No! What did I tell you? This story is bloody blooming awful! Don't let the first few chapters fool you. I liked the first few. The problem is the antagonists and the ending. Terrible, terrible. This isn't modesty, it's honesty! Now go! Back! Save yourselves!


~2~ The Wounds of War

Air whistled through clenched teeth as Arthur allowed Gaius, the court physician, to clean his wound with a disinfectant ointment. Merlin waited patiently with the bandages, sanitized in boiling water, by the king's side, trying to ignore the constant throbbing his body withstood.

"So," Arthur said tightly, "is it a bite or a scratch?"

Gaius straightened, and the king attempted to hide his relief when the physician replaced the stinging ointment to the side. "It's difficult to say. These marks here," he gently brushed the gashes that reached to the fore of Arthur's ribs, "are definitely claw marks, but these," he indicated to the middle of the wound, where the flesh was raw and exposed, "look like teeth punctures. But the teeth would have to be at least two centimetres in diameter, which is bigger than any bear I've ever heard of." The aged physician looked to his ward with an eyebrow raised. "And you're sure you never saw it clearly?"

"It was too fast," the servant replied, shrugging one shoulder but regretting it as his sore back stretched. "I never saw more than that it had grey fur and that it was very heavy. I'm pretty sure it wasn't a bear, though."

Gaius gave Arthur a pain-killer in the form of dried plants that he would add to his evening tea, and then sent him off to rest. Merlin went with him, but was surprised when the king continued down the corridor instead of taking the stairs, which would eventually lead to the hall with the royal chambers.

"Sire?"

"We have Argus Vane's brother ready for interrogation. We should not tarry in finding out what's wandering free in the Darkling Woods."

Vane, cult master of the Blackhands, had escaped the ambush set by the men of Camelot. Arthur would have subdued him had the other man, the man on the large black stallion, not interfered. The rider, Jonathan Vane, was captured in his stead.

Merlin scurried forward after his brief hesitation.

"But you're hurt—"

Arthur growled, and Merlin fell silent, knowing that trying to convince the king to change his mind was as about simple as telling the rain not to fall.

Taking a torch from a bracket on the wall, Arthur led the way down to the dungeons and into the interrogation room, where he passed the torch to a guard and approached the man chained to the chair in the centre of the darkened space. Merlin hesitated before entering the room, but a look from the king invited him in. He came, reluctantly, and tripped over the threshold. Arthur rolled his eyes to the ceiling, but otherwise pretended ignorance.

Jonathan Vane slumped in the chair, muttering softly under his breath. Listening closely, Merlin thought he heard praying. He said the word 'Nocturn' several times. The servant paused, trying to remember who Nocturn was. Oh, yes, he remembered. He'd overheard Arthur saying the name when debriefing his men about the Blackhand cult.

Nocturn was a deity of some kind, a being that the Blackhands worshipped. Villages that were attacked by these savages had heard them scream the name regularly, like a chant. As the yet undetermined beast raged among them, blood spilling and pain shattering the air, they heard the Blackhands declare that it was for the glories of Nocturn.

A dark god, is what he's believed to be. Still, Merlin made a mental note to ask Gaius if he knew anything of the name.

Arthur studied the imprisoned Blackhand before him silently for several moments. Finally, he said, "Jonathan Vane. You were apprehended for activities seen as destructive to this kingdom and her people, and by unlawful worship that lead to the deaths of many innocent people. We sought to capture the leader of your group, your brother, but, consequential to your actions, Argus Vane escaped. Where is he?"

Slowly, Jonathan raised his head. He gazed at Arthur darkly, not with vehemence, but with a chilling disregard. He smiled toothily, and with his auburn hair covering a bit of his face, it almost looked demonic in the torchlight.

"You...have no idea what you've thrown yourself into, Arthur Pendragon," he said, making Merlin shiver. If the king was unsettled by the cold, shady disposition Jonathan portrayed, he did not reveal it.

"Where is Argus Vane?" Arthur demanded again. "Where is your brother?"

Jonathan shrugged a shoulder, teeth still bared in a malicious grin. "Anywhere he pleases now. You'll never find him, you know. He has the blessings of Nocturn on his side."

Merlin admired the courage and coolness the Blackhand portrayed as Arthur drilled him with one of his stares. The warlock knew from experience that he himself would be wilting like an old flower by now, even though he'd been with the king nigh on eight years.

Arthur switched tactics. "Who is Nocturn? Why do you worship him in such a way?"

"Ignorant infidel," Vane sneered. "You think you walk in the blessed light of your false gods, but you only trudge through the shadows of nescience. We have praised Nocturn, the patron of the greatest of creatures, for hundreds of years." He sounded angry now, as though furious that Arthur had never heard of the deity before. "Nocturn would not stand for an ignorant such as you, accursed, faithless. He will save me, infidel. And in fact, has already initiated his plan."

He gave a dry chuckle, one that sent wriggling worms of malaise down Merlin's spine.

"What plan?" Arthur demanded. "What were you aiming to achieve, killing all those innocent people with such a monster? What was the plan?"

Jonathan merely laughed wryly again, only saying, after several seconds, "To get your attention."

Merlin shifted, swallowing. Such drastic measures to capture a king's attention never amounted to anything good.

We've stepped into something a bit deeper than we had anticipated, he thought with trepidation. Once again.

"What was it that you had inside the carriage?" Arthur asked now, and Jonathan raised an eyebrow for a moment.

"Did you not see it?"

"It got away," the king replied through gritted teeth.

Jonathan's laugh was cold and guttural. It made Merlin cringe and Arthur's gaze to flicker for the span of a hummingbird's wing beat.

"You have no idea, do you?" He continued to laugh, sounding more like a madman with every chortle.

They got nothing more from him.

Arthur grasped a fistful of Merlin's shirt and dragged him from the room, as though he were the one responsible for the king's roiling frustration. At the door to the main hall, Arthur threw his servant over the threshold (though Merlin's foot still managed to neatly catch it and make him stumble again) before storming through himself and slamming the door.

"Prepare the horses. We're going out," he snarled, shoving past Merlin and stomping down the corridor. Before the warlock could form a sharp retort, the king reeled and nearly fell. As he caught himself against the wall, he shook his head before saying, "Now, Merlin."

"No."

Arthur half turned. There was a long pause. "Merlin, prepare the horses."

"I won't."

Now completely facing the servant, Arthur had a perilous glint in his gaze. "What?"

It felt like there was a boulder on his chest, but Merlin never removed his eyes from the king's. "You're hurt. You're weak. You need rest."

"Rest is for the dead. It's a waste of time. Now prepare the horses before I have you flogged."

Merlin didn't reply this time. An ominous aura like an incoming thunderhead haloed Arthur's already dark mood. The warlock held his ground, neither retreating nor scurrying to do his master's bidding, struggling not to quail beneath the dangerous glare of the king. Somehow, it was even more horrifying than usual.

"Listen here, you"

"You need rest, sire!" the servant insisted, voice edging on desperation. As if on cue, Arthur swayed, saving himself by leaning on a stone brazier. He grimaced and clutched his side as his injury pulled.

"Stay away from me!" he snapped as Merlin went to help. The warlock flinched, but then continued to approach, cautiously, as he would a wounded dog.

"Let me see."

Arthur grumbled, but nodded curtly and allowed the servant to pull up his tunic. Merlin's throat closed and he sucked in air through his teeth. Now the king looked alarmed.

"What? What's wrong?"

Merlin hastily lowered the shirt. "I think we need to see Gaius again."

Ͻ Ϫ Ͻ

Merlin sat on the edge of his cot, biting his lip, loosely turning the small wooden dragon carving around in his hands. He endured rather than actually listened to the low-toned voices of his guardian and his master, talking in the other room with the cheer of grave keepers.

He wanted to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw the gruesome, angry wound in Arthur's side. In the span of a half hour, it had bled through the bandages and festered around the stitches. Tendrils of black and purple fanned out, vein-like, over the red skin that had commandeered his whole side. Pus had already begun fighting a losing battle with the infection that raged throughout the wound.

It's impossible, Merlin thought. How can an injury fester so quickly? There's a high risk of it festering at all, but this fast? No, this is no ordinary beast bite...

The warlock felt suddenly very tired. He curled into a ball on his side, but as his cut cheek, which had been stitched closed by Gaius, slid across his lumpy pillow, he winced and lifted his head. Touching it, it felt swollen and tender. It must be getting infected, too.

He considered seeing the physician, but Arthur was still with him, and his life was, not only more vital, but in a more precarious state. Merlin simply turned onto his other side and pulled the rough sheets with him, cocooning himself in their familiar textures and smells. It was no comfort however, and no matter how tired he felt, he found himself unable to sleep.


Arthur waited begrudgingly as Gaius fussed about, fortunately on the right side of the line between dignity and panic. The king's bored expression and drooped posture was due to the poppy milk concoction given to him to numb the pain, and it was putting him to sleep even as he fought its warm embrace.

The heavy pounding on the door was ignored by both the king and the physician. Though great lengths had been trekked in order to keep Arthur's wound a secret, word had somehow leaked out and now there were herbalists, surgeons, doctors and even priests insisting they come and treat him with their top-of-the-line skills and professions. Gaius's mouth tightened as the increasing numbers of volunteers banged on the door of his quarters, which sounded like it could break inwards at any moment in a rain of splinters. Arthur made a mental note to offer complete reparations to the room when all the chaos blew over.

A few moments later, the guards stationed outside managed to summon order once more. Their disgruntled barking about how the latest invaders should warn their medical friends to stay away seeped through the rickety door, and then silence fell.

"What was the pain like?" Gaius asked, startling Arthur out of a dazed state of mind.

"Uh, kind of...stabbing, I suppose."

"And all over or in one particular area?"

"Mostly in the middle, here." Arthur forced himself to look at the uncovered wound to indicate more accurately. "The rest almost felt like a pulled muscle, but on the surface, closer to the skin."

"Hm." Gaius was applying a new ointment, this one more pungent than the last, but stung less.

As more questions were asked, Arthur found himself getting irrationally annoyed with Gaius's constant calm demeanour. Couldn't he see what he was going through? Though the king tried to hide it, especially when Merlin was around, the pain was nearly unbearable, like a rabid wolf was constantly clawing at his body. It made him want to scream until there was no air left in his lungs.

He hid it because he didn't want everyone to worry. Merlin would flutter about like a mother hen while Gwenevere would get angry and anxious and wonder why he couldn't just stay in Camelot and let others do the dangerous quests just like every other king. But he was no ordinary king, just like Gwen was no ordinary woman.

As the thought of his wife bloomed in his mind, Arthur was swept away in a tantalizingly sweet sense of peace. Even as the dull ache in his side dampened to a throb little more detectable than his heartbeat, he settled further into the pillows and closed his eyes, shutting off any more questions Gaius may have had.

He had one last flicker of recollection before his body finally gave into the silent depths of sleep: his wound had spread black veins across his belly and back, and the skin had acquired a raw red hue. That very same distinctive appearance had started to ink its way across Merlin's flesh from the cut on his cheek.

Arthur wondered what that meant, for him, for them both.


"I know you suffer. I see it day by day. Are you sure you do not suffer needlessly? There are other ways, Frodo, other paths we might take." ~ Boromir of Gondor (The Lord of the Rings)