapped. Trapped. He knew nothing of magic, only of it's danger. Whatever had happened to his manservant, he had no idea how to help. Guilt lapped at the edges of his thoughts. He had shoved the boy on a whim and he had fallen into some unseen evil enchantment. The horror of the thought began to strike through him. For a moment he couldn't catch his breath. The surreal quality of the golden light and surge of adrenalin vibrated like the shimmering fall leaves, like his own heart in his chest. Shock passed, anger rose up, fear sucked at him. He cursed.
He would have to go back to Camelot and tell Gaius that Merlin was gone. Gone. What a spineless word to describe what had happened. The old man's heart would break on those words. He was not the only one to notice how Gaius had seemed to shed years in the season since the boy had arrived. The old physician's tongue had sharpened as he came back to himself; his observations had become more incisive and Uther had commented with pleasure, more than once, on the renewed vigor of his old friend. Merlin's loss ...
The thought stopped him again, lancing through him with a sense of shock, he would never have expected. He cursed once more, frustrated and angry. He was becoming a petticoat, he told himself. He stabbed his sword into the ground, with all his strength. It vibrated as the wind swept suddenly through the trees, leaves swirling around his feet and tangling in the crimson of his cape.
"Face me, sorcerer ", he yelled into the numinous forest. There was a singing quality to the sound of the wind in the trees, like a whispering, like the trace of a remembered melody. "Let Merlin go! He is only a servant."
But there was no answer as the minutes passed except the soughing of the wind that mocked his words. Arthur felt more foolish and desperate with every moment. He pounded on the stones, he called the servant's name, yet he found no trace of anything. Finally, after a frantic bout of pacing, he sank against the wall of the mysterious doorway. He knew he would have to start back to Camelot soon. His father would have the doorway destroyed. Never had his heart felt so heavy.
He cursed his stupid horseplay. He should have thought for a moment. Despite having been raised to suspect magic at every turn, having been schooled in the need to drive every aspect of magic from Camelot, when he found a mysterious doorway in the heart of the forest, he had reacted like a giddy six year old. Merlin had warned him and he hadn't listened. His recriminations did little to ease the anger that was building inside. He seethed. Destroying the door would seal his manservant's fate and his action would be forever beyond repair. Was he mad? What was he thinking? His servant was gone. Yes, already gone.
Regret twisted in his gut. It was an unfamiliar feeling. Merlin had been a miserable servant, but Arthur couldn't deny he would miss him. It was the way he talked , the things he said, the silent looks that said even more. Merlin told the truth and that was a quality that made him unique. When Arthur was being a pig with his food, he told him so. He spoke up when he pushed the knights too hard in training, and somehow he always knew exactly what Arthur wanted to eat. The boy's knack for that was really uncanny. Merlin talked to the prince, eye to eye, as if he was his equal, and the sheer audacity of that attitude had earned him Arthur's respect.
Unfamiliar with the strange sensations of shock and loss that reverberated through his heart, he told himself, he should make some final gesture, to the memory of his servant.
"Merlin, " he said softly, as if the servant might only be on the other side of the wall. He spoke quickly, before he lost his nerve. "I'm sorry, Merlin! I didn't mean..." he stopped himself. A royal prince of Camelot should never apologize for his actions, echoed his father's voice. The familiar refrain clawed at the open wound of his regret. He was not his father. There were things a man must do in order to live with himself, whether he was a prince or a servant. He bowed his head, as he stood by the doorway.
We might have been friends, he told himself silently. It hurt.
The forest still rustled with the wind. There was the sudden smell of sulphur and then a flash of light. It flared so bright, he couldn't even name the color that engulfed the forest in blaze of power. Thunder rolled and skirled around the light, until it exploded in a blast of energy. Arthur dropped, insensible, to the ground and he did not move again.
The wind piled fiery leaves against the Pendragon scarlet of his cape; his golden hair caught the last light of the sun.