The last couple of chapters will be kind of long because that is just how things fitted well. Yep.
I hope this one isn't too weird...
~38~ Old Friends in Old Places
When he was a boy, Arthur had adopted an old dog, one that had been retired from hunting and spent its days lounging about the castle grounds. Arthur loved that dog, but one day, when he went out seeking it, he couldn't find it anywhere. He checked every nook and cranny the hound usually slept, and grew increasingly angry and depressed when his father denied his wishes for a search party.
"The dog was old," the king had said to his young son with a hint of tolerant amusement. "We will find you a new one."
But Arthur would not give up, and it wasn't until three days later, having slipped away from his tutors, that he found his old friend lying beneath a bush in the Darkling Woods, dead.
He learned that that was what animals often did when they knew they were dying. They would seek solitude, peace, where no other creatures would disturb its passing.
So when Arthur woke up the next morning, surrounded by his knights and his queen by his side, he felt a worm of trepidation slither down his spine and settle somewhere in his belly as he noticed something. Merlin was gone.
Arthur lifted his head, staring vacantly at the place where his servant had been tossing and turning in the night, fighting the poisonous silver in his blood. No one was awake for watch, and so no one saw where he went.
He very nearly blurted out Merlin's name, but curbed his tongue at the last second, and instead detached from Gwen's embrace slowly, carefully. He could see where Merlin had half-crawled, half-staggered into the trees by the trail he had unwittingly laid.
Left in the night, just like the old dog.
Oh, gods, no. Stealthily, he followed the tracks, swiftly putting distance between himself and the camp.
The further he went, the less inconspicuous he tried to be. Branches snapped and rustled around him as he ploughed on. He kept one eye on the forest floor, following the trail Merlin had left behind. Though he tried not to acknowledge it, he was using his nose as much—if not more so—than his eyes to track his servant.
This way...No, that's not him, that's a deer...This blood belongs to him...When did he start bleeding...? How far did he go...? Gods, I'm more mad at him than afraid for him now...
"Arthur."
The king jumped a league and stumbled, nearly falling on his face before catching his balance. He saw, for only half a moment at the corner of his eye, a figure clad in white, bearing some kind of staff. As soon as he faced about, however, the figure was gone.
But the voice had been recognizable enough. Though he hadn't seen nor heard him for many years, Arthur knew Anhora's voice.
He waited, but the Keeper of the Unicorns did not reappear. He heard only his coarse breathing, the jovial, carefree ditties of songbirds, and the trickle of a brook lying not far away.
These woods are beautiful, he thought reverently, unwittingly drifting into a dream land. I was such a fool. How could I have possibly wanted to ever take anything away from them...
The brief brush of foliage startled him from his daze, and he glanced up to see a thrush flapping frantically away, vanishing into the rays of the sun gleaming from the east.
Arthur shook his head. Merlin!
His new and enduring burst of speed took him ever further into the woods, remaining on the servant's unwavering, unfaltering trail. His sleep, though fitful, had rejuvenated him, yet he did not feel relaxed; the mixture of anxious malaise, stress and anger was just the concoction to arouse the werewolf. After at least a mile, Arthur paused, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply through his nose to calm himself. He let it out, then inhaled again...only to detect something. He wasn't sure what, but the normally submissive beast blood began to churn, surfacing as it always did when he was about to change into the monster.
It's the earth, he realized, inhaling the rich, loamy scent again. He was reacting to the very earth. Whatever it was, it lured the blood, coaxed it awake when it should be dormant.
What is this place?
He swallowed, then breathed solely through his mouth and hastened on. The feeling refused to go away, and in fact escalated the further he went. Merlin was yet out of sight.
He stepped into a homely glade, and the sense reached its climax. A sudden spasm of pain wracked his spine, and he cried out, crumbling to the ground in a heap. He writhed, wrestling with the werewolf, which gained strength with every breath.
I am King Arthur Pendragon! he yelled inwardly, ignoring the fire that rippled down his arms and legs in tormenting waves. I am the lord of Camelot. I do not fear you, beast!
The werewolf snarled and tore at his stomach, and it would seem that his agonized cries were not unheard.
A cool, decrepit hand grasped his feebly, and he turned his head to see the blurred face of Merlin, regarding him with cool control.
"You must...calm down..." he rasped. He looked even more pale than the night before, more frail.
Arthur stared at him, stared at his drooping, bloodshot eyes, which managed to retain their signature keenness and determination as they bore into him. And it was as though the beast blood fawned before that gaze, for it ceased to fight so vigorously. Instead, it paced in its caged sullenly, awaiting its chance.
"Where 're we?" Arthur asked sluggishly, struggling to lift his head and look around the glade.
Merlin slumped, and the king realized that he was yet too weak to stand. He was lying on his belly, his arms not strong enough to even push himself up.
"You shouldn't have followed me," he whispered coarsely to the ground. His voice was slightly muffled by the carpet of rotting leaves, but Arthur could detect the hue of anger in his words.
"Where are we, Merlin?"
He lifted his head slightly and looked at his master. "Don't you recognize it?"
The king glanced around, studying the trees, the bushes...but nothing clicked.
"This is where you killed the unicorn, Arthur."
Though he feared arousing the werewolf again, Arthur sat up and took a proper look. In his mind's eye, a memory flashed...
Sending Merlin ahead to stir up whatever creature they had been stalking...Seeing the ivory white of the unicorn...Firing without a second thought...Weeks of plague and suffering...
He opened his eyes, not realizing that he had closed them. He had been hunting, and hadn't etched the exact location of the kill in his mind. The area he found himself in now still did not strike a memory chord, but he remembered the unicorn well enough.
"Why here?" he asked his servant, who didn't move.
"This place...has never known disease...destruction...pollution..." Merlin's words were getting softer and softer with each syllable. "You can sense it, can't you? It was why we found a unicorn at all. This is pure Wilderness. I knew I had to come here. I just...knew..." His voice drifted to oblivion like the wind's dying breath, leaving behind an ominous cloak of silence.
Arthur looked to him. "Merlin?" He nudged him with his foot. He sat up in alarm when Merlin flinched and started to shudder, his breath rasping and hiccoughing. He took his friend by the shoulder and turned him over.
"Gods, no..."
The servant's ghostly skin made a corpse seem rosy and warm. He was cold to the touch, his eye sockets hollow, his lips flat and lifeless. He was shivering like a newborn bird.
The silver in his shoulder was sucking the very essence out of him.
Arthur pulled off his jacket and rolled it into a bundle before placing it under Merlin's head. "Hey, wake up." He cleared his throat as his voice snapped, then shook the servant, trying to revive him.
A branch rustled, and Arthur's head jerked up like a startled deer's. He half expected to see Anhora. But it was not.
"My lord?"
Leon step into the glade cautiously, followed closely by the other knights, Gwen, and Sophia Silverblood. Each looked as forlorn and despondent as he.
"Are you all right, my lord?"
The king shook his head slowly.
"He came here to die," he declared impassively. "It was why he left in the night, why he left four days ago, alone. He was searching for a place to die." Looking back down at his servant, Arthur realized that Merlin was looking back.
"Take...the Heart," he rasped imploringly. "Please."
Arthur frowned for a moment. Upon realizing what he meant, he glanced at the ground, then away into the brightening woods. "I cannot."
"Please...I beg you."
Now he looked back at his servant, studying the pallid flesh, the poisoned veins, the beseeching eyes. The cold but true words of Gabriela, the Druid shaman, echoed in the king's head.
He did it all for you, my lord. He had his chance. We all mourn his failure, but do not insult his attempts to save you.
To save you, not as a king, not as a master, but as a friend.
Arthur could not hold Merlin's gaze any longer. He stared at the ground again, pinching the ridge between his eyes.
"I can't do this."
"You must—"
"I cannot condemn you!" Arthur snapped, glaring at him. "It's my fault you got into this shit. It's my place to get you out."
Merlin shook his head slowly. "You have...all of Camelot to consider. What is a servant...compared to a king?"
"Everything." Arthur squared his shoulders, ignoring all but his friend. "I have never known a man who would go through so much for another when the risks of losing himself were so great."
Gwaine cleared his throat with mock indignation, but no one paid him any heed.
"I cannot save myself when I know that it would only result in the braver man dying for it. You are a brave man, Merlin. The jests, the taunting...it was all a lie. And...I cannot lose you."
Merlin looked to be having difficulties focusing. Even as his eyes began to droop shut, however, he smiled shakily. "That is about...the nicest thing you've ever said to me." He shuddered, sweat glistening on his features.
"Hey," said the king, shaking him. "Stay awake."
"Arthur, I..." Merlin's breath trembled. "I'm dying."
He scowled. "No, you aren't, clotpole." But he knew it was a lie from the denial to the insult. Merlin looked worse by tenfold than he did when they found him but hours ago. He was indeed dying.
But not from his wounds, nor from exhaustion. From the silver in his veins.
"Merlin..."
The servant could not reply. His fevered shudders were becoming rough jerks, his face creasing in pain. Arthur felt an ache in his chest, and he could hear Gwen weeping softly.
"You'll be all right, Merlin. You'll—"
Arthur flinched as the servant coughed up bile, watery black bile that dribbled from between flat, ashen lips. He couldn't even lift a hand to wipe it from his cheeks, and instead he just lay there, shivering, grunting softly as he struggled to breathe. The king's head fell into his hands in despair.
"My lord."
Arthur spared a glance at Sophia, whose face was as grim as the reaper's.
"He is suffering, my lord."
The king turned quickly away, but the damage was done. The Silverblood's few words had already strummed a dark cord in Arthur's mind, and yet another memory flashed vividly before his eyes.
He had been hunting with a party of about twelve, each with a dog to sniff out prey. And sniff it out they did.
With wild bays and blood-thirsty snarls, the hounds had picked up the scent of a bear. They pursued it relentlessly, followed closely by Arthur's companions. But the king, a prince at the time, stopped where the bear's trail had been discovered, staring at something on the ground.
A wolf, its back twisted the wrong way, lay on its side in the mud. It must have been struck by the bear and left for dead. Arthur had knelt to investigate the creature, and was shocked to see it still alive. One brown-emerald eye stared at him furiously, its lips curled up in a soundless snarl, showing defiance to the face of death.
Its wounds would not have let it live. But they would not have been enough to kill it in a matter of moments either. Arthur had taken his dagger and thrust it into its chest, into its heart. Only then did it die, a final snort of air escaping its nostrils. The sound of its soul departing.
He had freed it from its pain.
Why would I remember that? he now thought to himself, snapping back to the present. I couldn't possibly...There's no way...I don't care if he's suffering...
Gwen was sobbing now. Elyan put an arm around her to comfort her. Each of the knights could only look at their fallen friend for a second before dropping their gaze. Sophia was watching the king hard, emotionless, passionless. Her knife was in her hand.
"My lord," she said, and that was it.
He had his chance.
He is suffering.
There was a rushing in Arthur's ears.
"NO!" he roared, and Sophia flinched. "I WILL NOT—KILL HIM!"
His chest heaved angrily for air as he glowered at the Silverblood, and at his companions.
"For all his has done...I cannot kill him like a dog just because you've given up on him!"
"Arthur, we haven't—"
"Then give him the Heart," Arthur snapped at Gwen, who silenced immediately. "Give it to him. Immunize him to silver."
"We can't do that, sire," said Leon, stepping forward. "You are the king. Merlin wants you to take it. Why won't you honour his wishes and his sacrifice?"
"Would you do it, Leon?" Arthur demanded, standing, glaring a challenge at him. "If you were in my place, would you condemn him to save yourself?"
He saw the knight's eyes flicker to Merlin, so brief it outpaced a hummingbird's wing beat. It was then that Arthur knew he was going to lie.
"If it was for the good of the kingdom, then yes, I would."
Arthur nearly exploded. His own faithful knights lying to him, right to his face! He trembled with fury, gritting his teeth, muscles taunt. But then Merlin made a sound.
It was so minute, a passing breeze of a whisper, but in the silence of the forest, his one word was heard.
"Larentia."
Arthur turned to where the servant had lifted a hand, seeming to reach for something in the distance. His eyes widened slightly at what he saw.
Stepping through the trees, drawing ever nearer, was a magnificent male stag. It watched them with cool, intelligent, fearless disregard, both ears flared, antlers held up high and proud.
A wind picked up then, cool and refreshing, carrying upon it the tantalizing scent of pine sap and fresh loam. Arthur inhaled deeply, feeling for the first time in days a comely sense of peace. The beast within him submitted docilely, a harmless pup.
"In all my journeys, never have I Seen..." Sophia breathed softly.
Arthur couldn't See as a Silverblood Sees, but he could only imagine that it must be something wonderful. This was no ordinary beast, just as this was no ordinary glade.
"What do you want?" he asked it, but other than a casual tail flick, it didn't move.
Then Arthur jumped a league as the stag's neck suddenly stretched forward, and it opened is mouth to emit a bellowing moan. It was low, guttural, and echoed about the forest eerily. It sent shivers down his spine even after the coarse keen faded into silence.
Arthur felt the werewolf stir restlessly, perturbed by the sound. He felt its instincts swell, urging him to flee the glade. Something was not right!
But Arthur also felt his own instincts, and they commanded that he stay. Something was telling him that this, this was where he needed to be. And if they disagreed with the beast blood, then by God he would listen to them.
"I...I understand," said the king.
The stag shook itself, from proud head to tail, then turned to walk away. As soon as its gaze left him, Arthur felt a surge inside him. The werewolf knew his thoughts, and was readying itself to break free. But before it did, he had to finish it. Finish it for good.
"Gwen, bring the Heart to me," Arthur ordered calmly. The queen came hesitantly forward, opening the bag in her arms. The gleam of the Silver Heart was alluring, yet Arthur tore his gaze away and crouched beside Merlin.
"Wake up, please, just for a moment," he said softly. And for a frightful moment, he thought he was too late, but then the servant slowly opened his hazy eyes, staring right at the king.
"She was here," he whispered coarsely. His body jerked painfully. "D-did you feel her?"
"Yes," said the king, nodding, though he didn't know who Merlin was talking about. "I did. Now I need you to stay awake for me, all right?"
"So tired..."
"You can sleep in a little while, I promise. Right now, you must stay awake. Stay awake for me, please?"
He beckoned Gwen closer. "You understand, too, right?" he asked her, and she nodded briskly. He nodded back. "We must be quick." He took one of Merlin's hands and prepared his other.
I hope this works, he thought, as Gwen pressed the Silver Heart into both of their grasps.
At first, there was nothing. A jolt of alarm unsettled Arthur as he stared at the Heart, then at Merlin, then at Gwen. One hand clasped the silver wolf figurine tighter while the other pressed the servant's palm against it until he knew it must hurt.
Then he felt a swell of heat. His whole body jerked as warm tendrils whipped from the Heart, through his palms and up his arm. By the way Merlin reacted, he must be feeling the same thing.
It's working, it's working!
The werewolf within him snarled in outright fury, slashing at its restraints like it had never before. Arthur felt his will become not his own, felt the urge to fling the Heart away.
The beast was going to break free. It was going to take control.
Vaguely, Arthur noticed that he was losing his grip on the Heart. He knew that, if he was to drop it, all would be lost. But he could do nothing as his body seized, limbs locking, relinquishing full control to the beast. His muscles screamed and his back flamed, the agony so intense he could not scream.
Vaguely, he heard his companions yell his name, but it was as though they were at the furthest edge of the kingdom, their aid as fruitless as their cries.
Hold on! Arthur bellowed at himself, but he could not. Even through tear-blurred eyes, he saw the Heart slipping from his fingers, which in turn would be out of Merlin's grasp as well.
"N-no!"
Then, warm hands cupped his own. Soft, brown, loving.
Gwenevere had crouched beside them and was holding his palms against the Heart, his and Merlin's. Arthur looked into her eyes, saw the strong determination, the cool dedication, the unwavering compassion. He saw the woman he'd fallen in love with, not only for her beauty but for her unfaltering strength no other woman could match, let alone outpace.
"This is your heart," she whispered, and somehow, through the roaring in his ears, Arthur heard her. "This is your heart, here." She pressed a hand against his chest, and through the supple wool and linen, he felt her warm touch. He pushed against her, wanting her, desperate for her comfort.
The beast, however, feared it. It reared angrily and fought to pull Arthur's spirit back into its chains, to swallow him into itself. To take him, soul and body, and make them its own. Arthur felt himself wavering, and tried to retreat into his mind. The wolf howled in triumph, nipping at him, clawing at him, relishing its chance at last to break free for good and forever—
Then Gwen kissed him.
Arthur's heart soared. Not the beast's. His. And with it grew his willpower.
The wolf yelped and fawned beneath him, and he was merciless as he drove it from his heart like a shepherd would from his pastures. He wasn't alone of course, and it wasn't Gwen who was helping him. There was something else, something he couldn't explain, not even with a thousand words. It wasn't magic, exactly, but something else entirely. Something ancient. And it gave him a power no man should ever possess.
Out! he screamed. GET OUT!
The beast fled.
He opened his eyes, not having realized that he had closed them. He was kneeling over Merlin, whose own warring body was seized in agony, but Gwen was at his side, holding his hand, touching his heart. And his knights were around him, their strength giving him strength as steadfast as Camelot's very walls.
For some reason, Arthur was seeing a lot of red. He couldn't really focus on the observation, for it was then that Merlin opened his eyes, the keen, thunder-blue gaze free of the burden that had plagued them for what seemed like ages, that Arthur felt the werewolf abandon him entirely. It was agonizing.
All at once, old, Healed wounds tore at his body. The werewolf bite in his side. The mauling he'd suffered from Rowan. The cuts from the blades of a Silverblood assassin. All demanded a piece of him, and he was at their mercy. Yet he could not scream. And when he fell, crashing onto his side, he finally saw the beast with his own eyes.
It was wispy, like a ghostly wraith devoid of a solid shape, and made out of white flames. It writhed, floating just above the ground, but when it saw where it was, it snarled and turned towards the king. Its eyes were silvery-white and burning with such vengeful hatred that Arthur felt terror, a pure, animal terror that urged him to leap up and flee. The beast pounced, jaws gaped.
A familiar, low-bellied keen signified that the stag had returned.
There were several cries of alarm as the magnificent creature charged into the glade, head down, majestic antlers lowered at the wolf spirit. The beast quailed but could do nothing as the stag bounded over Arthur and impaled it, driving it into the ground. It snarled and yelped, but it was helpless to save itself. When it died, it slumped feebly, then faded like the mist into the earth.
Arthur stared, aghast, as the groaning stag straightened and bucked in anger, like a horse riled with livid adrenaline. Its ears were flat and its tail flared, and it lurched around with unsuppressed energy.
But it was not over. Arthur's beast was dead. Merlin's was just emerging.
The spirit, exactly like the king's had been, burst free of the servant like a departing soul. But it did not waste time cringing in pain, and instead immediately turned on the first living thing it saw – the stag.
"Larentia!" someone screamed, and Arthur realized that it was Sophia Silverblood just as she threw her silver dagger. It spun, end over end, to bury itself into the throat of the wolf spirit.
The creature vanished into a whiff of smoke, the blade thudding into a tree beyond and staying there, quivering.
Like the animal it was, the stag bolted, fleeing as though it had never had the courage to fight in the first place. It was now, as it should be, just a regular stag.
Then, a heavy, unsettling quiet that even the birds dared not shatter.
"That was really weird," said Gwaine in the silence, just as Arthur passed out.
Yes. Weird sums it up very well.
"This thing...man...whatever it is, evil may have created it, left its mark on it but evil does not rule it. So I cannot kill it." ~ Van Helsing
