Hello! :D
Um...meh, just enjoy ;)
~2~ So It Begins
The new grey horse received glances and whispers from all around. Arthur, pretending ignorance, proudly led it and his roan into the royal stables.
As Merlin, standing on a step in order to reach, began to haul the saddle off the steel horse, he noticed the inverted silver pentagram engraved in the leather.
"Arthur, do you recognize this insignia?"
The prince studied it, and then shrugged. "Probably from one of the coastal kingdoms; they mostly keep to themselves. Perhaps they have more horses like this. We should make contact with...Merlin?"
The warlock had froze, his hand pausing in its brushing of the horse's neck. He shuddered suddenly, and snatched his hand away as the beast tossed its head and stamped a hoof.
"What's with you?"
Merlin swallowed, and then forced a weak smile. "Nothing. Just cold, is all. And hungry. And—your leg! We must see Gaius."
"No. I'll see Gaius. You'll see to the horses." Arthur tossed a coarse brush at his manservant and began limping for the stable doors. "Mind you make sure the grey's stall is locked properly. I have a feeling it could knock over the door with ease and escape."
† † †
The hut was almost indistinguishable from the surrounding forest. One could only see it if they knew where to look – and the dark knight knew.
Pushing the small door wide, he stooped and entered the hut, before bowing to its inhabitant.
"You were successful, then?" asked Morgana, not turning around to greet her guest.
"My lady. Arthur Pendragon has fallen for your trap. The Mare is going to Camelot."
Morgana smiled, stroking the blue feather on her table lovingly. "Very good, my prince."
The Archon shifted. "My lady, at what time may I have the return of my Mare?"
"Soon, my dark avenger," replied Morgana, stifling the sudden blossom of rebellious unease emitting from the knight with a whisper and stroke of the Phoenix Feather. "Soon."
"...My lady."
† † †
"Have you decided what to call it?"
It was seven days later. The sun was warm on their backs and there wasn't a cloud to be seen. Merlin tightened the girths of Balinor and the steel-coloured horse. Arthur was finally capable—if not allowed—to ride as long as he didn't push himself too hard.
"No, not really," the prince replied, pulling on his riding gloves. "You have any ideas?"
Merlin looked thoughtful. "I was thinking 'Germanicus.'"
Arthur snorted. "What kind of a name is that?"
"A good one," the warlock replied, affronted.
"And male. This is a mare, Merlin."
"Oh. Right. Well, I don't hear you coming up with any ideas."
"...How about 'Smokie?'"
Merlin pulled a face. "Smokie? You serious?" Suddenly, he couldn't suppress a yawn. Arthur glanced at him questionably.
"No sleep," he explained briefly, before yawning again. Arthur unwittingly did the same thing.
"Great, now you've got me doing it," he growled. They both instantly became aware of the dark rings under each others' eyes.
"You've been having them, too, haven't you," said Merlin. It wasn't a question.
"Oh, don't be ridiculous. I don't know what you're talking about."
"...If you don't know what I'm talking about, how do you know it's ridiculous?"
Arthur glowered at him, and again shoved a fist in his mouth to halt a yawn.
"It's the nightmares," said Merlin, watching the prince carefully.
Arthur turned away. "Maybe."
"Gaius is searching for something to stop them."
"What for? A couple people with bad dreams don't need pampering."
"A couple, no. A whole kingdom, yes...Haven't you noticed?"
Arthur still refused to look at him. "Perhaps. It'll pass, I'm sure."
'Smokie' tossed her head and whinnied, raring to go. With Merlin's help, Arthur climbed into the saddle and rode from the courtyard.
† † †
That evening, Merlin took Balinor and the prince's mare to the royal stables. Fortunately for him, an acquaintance, George, owed him a favour, and helped him brush, feed, and water the two beasts. Merlin couldn't help but notice the bags under the stable hand's eyes.
As he untangled a knot from the grey's mane, a wave of uneasiness befell him, and he yanked his hands away. The horse grumbled and threw her head back, as though distressed.
Taint. Merlin felt taint swirling within the essence of the beast.
A second later, he dismissed the thought contemptuously. It was just a horse. He was tired, and the day had been long.
Even so, he glanced about, saw George getting fresh oats several paces away, and then laid a palm on the horse's hot, silky neck.
"Monștrarę mihĭ."
Beneath closed eyelids, irises flashed liquid gold. The magic uncoiled in his chest and reached out with him, only to flinch and retreat, choking. The horse screamed, enraged.
Emrys!
The warlock shrank fearfully as the grey reared, legs lashing out in fury. A hoof caught him in the chest, and pain blossomed as he fell to the ground, gasping.
"Merlin, watch out!"
Three stable hands leaped into action, forcing the mare back into her stall. The beast squealed and tossed her head, nostrils flared, as she became trapped in the cubicle.
George helped Merlin stand and felt for anything broken. The warlock grimaced as his hand passed over bruised ribs, just right of his heart.
"You were lucky," said George, letting him go when he realized that he wasn't going to fall over. "That kick could have been a lot worse. You should still have a physician look at that."
Merlin exited the stable, feeling lightheaded. Emrys. The horse had called him by his vërum nσmί, his true name: Emrys.
He snorted. That wasn't possible—he must have imagined it.
It—is—a—horse.
Still, he couldn't shake off the memory of the taint that had choked his own magic when he brushed the beast.
† † †
Gaius was the court physician and the closest person Merlin had to a father. He was also one of only three living people who knew of Merlin's natural abilities with magic. He was nodding to sleep where he sat before a large stack of old, musty volumes, but he woke with a start as Merlin entered the quarters.
"Arthur's been having nightmares as well, and George at the stables," yawned Merlin as he crashed into the nearest chair, exhausted. He gasped as a new wave of pain washed over him.
"Indeed," mumbled Gaius. He frowned. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing. I just saw George not four days ago, and he was fine then." He let his head loll back.
"Whatever is happening, it's getting worse every night."
Merlin summoned enough energy to lift his head back up, worried. "You don't supposed it's magic?"
"Nightmares for a few people is entirely natural, but when it's the whole city..." Gaius looked at the warlock. "There can be no other explanation."
With an exasperated sigh, Merlin's head fell again. "Yay. Time to save Camelot—again."
† † †
The dark knight stood as still as death near the archway of his former prison. The inhuman traits of the Archon sent shivers down Morgana's spine, but she refused to let her uneasiness show.
She stood beside the pedestal in the centre of the pentagram carved into the cold stone courtyard. Around the star was a span of long-dead grass, and then the crumbling topless tower engulfed them all, throwing them into shadow. The dead sun's light could not reach the ground to warm the sorceress.
"When shall my brothers be free, my lady?" The sudden words emerging from the knight's helmet startled the witch.
Keeping a calm composure, Morgana fingered the wide-bladed dagger sitting on the pedestal. "Soon, my prince." She turned in a circle, looking into the four other lone-standing archways at the points of the pentagram. These were not empty, like the Knight's, like Mėtû's. Every one of them held a transparent veil that wavered in a wind that didn't exist, and behind each veil stood a mounted Knight, standing as still and patient as their liberated brother. Only from inside the pentagram were they all visible; if standing outside and viewed from behind, the archways would appear empty.
Right from Mėtû's ancient prison was Halosĭs, Conquest, on the horse of ivory. His bow remained strung and ready, sitting across the pommel. To the left of Mėtû was Caedeşqụe on his steed of fire. Bloodshed had his great sword strapped to his armoured shoulders. The Knight Famine was next, called Fąmem, and he had no weapon, because he had no need for one. His black beast was continually groaning with hunger, every bone of its body in sharp relief. Lastly, on the horse of pale green, was Môrtęm, the kin of Death. His scythe, taller than any man, never ceased to drip blood.
"Very soon." Morgana turned once more to Fear, to Mėtû. "Once Arthur Pendragon arrives with his men, as no doubt he will, all that will need to be done is the deed. And the Knights of the Apocalypse will once again rule this land."
Fear didn't react in any way. No holler of celebration, no grunt of triumph, not even a finger twitch of acknowledgement.
Morgana lifted her chin, which border-lined arrogance towards the ancient Archon, and left the pentagram. She entered the inner walls of the tower, shivering in the drafts emitting from the gaps in the stone, and climbed until she came to the pigeon coop. The tiny message on the roll of parchment from her pocket was soon strapped to one of the birds' legs, and then the pigeon was tossed into the air, to find its home in Camelot.
"Not long now, little brother," she hissed softly to the breeze.
Φ
The fog was too thick to penetrate further than ten paces all around. The trees were thin and sickly, and reached out to him as if begging for aid. Twigs snapped and leaves crunched underfoot as he wandered aimlessly through the forgotten forest.
"Merlin..."
The warlock turned towards the voice, but no one appeared.
"Hello?"
"Help me, Merlin..."
"Freya? Is that you?"
"Help me!"
Merlin's deceased lover stepped out of the mist, blood seeping from a wound in her chest. She stumbled, and Merlin leaped forward to help her. He caught her before she fell, and held her up. Freya stared at him with dead, blaming eyes.
"Look at what you've done to me." The blood now squirted from her wound like a fountain. "You've killed me..."
"Freya—"
Blood started to seep from her nose, and her eyes, ears, mouth...
"No, it's not my fault—"
"You've killed me, Merlin!"
"No, Freya! Don't—!" But it wasn't Freya anymore. It was Morgana.
"It isn't over, Merlin," she said, and thrust a dagger through his heart. "It's never over."
Φ
"Yaaaaahh!"
Crash!
Tangled in his sheets, Merlin was trapped half off of his bed, arms pinned to his sides. Sweat drenched his face and body. Breathing heavily, he waited until his eyes adjusted to the near total darkness before freeing himself. He gingerly felt a bump on his head where it had hit the floor, before lying back down and wiping his cheeks. It wasn't only sweat that dampened his face.
Ooooooo.
;)
Rough translation from Latin (with added symbols to look cooler) :
Monstrare mihi: Show me
vërum nσmί: true name
And an approximately-legitimate pronounciation guide:
Mėtû : MEY-too
Caedeşqụe : cay-DIS-queh
Halosĭs : AH-low-cease
Fąmem : FAH-mem
Môrtęm : MOR-tem
All right. I've just made a batch of snickerdoodle cookies, and I need someone to share them with *wink, nudge* But these are magical snickerdoodle cookies. Only those with the right knowledge, only those who have widened their interests with Merlin and Arthur and read other Arthurian tales can eat them. In this chapter there are two..."references," I suppose, to novels with those two whippersnappers. If you can tell me what they are, you get some of those delicious snickers :D
Here are the hints/guidelines:
1. Emrys is the Welsh form of Ambrosius. In what novel does an Ambrosius have significance to Merlin?
2. In a few novels of a series, Merlyn (spelled like that) had a noble black horse called Germanicus. What is this novel and/or series? (Does the name 'Britannicus' jog anyone's memory?)
There are a lot of cookies here. Hate to have to hog them all to myself...