~7~ The Ravine

Arthur sighed, not opening his eyes. "Put a log on the fire, would you, Merlin?" He rolled over and curled up to retain warmth. Silence greeted his request. He frowned, eyes still closed. "Merlin, you listening?" Still nothing. He sighed again, rough with impatience, and sat up, shivering in the crisp, late morning air. As he did so, he saw Lancelot rise and Gwaine yawn. Merlin was nowhere in sight. "Where did that lazy lump get to?"

Lancelot cracked his neck as he stretched. "I don't remember having my watch."

"That's all right. You can have mine tonight," said Gwaine cheerfully.

Arthur stood, yawning, and scanned the surrounding trees. "Merlin?" His voice echoed emptily.

"He probably just had to pee," Gwaine reassured.

The companions waited silently for several minutes.

"That's a really long pee."

Lancelot touched the servant's bed roll. It was dead cold. "Perhaps he went looking for food," he said. "Berries or something."

"His horse is gone," muttered Arthur. "He wouldn't just...leave?"

"Not unless he decided go without the tack," said Gwaine, counting the saddles nearby. All four were present. "For some reason, I don't think he just went for a morning ride."

Arthur grew restless. All weariness caused by lack of sleep vanished as the knowledge of his friend's disappearance sank in. Standing, he wandered over to where the horses were picketed, all the while staring at the ground. The other day's rain had softened the soil, allowing their footprints to be moulded into the earth. Overnight, the mud had hardened slightly, and the prints were clearly legible. Merlin's tracks, different from the riding boots of the knights', led towards where his horse was once roped, and then back towards the camp.

Around the dead fire pit, it was too difficult to tell where Merlin went exactly, but the prince was able to find the tracks leading back out, out towards the ravine. They were crisscrossed by a couple of deer and by a curious wolf; however, the wolf prints lacked claw marks, so it wasn't on the attack—it couldn't be the source of the missing servant. That left the ravine.

Heart leaping into his mouth, Arthur strode quickly to the edge of the chasm, eyes following the footprints, forcing himself not to run. The other two tailed him closely. He was at the edge before he knew it, and, scanning the gap quickly, he bellowed, "Merlin?!"

Merlin...erlin...in, the chasm mocked.

"Sire..." Lancelot was kneeling, inspecting marks in the dirt. Arthur crouched beside him, and alarm bells rang in his head. They were finger marks, and they inevitably dragged into the ravine.

Arthur cursed and stood, roaring into the gully for his servant once more. He received the same echoing, taunting reply as before.

"I very much doubt screaming your lungs out will do much good, Arthur," said Gwaine calmly, leaning out as far as he dared and looking down. "If he fell..."

The prince shook his head, teeth gritting in frustration. He was border-lining on despair. "By these marks, he was pulled in. We must go after him, find him."

No one brought up the question, but it flew through everyone's mind. How?

Suddenly, Lancelot snapped his fingers. "His horse."

The other two glanced at him strangely. "It probably pulled free in the night and followed him," the knight explained. "Wherever he was ta—went. I once had a horse that followed me clear across Cenred's country, through forest and swamplands. If it trusts you enough, a horse will tail you anywhere."

"Lancelot, that's brilliant—! But where are the tracks? I'm sure the beast would have come here first before looking for a way down—"

"You ninny. You're standing on them," Gwaine said flatly, pushing Arthur aside and revealing the distinctive marks of hooves, dried in the mud. The tracks approached the chasm edge before turning right, and vanishing into the distance.

"Let's go," said Arthur with determination.

"But what if the horse never found a way down? Just wandered off?"

"If it couldn't get down, then it would continue until it forgot his scent or returned here. I doubt the former and don't see the latter. We follow."

In minutes, the dwindled company had saddled up and were trusting a horse to lead them to their lost companion. It was a far toss, but their only one.

† † †

Arthur couldn't help but lose hope as they trotted for a few minutes, and suddenly the tracks vanished as dirt became stone. Nevertheless, he refused to let his despair show, and kept his head up, pretending full confidence. After a quarter mile, Gwaine finally said, "You can stop faking your hope, mate. We all feel discouraged."

"Discouraged, yes. But I will notstop searching," Arthur snapped, and kicked Smokie into a canter.

Gwaine grunted. "I never said you should. Clotpole," he added, grinning at his use of Arthur's pet name, and nudging his horse to pursue the prince—only to have to yank back on the reins to prevent crashing into the other rider.

"Here!"

"What?" Gwaine grumbled in irritation.

Arthur ignored him and dismounted, investigating the edge.

"A way down?" asked Lancelot hopefully, also dismounting.

There was indeed a way down. Jagged, shifty, but it turned back the way they came, and that was something.

"Looks more like a goat trail," said Gwaine uneasily.

"Stay here if you're afraid to stub your delicate little toes." Arthur was already stepping down onto the ledge, pulling Smokie by the reins.

The route was treacherous. If they moved any faster, their feet would slip on slatey stone and they would fall to their deaths. Arthur was already pushing them to risky speeds, but if his servant was still alive, injured or lost...

Smokie whinnied in distress as a hoof slipped, but she caught herself just as Arthur's heart jumped a league.

"Easy there, mate," said Gwaine, as a chunk of rock crumbled away from underfoot and he crashed down indignantly with an "oof!" onto his backside.

It got darker the further they descended, and they descended quite a bit. By the time they reached the bottom, the ravine opening above was only a finger's width wide. Judging by the shape of the rocks around them, a river had once flowed through there, long ago. Now only the wind passed by, whispering soothingly to the stone. At least they weren't like the howls of the night before.

The lack of light gave their surroundings a blue haze, but there was enough to see comfortably with, and Arthur deemed it safe to ride at a brisk pace. They followed the ravine back the way they had come above, roughly estimating where Merlin's tracks ended at the edge. The bay horse was nowhere to be seen. Arthur tried calling for his friend once more.

"Merlin!?" Merlin...erlin...in...?

Gwaine grinned. "That really is the best echo I've ever HEARD!" Heard...erd...er...

"Keep an eye out, men," said Arthur gruffly, "for a foot print. A boot. Anything that would indicate what happened to him."

"Like this?" Lancelot had dismounted and was holding something up. Arthur turned in the saddle, and then practically flew off of it in his haste.

"Where was it?" Arthur snatched Merlin's neckerchief from Lancelot. It had been torn free of the servant's neck, and there was something that looked suspiciously like—

"Blood?"

The prince inspected the dark stain grimly. "I'm not sure..." He lifted his gaze and scanned the rocks helplessly. "Where could he have gone?"

"Or been taken to?" Gwaine frowned at the kerchief. The servant had always worn one. Always wears one, he made himself think.

...Aaaw-thaaah...

The three companions stared at each other, then grinned awkwardly.

"Spooky wind," said Gwaine, teeth showing forcefully.

Aaaaw-thaaaaah...

Arthur pointedly cleared his throat and spoke in a notably loud voice, "Scout the area. Lancelot, you check over there. Gwaine, there..."

Feet slipping over crumbling rock, the companions scrutinized the walls of the ravine, checking every nook and cranny, calling for the servant. A half-hour passed, and they checked further and further along, trying to push down the weariness the nightmares had caused. They didn't risk stopping, because they were afraid that if they did, they wouldn't be able to start again.

Arthur checked a hollow log that had been down there for a few decades, and then sat down on it, rubbing his eyes. Lancelot was looking into a gap hidden by an overhang, lying on his stomach to see in. He never stood up. Gwaine began to doze, sitting on a ledge he nearly leaped off of.

"Is it painfully obvious to say that the nightmares are getting worse?" asked Gwaine, eyes still shut.

"And I thought we would be free of them this far from Camelot," muttered Arthur, suppressing a yawn. Rock clicked on rock, and the three companions all turned sluggishly towards the source of the sound. A horse whickered uneasily. And then there was stillness for several minutes.

Someone snored.

Aaaw-thaaah—

"—I'm awake!" The prince's arms pinwheeled to regain his balance on the log.

Lancelot rolled onto his back where he lay, staring skywards at the thin ravine opening. Then he frowned. "What's that?"

"Hm?" Both Gwaine and Arthur glanced disinterestedly at him.

"There's a...I don't know. Looks like a cave entrance."

"Where?" Arthur demanded, standing abruptly and tilting his head up.

"There, just by that rock jutting out of the ravine, not too far up. See?"

"Yeah, there's definitely something there," the prince said thoughtfully, and hopefully. The ascending eastern sun had shone down far enough to put a section of stone into deep shadow—to a cave, perhaps? There were multiple ledges all the way up—a perfect staircase, almost. It was still a near-vertical climb, but didn't look too difficult to scale. Brimming with determination, the prince led the way up, his knights not far behind. Lancelot brought a torch from the saddlebags.

After several sincere apologies as chunks of rock, loosened by his feet, crumbled away to painfully pepper the other climbers below, Arthur finally grasped the ledge of the cave entrance and heaved himself onto it—only to gag as a sickly sweet, rancid stench of decay bombarded his nostrils, making him retch. He threw an arm across his face, swallowing bile, as Lancelot and Gwaine rolled onto the ledge with him. They blanched as well.

"How the hell did we not smell this earlier?" Lancelot grunted, waving a hand before his nose.

Arthur stepped into the cave. Cautious, he didn't speak louder than a forced whisper as he called for his servant. "Merlin? Merlin, you in there?"

Gwaine shoved past him. "HELLOOO?" ...Ellooo...llo...oh...?

Arthur gave the knight a flat look.

Lancelot passed them both, the torch in hand. He crouched and snapped two stones together. A spark ignited the tar tip of the torch, and a flame was born. He led the way into the darkness.

† † †

Within half a dozen paces, Lancelot halted, stiffening.

Arthur came up from behind. "What's wrong?" And then he, too, stopped and went rigid.

"What, you ladies afraid of the dark?" Gwaine stepped past them, only to find out the problem the hard way. Grimacing, the ruffian knight lifted his foot. A viscous slime coated his boot, and made a squelching sound as he pulled free.

"Least we know what the smell is now," said Arthur grimly, pointedly ignoring the gunk and moving onward.

"What could have done this?" Lancelot wondered aloud. "...Lord, if Merlin is in here..."

Arthur suddenly doubled his pace, failing to hide his overflowing distress. "Merlin? Where are you, you idiot?" Now the walls, and not just the floor, of the cave had slime smeared all over. It was a mixture of brown and green, and was little thicker than nose mucus. The prince didn't let that faze him, and he hastened into the shadows, bellowing for his servant, until he could no more.

The boogie-like substance became too sticky for him to continue, and his feet got stuck despite his struggles. He growled in frustration as Gwaine and Lancelot, too, were snared.

"Okay," Gwaine grunted, unsticking one foot and using the other knight to keep his balance. "I am officially sick of caves and darkness."

"Retreat," Arthur snapped. "Get back." Helping each other, they managed to yank one another to safer grounds. The prince was overwhelmed by fury and frustration. "Goddammit! Where is he?" Where is he...is he...he...?

"Arthur." Lancelot was staring at the cave wall. Then he suddenly dropped the torch, turned away and covered his mouth as his empty stomach clenched. Nothing came up.

Gwaine supported the sickened knight as Arthur picked up the torch and investigated the wall. He paled at his findings.

A body was wrapped in the snotty muck like a cocoon, and plastered to the cave wall. It would have been impossible to discern from the rest of the cave if a few fingers hadn't been sticking out, or if the whole face was covered and not just bits and pieces of it. The features of the face were unmistakable.

"Hell's teeth. Merlin."

Ew. xP

I'm open to criticism! :D