Yay! Merlin's cured! Now all he has to do is cure Arthur and then everyone can laugh and dance and sing in the field of flowers and love...!
*mimics repulsed vomiting*
~26~ Cursing the Cured
Arthur crashed face-first onto his bed, immediately closing his eyes and surrendering to the blissful oblivion of sleep – only to remember that there was a rock in his riding boot, and it was persistent in its stabbing of his heel. Grumbling, the king rolled onto his back and then slid off the mattress, landing on his rear, his back against the bedpost. Yanking the boot off, he shook the troublesome speck of earth out and let it roll away free, knowing that Merlin would inevitably find it and deal with it before it did anymore harm to the king's foot.
That is, if Merlin came back anytime soon.
He will, he told himself. He will. He's Merlin. He'll manage. Me, on the other hand, will be as grumpy as an old badger if I don't get sleep right now.
He tried to smother the wriggling worry birthed by his missing servant, but like a bothersome fly, it only dodged away before returning to its original position, its sporadic buzzing like a cruel taunt.
Go away, he tried to tell it. The worry-fly buzzed.
Groaning in reluctance, Arthur forced himself to his feet and dragged his abused body behind the dressing screen, where his night clothes were waiting for him. Pulling them on, though he left the top off as was his wont, he made his way back to the bed, stopping at the window to gaze at the deepening night.
Blast it, Merlin. Where are you?
Ͻ Ϫ Ͻ
Merlin slowed to rest the Druid horse, whose sides were heaving from the exertions. For the thousandths time, he checked the knapsack holding the Silver Heart, which bore the cure that would save Arthur. He just had to get it to him.
The sun was fast sinking, casting oblong and mistrustful shadows across the road. They were the reason why Merlin never saw Sophia coming.
"Where the hell have you been?"
The warlock jumped, nearly falling from the saddle and he whirled to see who spoke.
"Sophia! You escaped the Blackhands!"
The Silverblood assassin stepped free of the shadows, nodding. "It wasn't that difficult, to be honest. None of them were too keen to follow me into the woods when there were two werewolves wandering loose." She smiled grimly. "I suppose you've had a few eventful adventures yourself."
Merlin shook his head, trying to retain his excitement. "I was with the Druids. They took me somewhere and—"
"Got yourself cured," Sophia finished. She, too, shook her head. "I don't believe it. What spell did they use? Did they want anything in return? Was it painful? How did it...?"
She rambled on, and Merlin knew that it was for the sake of Rowan. If he could be cured, then so could the former Silverblood leader. The warlock held up his hands to silence her.
"I can't talk now. I have to get back to Camelot. Will you join me?"
Sophia shook her head. "Not now. I need to find the Blackhands again, keep an eye on them. If they learn of what you've accomplished, and they will See if they catch you, then you and your Druid friends would be in danger. But tell me, werewolf—or, Merlin, I should say—can Rowan be cured as well?"
Merlin hesitated. Hecate the priestess was gone, as far as he could tell, having taken his spirit of the wolf and vanished into the woods, to eventually die and be with her Archon forever. It would be nigh on impossible to find her if she didn't want to be found, and she might not be strong enough to cure another curse anyway.
Sophia noticed his hesitation, and deflated slightly. "Oh. All right, then."
"I'm sorry, Sophia," Merlin began, but she waved him off.
"You said you had to leave. So leave," she said, and headed back for the trees.
He had no words, and simply remained silent until he felt the horse had enough rest. Then, he hastened back to Camelot.
Dusk had come and gone by the time Merlin galloped his horse over the drawbridge and into the city of Camelot. He was recognized and so unhindered on the last stretch to the citadel, and was even given several cheerful waves and joyful exclamations from those who knew him and had thought him lost. He acknowledged their greetings but did not slow his relentless pace.
The horse was frothing at the mouth by the time the warlock leaped from the saddle in the castle's courtyard. He almost abandoned it to be cared for by the stable hands, but he skidded to a halt on the flagstones and took a deep breath to compose himself. Arthur wasn't going anywhere, and the Silver Heart wasn't about to lose its cure. Not only that, he wasn't sure how he was going to approach the king with a magical object without him flying into a rage like a flicked wasp.
Stretching as the aches from being in the saddle for a day caught up with him, Merlin took the reins of the horse and walked it until its legs stopped trembling and its breathing ceased to be laborious. He then led it to the royal stables, where he removed the tack and saddle, then fed, watered, and brushed the beast down. As it happily munched on a nosebag of oats, the servant shifted the knapsack strap on his shoulders – which he hadn't removed throughout the whole journey – and departed the stables, hastening back to the citadel courtyard.
In the late morning of that day, after his long, recuperating nap, Gabriela had wished him well and sent him off with one of the Druid's horses, and the warlock thanked her for everything. The shaman merely smiled at his gratitude, then gently reminded him that his time was as limited as an hourglass's, and Camelot was a hard day's ride away. But Merlin had had one last question to ask of her.
"When you projected yourself into my dreams," he'd said, feeling his horse shift beneath him, "you always came in the ones where I dreamed of this one place..."
"And that place was?"
"I...I don't know. It was a glade that was somehow familiar, like I had been there before, as a child or something. I...called it the Wild because...it seemed right."
Gabriela had smiled, like she knew something he didn't. "Do not fear the call of the Wild, Emrys. To do so would be to fear your own salvation."
Merlin considered that as he took the stairs to the Main Hall three at a time. Why would a glade in a forest be his salvation? That didn't make much sense.
In his pondering, he paused at the front doors. Now arose a new problem: what if he ran into people? It wouldn't do to be delayed before reaching Arthur's chambers, or, if he wasn't there, then somewhere about the castle. But it was his hesitation that brought about his downfall.
"Merlin?"
The servant whirled around at the incredulous voice, and saw Elyan ascending the steps, eyes wide in astonishment.
"Merlin! Ha! It is you!" The knight grinned widely, his snowy white teeth flashing in the late dusk. "You old bastard!"
"Elyan—oof!" Merlin was surprised as the knight thumped him on the shoulder, making him turn half way around. "I need to find—"
"Where the hell have you been? Arthur and I, we searched for you, but—"
"Elyan, I need to find Arthur, immediately. Where is he?"
For a moment, the knight looked puzzled. "Resting in his chambers. We had just returned from a journey to the Silverblood's encampment...What's the rush? Merlin?"
The warlock did not stand around to listen or answer. He yanked open the front doors and dashed down the Hall, swiftly finding a side corridor that was the second shortest route to Arthur's personal chambers. The shortest was too public, and he couldn't afford the time to speak with any more knights. There was every chance that Arthur would change again that evening, and if he did, there was an even stronger chance that he would not become human again.
Why aren't things ever easy? Why? he grumbled inwardly, oblivious to the fact that so many people had said that the past several days. Damn, if I'm not old when I die, I'll at least look old by the time I do! Arthur and his continuous life of stress and angst and...difficult-ness.
But look on the bright side – I'm cured.
That thought put a slight pause on his next step.
Ha! I'm cured! Suck on that, difficult-ness!
He was suddenly much more elated, and his storm towards the king's chambers became more of a gentle, gleeful gust. He gave a bubbly, excessively-cheerful, "Hi!" to a pair of patrolling guards going the opposite way, who glanced back at him, then at each other, blinking like owls.
Once Arthur was cured, the Silverbloods would have no further reason to be there, and those Blackhand dunderheads could flee the land with their tails between their legs for all Merlin cared. There was still Rowan, the monster who'd infected him and the king in the first place, and it was likely that the Silverbloods would be non-too-keen in killing the former leader. Well, they'd have to, or otherwise withdraw and allow the knights to deal with him themselves.
I'll figure that out later, Merlin insisted to himself, lengthening his stride as he rounded the corner and beheld the passage with Arthur's private chambers. I'm crossing this bridge first. It looks nicer anyhow.
"Arthur!" he cried, before he even reached the door. He shouldered one of them open. "Arthur! I have it! I have the—"
He froze, eyes wide, jaw slack. What in hellfire...?
A golden-furred werewolf was standing with its back to him in the middle of the king's chambers, breathing with a thunderous sequence of growls, the remains of Arthur's bed clothes in rags and scattered about on the floor.
"Gods," Merlin moaned, his knapsack falling from his shoulder. "I'm too late. Arthur..."
The werewolf turned slowly, as though knowing that the servant had no inclination to run. Amber eyes glowered at him, reflecting the light of the hearth. Then the beast crouched lowly, muscles flexing in preparation. Merlin balked as it pounced, extinguishing the distance between itself and the warlock faster than a raging boar.
There was less than a rat's heartbeat to spare when Merlin threw himself out of the monster's path. With a yelp and a snarl, the beast slammed into the wall across the king's chambers, and it sat there, stunned, before whirling around to face the warlock's retreating back, salivating hungrily.
Merlin was on the verge of screaming his lungs out for help when he skidded to a halt, ten paces from the werewolf.
The Heart! he snapped at himself. Fool! How could I forget—
What felt like a spiked battering ram slammed into his side, and he bit his tongue as he smashed into the wall, cracking his skull. He slumped in a daze.
He opened his eyes just in time to see the werewolf bearing down on him, jaws gaped and drooling. Pure instinct took the reins then, and with a golden flash in his irises, an axe from the decorative weapon mount on the wall jerked itself free of its restraints and threw itself at the beast, chopping the air as it spun end over end.
The werewolf must have seen the weapon coming from the corner of its vision, for it faced it before cringing away. The axe handle thwacked over its shoulder, shattering the wood into splinters. The moon-blade head fell and clattered to the ground, useless, but Merlin was already scrambling on all fours for the abandoned knapsack lying only ten paces away, too stunned to straighten properly.
He threw himself the last few feet, but then his heart leaped into his throat to choke him as a giant clawed hand closed on his ankle, stopping him just short of his salvation.
"No!" His fingers squeaked on the floor as he fought for nonexistent purchase, crying desperately, "Arthur, stop!" Rolling onto his back, Merlin kicked the beast in the nose, and it paused, perplexed, before growling, the skin wrinkling around its muzzle. Its ears flattened against its skull as it loomed over him, a triumphant, ravenous gleam in its eyes.
Instinct shoved Merlin aside once more, lashing out with magic like a whip. A flaming torch from an iron bracket threw itself at the werewolf, and the beast cringed, its natural fear of fire giving the warlock a few seconds. He wasted none of them.
He squirmed free from beneath the monster and ran, forgetting the Silver Heart, forgetting sense, forgetting that if anyone was to learn that it was the king beneath the fur and claws, doom would fall fast and hard upon Camelot. Right now, Merlin was only concerned with escaping with his limbs.
A loud crashing told him that the beast was now in pursuit, having evaded the torch and still being determined to rip Merlin to shreds. There was a raucous explosion as a hall table was tipped and run over by a three-hundred-pound ball of muscle and fury. A fire brazier was knocked down and tapestries were torn from the wall. The warlock felt his legs thicken and grow weak in raw terror, sounding like there was a herd of angry bulls charging down the corridor behind him.
"Run!" he bellowed at a pausing maid, who heard the werewolf before seeing it and froze in fear. "What are you waiting for?" Merlin snapped. "Get out of here!"
The maid fled down one corridor, and the warlock skidded on the floor in his efforts to go the other. He heard another table being crushed but dared not look back.
Have to hide...have to hide...
Merlin flew around the corner and saw two puzzled guards coming towards him on their usual patrol. They stiffened and grasped their halberds upon seeing the hasty servant.
"Run!" he yelled at them, but of course, they didn't.
"Hold it, there, mate!" one commanded, trying to grasp Merlin's arm as he fled past, just as his companion yelped, "Whoa!"
Arthur tore around the corner, claws scrapping against the smooth stone floors, snarling at all three of them.
"Get behind us, boy!" one guard snapped, pushing Merlin back.
"No! You cannot fight it," the warlock insisted, holding his arm and trying to pull him down the corridor with him, but the guard yanked free and charged the king with his companion, halberd raised.
They both lasted all of five seconds, and then Arthur was after Merlin again, golden fur glistening with fresh blood.
"No, no, no," Merlin moaned, turning away from the corpses and fleeing once more.
His advantage was with the narrow, turning corridors. He would race around a corner whenever Arthur drew near enough to pounce, gaining more ground as the large beast had more momentum to interrupt and curb.
Merlin leaped down a set of stairs, finding himself in the older parts of the castle. He warned another set of guards to flee, but could do nothing as Arthur tore them apart, still in pursuit of his initial prey. The warlock tried to incapacitate him – he used magic to pull things off the walls and throw them at the king, but it was useless. He was firing over his shoulder and was panicking, not to mention that his target was extremely fast and durable. If Merlin stopped to take proper aim, he may very well lose his life in the attempt.
He heard the alarm bells as he ran along a balustrade overlooking a tall corridor. He whirled to take the stairs, which turned back on themselves so that their foot was below the balcony. Once he reached the bottom, Arthur appeared at the rail above.
But Merlin was focused on Gwen, who was walking down the corridor with her back to the danger. Gwaine, Leon, and Percival flanked her, all turning when they heard the commotion.
"Run!" Merlin yelled. "It's Arthur, get away—!"
Gwen screamed, and a moment later, the warlock realized that it was more than just the sight of the king as a monster. He glanced over his shoulder to see Arthur leaping from the balcony, jaws gaped and snarling. Merlin stumbled, fighting the urge to go forward and lead the beast to his friends. He had to go another way—
His indecisiveness brought about his downfall. Gwen screamed in horror again as the werewolf finally caught him, finally latched massive, clawed hands on his body and bore him to the ground. He saw a flash of teeth.
"No!"
Merlin couldn't hear the knights bellowing in protest. There was only the pounding of his heart as he felt werewolf teeth plunge into his shoulder and neck, hot blood bursting free and spattering everywhere. His scream halted in his throat. His vision flickered. His feeble attempts to push and kick the monster off faltered, too weak to carry on. The beast shook him, and then tossed him aside with a triumphant snarl.
Merlin's back slammed against the wall before he slid to the floor. A sickening red stain flowered on the stone and leaked down where his body smeared it. The pain was so great, so hindering, that he didn't realize the werewolf was gone for several seconds, and instead Gwenevere was crouched by his side, crying. He blinked to clear the blurs that were so avid in clouding his vision, and relief replaced some of the anguish in the queen's features, but only some.
"Merlin? Oh, thank the divines, you're alive!"
The servant moaned and tried to sit up. "Where's Arthur?"
Gwen pushed him back down, immediately removing her shawl and using it to staunch the flow of blood on his ruined shoulder. "I...I used my comb to drive him off."
Merlin looked strangely at her. "Your...comb?"
She glanced away. "It was silver." She held him down as he went to sit up again. "No, stay still! You're very badly hurt."
Even as the warlock fought to get up anyway, he heard a gruff and violent symphony of curses down the corridor, out of sight. His ears were too fuzzy to make anything out clearly, but he recognized the voices of Arthur's knights, and the vile oaths were enough to make him blush.
"Where'd he go?" he grunted feebly, somehow pushing past Gwen's restraints and standing against the wall. He felt his uninjured arm being thrown over someone's shoulder, and his weight shifted to another man in support.
"The knights are after him," Elyan explained. When did he get there?
"He's gone." That was Leon, returning with Gwaine and Percival, all three panting heavily. Their swords were drawn and their eyes wide. "Jumped out a window."
"He'll be terrorizing the lower town by now," said Elyan grimly. To Merlin, he said, "I'll bring you to Gaius—"
"No, I must get to Arthur." Merlin pulled away and did not fall over. He knew why, even though he should be fainting from the blood loss and the shock. "You can't stop him yourself. Not without something to help you."
"You aren't going anywhere looking like that," Elyan insisted, and Merlin glowered at him.
"Listen to me, clotpoles. I have the only thing that can stop him now."
"Oh yeah, and what's that?" Leon demanded.
"The Silver Heart."
There was a collective intake of breath, and then the knights spoke all at once.
"There's no time to waste!" Merlin cried. "I'll answer questions later—"
"Where is it?" Gwaine demanded impatiently. "You said you have it, so where is it?"
Merlin blushed. "I...I left it near Arthur's chambers." He smothered his chagrin as the others sighed in exasperation. "You have to get it, quickly. Look for it in a knapsack. It's the only thing that will stop Arthur completely." The warlock was feeling stronger with every moment, as though his ravaged shoulder was healing rapidly on the spot and the weariness from the hard trip was seeping away into the floor. He took a few steps down the corridor. "Bring it outside, find us. I'll hold him as long as I can."
"What do you mean, 'hold him?'" asked Gwen, looking more and more frightened with every step the servant took. "What are you going to do?"
Merlin paused, glancing over his shoulder. "There's no time to explain, Gwen," the warlock replied softly. He wasn't sure if his plan would work – it took about two weeks before he turned for the first time, and it'd only been minutes since he was bitten and re-infected. But the priestess of the Ancient Kingdom, Hecate, had told him that what he was about to do was indeed possible...
He heard someone following him as he limped down the hall, quickly finding the chamber with the broken window, the place where Arthur had escaped the castle from. Already he could feel the werewolf stirring within, preparing itself. He twitched as a spasm of pain wriggled down his back.
He turned to see Gwaine standing at the entrance, looking fearful. Merlin nodded to him. "Find the Heart, stop Arthur." He groaned and doubled over, razors slashing at his innards viciously. "You might want to close the door," he said.
"Here we go again." ~ Rick O'Connell (The Mummy)
