-.- Daring today, aren't we? Do not forget my warnings...


~3~ Questions Unanswered and a Slap in the Face

Gaius opened his mouth to ask yet another question, but when he turned around, he noticed that Arthur was asleep, his breathing strong and regular and his face free of pain. His calm appearance was hindered by the angry bite wound displayed in full glory on his right side. Though the injury wasn't deep enough to be of internal harm, thanks to his armour, it was a miracle no ribs were broken. Fractured, but not broken.

The physician paused in consternation, if only for a moment. He then went about finishing dressing the wound and bandaging it before making for the large stack of books he had been interrupted from when the king and his servant came for a second visit. There, he leafed through the musty yellowed pages of an old tome, didn't find what he was looking for and reached for another.

By the description the king and his men had given him, his suspicions about what had bitten Arthur and injured others were fantastical, bordering mythical. According to them, it had been tall, about seven to eight feet at the shoulders, which were wide, twice or more of those of a built man. It was hairy, the fur grey with silver tips. It moved quickly, but it was obvious that its arms, long like a primate's, were its main weapons. The claws were long and deadly, on both its hands and feet, which moved too fast to be described in detail. Its head was elongated, the wolf-like muzzle filled with ivory teeth. Its ears were long and pointed.

It was the latter descriptions, the wolfish attributes of the head, that gave Gaius his grave suspicions. He hoped against the impending tide of myth becoming reality as he paged through book after book, stopping at every mention or picture of the fabled werewolf. He had voiced his assumptions to no one, not even Merlin, though he had a feeling that both he and Arthur were reluctantly thinking along the same lines as the aged physician. That didn't make him feel any better about it.

He found nothing in his stash of tomes, but he knew where to find more.


Geoffrey was in his usual space – the writing desk in the northern end of the archives – when Gaius found him.

Greeting his old friend warmly, he then asked him to sit down while they discussed the grim predicament.

"A werewolf?" asked the aged scholar, leaning forward over his desk, brow creased. "Are you sure?"

"Shh!" Gaius held up his hands, even though there was no one in the archives to eavesdrop. "People have an annoying habit of hearing what they shouldn't, or remembering that which should be forgotten."

"Forgive me," the librarian said, inclining his head. He indicated for Gaius to continue.

"I am sure. Their description of the beast and the wounds Arthur received are too close a match to ignore."

"But such a creature hasn't ever been spotted in the many years that I've worked here! Why should it now?"

Gaius shook his head. "It matters little. We must find a cure, and soon, else we lose our chance."

"Are you saying that after they change, it would be too late?"

"No, I'm saying that after they change, it would be too dangerous. We are running out of time. Is there a book here that may...?"

Geoffrey frowned, then stood, straightening his robes. "I suppose there is only one way to find out."

Ͻ Ϫ Ͻ

The Keeper of the Heart winced as the door opened, an explosion of light raking at his already throbbing eyes. He closed them and turned his head away, unable to move from his chair due to the ropes binding him.

"I said I was sorry!" The Keeper howled, knowing of the pain that was to come. "I did my best, I swear! And I kept the Heart safe, as was my duty. Please, no more!" A slap reverberated around the small dark room, and the Keeper gasped as his cheek stung.

"I very much doubt Jonathan Vane is having any more fun than you are, Keeper," the interrogator hissed, and the roped man recognized the lieutenant's voice.

"Tiberius! Please, I promise I did what I could, but things got out of—"

"Out of hand? Remus, you put faith in worthless half-bloods! Not only that, but you've condemned Rowan. You can't let things 'get out of hand' when so much was in the balance. Fool!" Tiberius paced around Remus, so that every few seconds, the taunting flare of light from the open door was muffled by his body. "You were given the most sacred of duties. Yet you failed us. You failed your duty, you failed Rowan, you failed your kin. You will never be trusted again."

"But you must understand, Tiberius! The Blackhands had a plan, a good plan, one that would have won the Silverbloods favour in Albion once more." Remus the Keeper flinched as the lieutenant growled. "You know how desperate Captain Baldwin wanted to be recognized for the gifted people we are—"

"Captain Baldwin had his own plans!" Tiberius thundered. "And the Vanes had no part in them. They and their Blackhands, you, are nothing but posers, traitors, half-bloods. You threw your lot with them and destroyed the very images Baldwin sought. You shall never be forgiven."

The Keeper sobbed as Tiberius began to leave. "Wait! What of the Heart? Please don't take it from me!"

Tiberius sneered as he turned, a silver animal statue in his hand. "It already has." Then he departed, closing the door and leaving the lone turn-coat to his misery.

Ͻ Ϫ Ͻ

Merlin's dreams were strange that night. He was in the woods, a vaguely familiar woods, running through the trees as freely as the wind. The stars were bright and the moon was out but he did not rely on his vision to lead him. Instead, his nose helped him decide the most desirable of directions. It was strong – he could detect the loam beneath his feet, the rain on the wind, the water over stone...the deer in the grass...

His mouth watered at the thought of fresh wild blood on his tongue, and he lowered himself to the ground as he stalked the unsuspecting, helpless animal. He stepped into a glade...and paused.

He'd been there before. It was strange...It was like the oldest of childhood memories, yet something that seemed almost surreal...

He didn't like it. Something was urging him to run, so he ran.

Ducking through the foliage like a rabbit escaping a fox, he only stopped when he came across a stream. There, he rested, panting slightly. He scanned about to make sure no one was around, then padded towards the water, anxious for a drink.

"Emrys..."

The voice startled him. He looked across the brook to see a dark-skinned woman crouched, almost entirely hidden, in the bushes. He could have sworn she wasn't there before.

"Emrys...I must speak with you. Come to Mistwood...Emrys."

Merlin tried to speak, but found he couldn't. He stepped closer to the unrecognizable woman, but stopped at the edge of the brook, to notice his own reflection in its waters. He was astonished to see fangs and fur—

Gasping awake, Merlin sat up abruptly, then winced as the morning sunlight, streaming in through his open window, blared cheerfully into his eyes. Blinking them to adjust to the brightness, he then rolled out of bed and stretched, already forgetting the dream of the early dawn.


Gaius was not there when Merlin made his way down the few creaky steps into the main chambers, but Arthur had awoken, and was sitting with his back to the servant, stretching his arm.

"Morning, sire."

The king turned at Merlin's voice, but looked sheepish and simply nodded briskly before facing away again. The warlock was not slighted by the aloof, indifferent and slightly awkward reply; he was used to such greetings.

"Are you feeling better?"

Again, all he got was a curt nod.

"Your side looks well."

This time there was a grunt.

"Do you want me to check it?"

Another grunt.

What's his problem? Merlin asked himself, but put the thought aside and stepped up to investigate the wound. Arthur moved his right arm back so the warlock could see better, and he declared himself satisfied. "Any swelling and festering seems to be gone. Gaius did well, bested himself, even...Wouldn't you agree?"

There was a long, anxious silence. Finally, Arthur spoke.

"I'm worried, Merlin." His voice sounded haggard and coarse, as though he'd had nothing to drink for days.

The servant frowned. "About what?"

Another stretch of silence. Then, "It never bit you, right?"

"What, the beast? No, not even a nibble."

Arthur nodded and swallowed, a casual, yet vaguely worried expression on his face. "That's—" His voice split. He cleared his throat. "That's good." Cautiously pushing himself from the edge of the cot, Arthur then hunted around for his shirt and pulled it on. As he made for the door, he turned and said, "I'll expect you in my chambers within a half hour. There are things that need doing."

"Aye, sire."

"Oh, and uh, thank Gaius for me, will you?" He smiled briefly once, but even as he turned his back, it faded from existence.

Merlin shivered. That smile never reached his eyes.


Though Arthur had given him half an hour, Merlin knew that that simply meant that there was half an hour to prepare him a hearty breakfast, not half an hour to relax. Pulling on his tawny jacket, he departed from the physician's quarters and made his way to the kitchens, where the welcoming, tantalizing aroma of fresh bread caused him to sniff hazily and seem to float into the bakery by accident. There, he swiped two loaves, giving the head baker a wide grin that made her smile in return, then pushed open the doors to the kitchen, where a cook was giving instructions to a young, straw-haired novice.

"Not too much sauce there...good. Now give it a toss—not like that!"

Merlin had to duck as a flying bowl of salad shot by overhead, vanishing into the bakery behind him.

"What are you bloody thinking?" the cook shrieked, a dangerous ladle waving over her head. "When I say toss the salad, I don't mean throw it across the room!"

Merlin slunk away before the furious cook could start hurtling pots and pans and raw chickens, and busied himself with grabbing up fresh fruit, strawberry preserve for the bread, plus some cheese and hot sausages from the ovens. He took extra in case the king wasn't alone.

The mixture of smells caused his own stomach to roil with hunger, and he eyed the tray of food just as he was leaving the kitchens. With a shrug, he put it down and sneaked extra morsels for himself, knowing that he had time.

He was just finishing up a slice of bread with apricot jam when the straw-haired novice who had thrown the salad bowl slouched by, a resigned look on his face. Merlin reached over and nudged his shoulder.

"Hey, you okay?"

To his surprise, the youth flinched as though the warlock had shocked him, but then he gave what could only be a forced smile.

"Just...peachy, friend." He had a strange, alien accent, one that Merlin had never heard in the past. Before he could say another word, the youth hastened away.

Though the brief exchange baffled him enough to raise his eyebrows and stare at the man as he disappeared into the hustle and bustle of the kitchens, Merlin soon forgot him and left with Arthur's breakfast, knowing that if he didn't hurry, he'd be late.


He was hungry again by the time he reached Arthur's chambers, and he longed to eat what he was carrying for his king, but he impatiently tamed his begging stomach and knocked before entering the chambers.

"Ah, finally," Arthur grunted, coming away from the window and sitting at the table.

"I brought extra in case Gwen was here. I guess she isn't." Merlin placed the tray down and prepared a platter for the king.

"No. She said she'd already eaten – we were both asleep far longer than usual. Wake me up earlier next time, will you?"

Merlin grimaced. "You could wake up on your own easily enough."

"Uh, no, Merlin. That's what you're here for."

Inconspicuously rolling his eyes, the servant topped a goblet with pumpkin juice and passed it over to Arthur, who took it, grunting gratefully. He downed it in one go and indicated for Merlin to refill it. Much to the warlock's bewilderment, the king swallowed a whole second round, again without stopping to breathe.

"Thirsty, are we?" Merlin said, brow creased in confusion, as he refilled the goblet once more.

"Mm-hm. And starving." This time, Arthur only drank half of the juice before turning to the sausages and warm bread.

As usual, Merlin began tidying up the room while the king ate. He was straightening the covers of the royal bed when he felt the unwelcome but unstoppable sensation of his stomach preparing to growl. He coughed as loudly and politely as he could to cover the sound, but it was really loud, and if Arthur heard it (which he must have), then he chose to ignore it.

Glaring at his belly, Merlin finished fixing the bed and made to pick up old clothes that needed washing, only for his stomach to go turn-coat again and snarl in hunger. He froze in mid-bend, hand posed over a discarded shirt. This time, Arthur definitely heard it, and turned inquiringly to his servant.

"What was that? Was that you?" he asked, through a mouthful of strawberry.

Merlin gave a small shake of his head. "Was what me when?"

"What was that when...what?" Arthur rolled his eyes. "Never mind."

Feeling a third wave of hungry-stomach protests, Merlin hastened towards the door, but unwillingly halted as he didn't make it. Again Arthur faced him, frowning.

"When's the last time you ate, Merlin?"

The servant looked sheepish. "This morning."

"And yet you're still hungry."

"...Speak for yourself!" Merlin replied, staring in astonishment at the remains on the table. Arthur had devoured all the food, nearly twice as much as he usually did, including what Merlin had brought for Gwenevere had she been there.

Arthur, too, looked at the table, but then shrugged. "So what?" He picked at the crumbs of the bread and cheese regretfully. "It was tasty. Filch fresh bread more often, will you?" The king stood, stretching. "You should have said something earlier, Merlin. I would have shared."

"Really?"

"No." Arthur patted him good-naturally on the shoulder and left him in the room.

Ͻ Ϫ Ͻ

The king had a monstrous appetite again by lunch, but as he was eating with his queen in the dining hall, Merlin had help in getting him enough food in time. He himself had eaten more than his fill so he wouldn't have to experience the embarrassment of the earlier morning, especially in front of other people.

"King Olaf is eager for a tournament this summer," Arthur was saying to Gwen. "I think we should oblige him. It's been two years, after all."

"And I assume you'll be in it?" asked the queen, with a teasing smile.

Arthur harrumphed. "Of course! I'm meant to—"

"Prove yourself to the people, I know." Gwen held his hand, but then worry befell her normally cheerful features. Arthur noticed.

"Gwenevere." The king dragged her name out, not in chastisement.

Merlin watched with vague amusement, but before he knew it, Arthur was standing right in front of him, slapping him in the face!

"Wha—? What the hell are you doing?" the servant barked, staggering back a few paces and holding his cheek, outraged.

Arthur looked confused, yet irritated by the servant's impudence. "What do you mean? I asked you a question and you just stared into space. You totally ignored me!"

"What? No, I didn't! I was listening to you talk to Gwen about the tournament."

"...Merlin, we stopped speaking of that ten minutes ago."

The warlock scowled in exasperation. "Ha ha. Very funny."

Now the king looked to Gwen, bewildered. Then back at Merlin, "Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm fine," the servant said, disgruntled. His cheek still stung from the slap.

"Perhaps...you should go lie down somewhere."

"What for?"

Arthur stared, deadpan, at his servant for several seconds. Then he raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "All right, then." He made his way back over to his chair at the head of the table and sat down, and played with a bit of cold beef with his fork.

Merlin ignored the concerned look Gwenevere was giving him and instead studied a wrinkle in the table cloth.

Had Arthur been lying? Was he merely playing with me? Or did I really just...space out?

Ͻ Ϫ Ͻ

Arthur dismissed Merlin that evening and enjoyed Gwen's company with no fear of interruption. They sat before a comforting fire, content with basking in each others' presence and listening to the light spring rain on the windows.

"Arthur...Arthur!" Gwenevere was shaking his arm, hard, and the king jumped.

"What? What's wrong?" Alarmed, he looked around for danger, but when he saw none, he met Gwen's eye. "Are you all right?"

"Am I all right? What about you? You just stopped listening to me, all of a sudden. You looked like you were in a trance!"

Arthur blinked dumbly. "A trance? But I could have sworn..."

"You looked just like Merlin did this afternoon: staring off into nothing, barely even breathing. Oblivious to the world." Concerned, Gwen moved closer to him. "Are you ill?" She felt his forehead, but he pulled gently away.

"I feel fine," he muttered, frowning in consternation.

"But you aren't acting fine." Gwen stood. "I should go get Gaius."

"No, stay here with me, please?" Arthur asked, pulling her down onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck. "I'm fine. Don't...don't worry about me."


"We've had one, yes, but what about second breakfast?" ~ Pippin Took (The Lord of the Rings)