~12~ Tooth of the Wolf

Dusk had passed and the swollen moon rose over the pines to outshine the stars. Arthur stared heavenward for nearly an hour, ignoring the rest of the world around him, and then Merlin coughed and he was startled out of his trance. He looked guiltily towards his manservant, trapped in the other cage, realizing that he would be just as disturbed as the king and may want someone to talk to.

Arthur chewed his lip and turned his head away. Why should he even care?

I don't, he said inwardly. I don't care. Merlin should be capable of holding his own, and if not, tough beans. That's his problem, not mine...Then why do I feel so awful?

Merlin had curled up in a far corner, arms wrapped about his legs and his head resting back against the bars. There was a look of sadness on his shadowed features that deepened the guilt Arthur felt for neglecting him. The king sighed, then crawled from his own crouched position towards the corner nearest the servant and whispered softly to him.

"Hey. Psst, hey, Merlin. Do you want to talk?"

Merlin looked at him finally, then nodded and also moved to the closer corner.

"How are you feeling?"

"...Spectacular."

Arthur chuckled, and Merlin smiled. For a moment, they watched the groups of patrolling Silverbloods and conversing knights silently, envying their freedom and unburdened thoughts – not quite so unburdened, actually, for their king was on the brink of destruction, but at least they didn't have to feel what it was like to become a werewolf.

Merlin sighed. "It's already been a long night."

"Yeah." Arthur harrumphed in agreement. "And it will be for nothing if we don't even change."

"I think we will, considering what happened yesterday." The servant seemed to shudder at awful memories. Arthur certainly did.

After that, the conversation turned to more pleasant matters. Merlin spoke of growing up in Ealdor, and though Arthur had already heard a few tales, the servant heartily recounted them in more detail. Arthur felt a fresh coil of guilt unravel when he mentioned Will, his childhood friend. Merlin told him of the caves and the river near the small village, and how he had once saved Will from drowning.

Arthur, in turn, gave his own stories about living in Camelot. Uther, his father, had been very protective at first, keeping him inside to train and only letting him out when he had a guard. His best friend had been his mentor, a man called Tarnac, who had died saving the young prince from raiders.

"I remember him giving me his sword," the king voiced gruffly, staring off into nothing. "He told me...to be a good king, better than my father, better than the world had ever seen." He shook his head. "At the time, I thought he was delirious, from the affects of dying. I—" A brief pause. "Strange, I've never told anyone that before..." Trailing off, he refused to meet his servant's gaze, suddenly feeling awkward. Merlin, for his part, let him mull over his thoughts in peace.

As the night wore on slower than a northbound glacier, they spoke less between themselves and concentrated on not dozing off. They watched their guard of knights and Silverbloods with limited interest. Restless, Arthur glanced over his shoulder at his servant, only able to see him by his profile. He struck up another story for him, and he listened avidly, laughing, wincing, grinning and frowning where appropriate but keeping his own words to himself.

"Sir Pelinor was a good knight. If fact, you might remember him. He..." Arthur faded as he noticed that Merlin was no longer listening. The servant's posture was relaxed, his breathing even and slow. Arthur smiled briefly and let him sleep.

The moon reached its zenith and then began to fall, but the king's anxious anticipation did not fall with it. It got worse as another hour dragged on and everything that made a sound put him on edge. When Merlin twitched, acting out his unfathomed dreams, Arthur tensed and half expected the servant to start sprouting hair. An inquisitive owl swooped low overhead, and the king reached for a sword that wasn't there. He came close to panic when an ache spread across his shoulders and backside, but when he moved, he realized that he had been just sitting still in one place for too long. Not for the first time, he wished that Merlin had stayed awake, but force himself not to rouse him.

Just as he thought this, the servant flinched violently. Arthur, too, flinched, then relaxed when he realized that it was probably another dream reflex. But when Merlin cringed again, and grunted as though in pain, the king figured that this was probably no ordinary dream, nor any kind of nightmare.

As if thinking the same thing, a Silverblood, dressed in strange garb consisting of a headdress of stag antlers and clothes of buckskin, emerged from the shadows and started tapping at a small drum. The mesmerizing rhythm spread to other drummers, and deeper instruments pounded intriguingly through the night.

"What are you doing?" Arthur demanded of them, getting to his feet. His muscles pulled in protest from being held still, but he ignored them and focused on his harried servant. "Merlin? Merlin, are you okay? Wake up! Merlin!"

The knights shoved to the fore of the swelling crowd of beating Silverbloods, and joined in their efforts to wake the youth without approaching the cage. But it was not necessary – Merlin was already awake, and realizing that he was in great pain.

"Arthur," he croaked, his terrified eyes meeting the king's. "Help me." A brutal snap like shattering bone interrupted him; he clutched at his chest and screamed, writhing in agony. Arthur's pleas fell on deaf ears as the servant fell onto his side, unable to escape the torment. Tears streamed from his eyes as his body began to mutate.

Arthur watched with fascinated horror as Merlin's clenched hands expanded to almost twice their size and grew terrible long claws. His arms bulged with muscle and his back twisted painfully as it was pulled to accommodate for extra height. His feet stretched, the heel becoming a second joint and giving his legs the structure of a wolf's.

The king wanted to look away, and he tried, but he couldn't for long. He felt his gaze being dragged unwillingly to watch his servant suffer through the hellish torture. Already, Merlin was losing his mind from the pain and the change. His claws tore at his clothes, and with it, his very skin. As the patches of flesh were ripped away, glossy fur of ebony was exposed. His head elongated, and his mouth became a wolfish, snapping maw. His ears grew long and pointed and sat closer to the top of his skull. His neck became thick and muscular, and he choked before yanking the red neckerchief from his throat and throwing it away with a snarl.

Before he could fully comprehend it, Arthur was staring at a monster that was once the man he knew most in the world, now over eight feet tall, swollen with graceful muscle, and howling to the moon like a wolf, but savage and feral. Merlin was gone.

And what remained was quickly discovering that it was trapped, and that it didn't like it.

"YOU FOOL!" Arthur roared, shaking the bars of his own cage uselessly and glaring fire at Baldwin, who stood calmly but a pace away from the circle around the werewolf's prison. "You knew that lump of rock wasn't going to work! You knew this!"

Baldwin ignored the king, and instead ordered his Silverbloods, over the racket the exploring monster was beginning to create, to keep their weapons trained on the cage. Arthur nearly bellowed a counter-order to forbid anyone from harming the thing that still had a bit of Merlin somewhere within, but before he could, Baldwin began to chant, low and methodical, and too softly for the king to hear.

What rubbish is he playing now? Arthur thought, but was shocked to see the werewolf stop snarling and pacing about the cage, and instead focus wolfish eyes on the Silverblood, as though it were listening. Whatever the man was speaking, Arthur didn't understand, and could only assume that it was some kind of spell that rendered the monster helpless. No, not a monster. It's—he's—Merlin, and he'll come back. I know it.

I know it.

Baldwin continued his arcane chant, lifting his arms and lowering them in a smooth, patternless way that seemed to hypnotize the beast. It was staring straight at the Silverblood, not entirely silent, for its breathing was loud with a slight burr, as though ready to growl at any moment. Though he was sceptical, Arthur couldn't help but hope that perhaps Baldwin was magicking Merlin's mind, if not body as well, back to the forefront.

If we can accomplish that, then there's hope yet.

...Why haven't I changed yet?

It was not a desirable experience, as he had witnessed from his servant, but if anything, he, Arthur, should have changed first. Merlin may have been contaminated a few moments beforehand, but the king would have gotten a lot more venom from the wound caused by the werewolf a week ago.

Perhaps it doesn't matter, he reasoned. Perhaps it was because Merlin was sleeping and his body was relaxed – the beast took over then. All of a sudden, he got a strange feeling that he was going to spend several restless nights.

The beast that had stolen Merlin's body grumbled deep in its chest, and its muscles tensed as if ready to spring. Baldwin chanted a little louder, making odd signs with his hands and wrists along with his arms. Once in a while, Arthur recognized the names 'Larentia' and 'Nocturn,' the two Archons that the Silverbloods seemed to revere the most. Archons, he recalled again, were scantily-known beings that had come before the era of the Old Religion, in the time known as the Ancient Kingdom. Dangerous, unpredictable, too unfamiliar for Arthur to be comfortable with. The Silverblood Order must be old indeed for them to worship them still.

The king stepped as close as he could in his own prison towards the other cage. He cleared his throat. "Merlin?" There was no reaction. He tried louder. "Merlin."

He jumped as the beast's head swung towards him and drilled him with cruel eyes, dark in the shadows. Ivory teeth gleamed as it gave him an eerie imitation of a smile, stringy saliva dripping from its open maw. Arthur swallowed, but did not look away.

Merlin is in there. I know it. He just needs to be reminded of it.

"Can you understand me, Merlin?"

When Arthur spoke his name one last time, the drums stopped and Baldwin ceased his chanting. He dropped into a crouch, ending his preordained ritual. On cue, the werewolf tore its ravenous gaze from the king and howled again, louder and more demonic than any natural wolf. And then it stepped forward, picked up one end of the cage, not attached to the ground for some reason, and threw it back as though it were not but a bail of straw being tossed over its shoulder.

It was free.


Dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun.

(The longer the 'dun,' the worse the situation.)

"It's never too late to dig graves. You never know when you'll need a fresh one..." ~ Top Hat (Van Helsing)