Yes! I AM BACK!
A million, billion apologies, faithful readers. I was struck with the most horrifying affliction - WRITER'S BLOCK. Yes, the dreaded malady struck me down. But I persevered, and conquered the accursed thing.
(Sigh. And, y'know, school started, so I've been a bit bummed. That didn't help.)
BUT, anyway, enjoy the wondrous tale I have displayed, solely for you, loyal readers!
KEEP CALM AND WRITE REVIEWS!
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Merlin lasted until they were about halfway back to where the horses were.
Abruptly, he sagged against a handy tree. Then his legs promptly gave out.
"Merlin?"
Merlin blinked and stared at Arthur, who sounded a lot more worried than he had ever been, barring life-and-death situations.
He struggled to speak. " 'M...tired."
It was the closest he could come to finding an adequate word to describe it. What he really felt like was that he wasn't entirely there, not out of his body but not completely inhabiting it, either. He had the uncomfortable thought that he would float away, be locked back into that nothingness again and too disconnected to find his way back. Could that really happen? Could that silver cuff weaken his soul's hold on his body?
Adrenaline was a funny thing, he thought fuzzily. It was useful while it lasted, but the crash wasn't very pleasant.
Merlin's vision blurred, and he realized that maybe he actually was tired as well right before sleep claimed him.
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Arthur looked, bewildered, at Merlin.
He was, quite clearly, simply sleeping. Nothing indicated another enchantment, drug or anything suspicious. In fact, the only thing that was different from any other slumber was the fact that he had fallen asleep in two seconds flat in the middle of the forest.
After making certain that Merlin was perfectly fine, Elyan voiced all of their thoughts. "Er...what was that?"
Arthur tried to think of a reason for Merlin's sudden nap, and spoke slowly as he attempted put together the pieces he knew and the pieces he guessed.
"The…woodsman…" he said, unconsciously touching his sword to reassure himself the man was really dead, "he had a hold on him, somehow. It put…pressure on his mind, maybe, and…now he needs to…recuperate?"
It was more of a question than an explanation, but the more he thought about it, the more Arthur realized it was a valid theory. Who knew what kind of enchantment it had been, or how harmful.
Elyan nodded, and Leon looked thoughtful.
Arthur sighed, and looked anxiously at Merlin. He had seemed fine, but what if there was some kind of delayed damage? Something that would hurt his mind, drive him insane like the woodsman had promised?
Arthur swallowed his fear and shoved those thoughts to the back of his head. Nothing would change if he worried about what ifs. The only thing to do was wait and see.
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Gwen realized, distantly, that she was frightened. However, it was more of a passing observation, a side note. She was more concerned with taking action to keep her throat from being cut rather than being hysterical about it. That could come later. There was a brief thought of shock - hadn't Agravaine been asleep? - but that was pushed aside as well.
Acting instinctively, Gwen let her muscles go completely lax.
Agravaine was unprepared to have his hostage turn into a lump of dead weight. He grunted as she fell to the floor, the shard of pottery scraping her neck.
Apparently, he wasn't quite at full strength. He whirled around and sprinted out the door.
Gaius was by her side in an instant. "Gwen, are you -"
"I'm fine," she said hastily, "follow him!"
Gwen pulled herself to her feet, gathered her dress and ran outside Gaius' quarters. She looked wildly to either side, and made a snap decision. He would want to get out of Camelot as quickly as possible, and so would take the shortest route out of the castle.
She ran down the left corridor, hearing Gaius try his best to keep up with her.
Agravaine couldn't go free. What he had done was unforgivable. Normally, Gwen wasn't a violent person. However, when it came to threats against those she held close, all bets were off.
She skidded around a corner and ran facefirst into a maid carrying laundry, scattering bedsheets all over the floor.
"Oh, my -"
"I'm so sorry -"
Their exclamations overlapped in a cacophony and they broke off uncertainly. Gwen frantically scanned ahead of her, hoping to catch a glimpse of Agravaine as he rounded a corner.
Nothing.
"Was Lord Agravaine just here?" Gwen asked the maid, who was looking, dismayed, at the mess of bedsheets on the floor.
"Eh?" she sounded slightly annoyed that Guinevere hadn't offered to help clean up, but replied, "Yes, he went that way just a few seco-"
Guinevere didn't hear the rest of it, as she flew down the corridor the moment the maid had pointed.
Her stupid dress kept her from running at a full sprint, something she often hated about wearing them. Had she had an ordinary life, it might not have been too bad, but instead she chased traitors to the crown through a blasted maze of a castle. A dress was not the ideal outfit for that.
Even with the dress on, Gwen managed to reach one of the doors that led to the courtyard. She threw it open and rushed out -
To find only Gwaine dismounting from a gasping horse, his movements jerky and bordering on frantic.
Gwen stopped dead.
Gwaine was back. Gwaine was the only one back.
Everything was wiped from Gwen's mind as she zeroed in on one single thought.
He is covered in blood.
The entire front of his shirt was splattered with it. Distantly, she remembered that they had been in such a hurry they had left their armor and chainmail behind. There were a quite a few smears on his face, and his hands and forearms were coated in blood. And, just from looking, none of it was his.
She made a choked sound.
Arthur. Elyan. Merlin. Leon.
Oh gods, what happened?
Gwaine looked up and caught her eye. "Guinevere," he called, voice urgent.
For one crazy, wild moment she wished time would stand still. Then she wouldn't have to hear whatever he said, the simplest explanation for coming back alone, painted with blood. Her heart thudded louder in her ears, treacherously reminding her that couldn't happen.
Gwaine saw the expression on her face, and looked puzzled for a moment. Then he gave a start, and looked down at his shirt.
He seemed surprised, as if he hadn't even noticed it before. Finally he seemed to understand Gwen's terror.
"They're okay," he hastily rushed out, "They're all okay, but the boy needs Gaius now."
It took a moment for her to comprehend his words, and once she did she almost collapsed with relief. Until the second part of his sentence registered, and she focused on the small bundle that had been draped over the horse's back.
There were the sound of footsteps behind her, and Gaius appeared, shuffling as fast as his old bones would let him. He caught sight of Gwaine, and stopped dead.
Guinevere saw the same fear she had felt in his eyes, the obvious conclusion. Gwaine saw it as well, and he repeated his earlier assurance. Without waiting for a reaction, he turned and heaved the small boy off the horse.
Gaius was immediately by his side, wincing as he saw - oh gods, a knife, a knife stuck straight through Bedivere's hand.
She felt sick all of a sudden.
Then she remembered the reason she had come to the courtyard in the first place. Making a snap decision, she strode forward, pushing the nausea back to rest with all the other distracting motions until she could deal with them.
"Let me."
Gwaine didn't argue. As she took Bedivere from him, she was struck by how light he was. Were children supposed to be this small? He looked more like he was three instead of five.
Who knew such a small boy could have so much blood? she wondered.
Wrenching her attention from Bedivere, she addressed Gwaine. "Agravaine escaped not two minutes ago. He's most likely headed towards the city gates. Could you -"
Gwaine's face abruptly went stone-cold. He nodded once, and sprinted away toward the gates.
Guinevere held the tiny boy close as she and Gaius shuffled at top speed back to the physician's quarters.
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Merlin was dreaming.
It was oddly disconnected, as if he were a spectator more than a participant. He had a vague feeling that that was true.
It wasn't like before, in the Nowhere (that was what he had decided to call where he had been, when he was cut off by the cuff). Now, he could see and hear things, though strangely enough he didn't feel anything.
He was in the forest.
Well.
Not exactly.
There were trees, and ground, but they were dead, browned and skeletal. He was reminded of the clearing where he had woken. This wasn't there, though it looked like somewhere very near there.
- it's your life
Lose yourself up in the sky
Rope will make you dance up high
He almost started when he heard the song. It was a soft melody, sung by what sounded like a child.
Merlin looked around to see another strange sight. The woodsman was not twenty feet away, and he was climbing a tree.
Merlin watched him. He didn't feel scared. When he thought about it, it made no sense, but he simply knew that the man couldn't hurt him. He was a ghost, insubstantial, and he doubted the man could even see him.
He looked to his left and was unsurprised to see the small boy who had been screaming earlier sitting against the brittle trunk of a tree. He was the one who was singing, in a quiet voice.
Blood enough to make you sick
Better hope he kills you quick
Or he'll keep you just for fun
Break your legs so you can't run
Woodsman's waiting with his knife
If you fail, it's your life
Lose yourself up in the sky
Rope will make you dance up high
Nothing living here should be
You'll tear your own throat out, you'll see
Freedom is naught but a lie
When hope is gone, you wish to die
Woodsman's waiting with his knife
If you fail, it's your life
Lose yourself up in the sky
Rope will make you dance up high
When your throat has run red
And the demon's dug your bed
When your soul is his to keep
Then you finally may sleep
The boy went quiet.
Merlin looked at him. It was hard to tell, but he seemed younger than when he had been in the clearing. Even smaller.
The forest shifted.
He saw Agravaine.
He was running through the forest, which was, Merlin noted, another part of the dead woods.
Merlin watched the traitor stumble, and look over his shoulder fearfully. He didn't stop, however, and raced as fast as his legs could take him.
Merlin watched, a spectator, as he dreamed. Or perhaps, he thought, remembered.