Ch. 3
Merlin woke well before dawn, which he still found ironic after all this time, considering how much trouble Gaius always had waking him before the sun could breach the horizon. It was as though Merlin had developed a kind of hyper-awareness that included the passage of time, because he always knew the exact moment when the people of Ealdor not only went inside but went to sleep, and the exact moment when they would wake up.
The fire had died to embers, but the candle continued to burn, its flame cradled in a stump surrounded by a puddle of cooled wax. He blew it out, then peeled it from the stone floor to take with him and form a new candle, since it was only fair. It wasn't right that he was using so many of his mother's meager supply of candles. And for what? To satiate a childish fear of the dark?
His mother would beg to differ and say that if it meant a good night's rest for him then he could use every candle she had. But she was his mother and would no doubt burn her own home if it meant Merlin getting some rest.
But he was her son, and he would not let her make such sacrifices.
Merlin crept heel to toe from the house. Once outside, he broke into a crouched run, darting between the huts and within the shadows until he reached the safety of the woods. There he straightened and ran all the way to his shack.
Arthur was here. In Ealdor.
To fight a giant, that was all. It wasn't like Arthur had come to hunt him down and drag him back to that… that pit. He hadn't come pestering Hunith about Merlin's whereabouts or demanding where he was. Arthur being here meant nothing.
No, it means everything.
It meant… Merlin didn't know what it meant. It meant Arthur was here, and Merlin was here, and nothing had happened and Merlin had no idea what to make of it; whether his growing trepidation was his instinct telling him to run or simply a brain that still couldn't separate Camelot from his nightmares.
Merlin reached his shack out of breath, heart laboring and legs as wobbly as a new born colt. He knew of the foolishness of running on an empty stomach, but fear was illogical in its motivations like that. Better hungry and weak than discovered and… and what? Merlin had never figured that part out. He hadn't cared to. The need not to be seen even by those he had grown up with was irrational and tenacious, and listening to it was easier than fighting the panic that often tried to consume him when he stayed for too long.
Merlin leaned up against the side of the shack. Gods, he was pathetic. And here he thought he was getting better. There had been days when he'd been able to stay in the village and clamp down on his fear despite the sounds of everyday life trying to ratchet that fear up. Then word had come of the giant destroying villages, and Lots men – and men from neighboring kingdoms – had flooded their tiny patch of the world, filling it with so much noise and chaos, and now all Merlin wanted was the safety of his solitude.
Except at night, when he couldn't bear to be alone.
Pathetic and a walking contradiction; that's what he was. And now Arthur was here, and Merlin didn't know what he wanted – to run, to march up to Arthur and scream at him to leave, to walk up to Arthur and beg his forgiveness for abandoning his destiny, for abandoning Arthur. To say to hell with destiny and stay right where he was.
Merlin pushed away from the shack over to his water barrel, where he took the cup hanging on the nail and plunged it inside, filling the cup to the brim. After a few good, deep swallows, Merlin went inside to his small crate of supplies and pulled out a crust of bread and bit of cheese from a sack. His stomach may have been grumbling fiercely, but his appetite felt a little weak. Merlin sat on his cot and ate his bread and cheese.
Arthur was here to fight a giant said to be indestructible.
Merlin slumped with his upper back against the wall, the food forgotten in his hands. He started to laugh.
Arthur was here to find an indestructible giant. And of all the places this confrontation could have taken place, it had to take place here, near Merlin's village. Because Kilgarrah had been right - there was, apparently, no escaping destiny, and either the gods were that cruel or simply indifferent to what Arthur had put Merlin through.
Because Merlin had a decision to make – stand by and let Arthur get slaughtered, or step in and help. Problem was, Merlin already knew the answer.
Merlin wasn't going to let Arthur die. He couldn't. Not even four years ago when Arthur had been a prat not worthy of much in Merlin's point of view, Merlin had still slowed time and pushed him out of the way of a dagger. Even when Merlin hadn't thought Arthur mattered, he had mattered enough for Merlin to risk himself to save someone who had been little more than a stranger.
Because that was the problem with Arthur – he was a hot-headed prat who listened to the wrong people and acted before thinking, but he was still worth fighting for. And Merlin, being Merlin, wouldn't be able to stand by and watch as Arthur was slaughtered.
Saving Arthur wasn't forgiveness, it merely was what it was – one man trying to do what was right, and another man keeping him alive in the process.
Merlin knew this was how it would play out, with the possible result of the both of them being slaughtered, and if there was a god of irony then he would laugh and pat himself on the back for a job well done, when the man who wanted nothing more to do with Arthur died by Arthur's side trying to save his life.
Merlin laughed and laughed until laughter broke into a sob. Because the other problem… the other problem was that Merlin still could not bring himself to use his magic. He tried, he did, but every time he pushed himself, every time he managed so much as a syllable, he would start choking on the words as they tried to cram themselves back down his throat.
There would be no point in helping Arthur, but Merlin would, anyway. Because Merlin was Merlin, and Arthur was Arthur, and the more things changed the more things stayed the same. Merlin rather hated himself and Arthur for that.
The blasting sound of a horn tore through the silence of the woods. Merlin snapped his head upright, blinking away the tears.
The giant was coming.
Merlin launched himself from his cot, the remains of his bread and cheese falling to the dusty floor. He ran, splashing through the stream that hit the bare skin of his feet with its cold like a slap, then he scrabbled upward when the land inclined. He stopped at the edge of the forest where it ended at the top of the hill, and there scaled the tallest tree that would provide him an unobstructed view of the hill.
It was a pretty place, the hills beyond the woods – a great stretch of open land rolling like heaving emerald ocean waves all the way to the mountains. He and Will used to come to these hills to fight with wooden swords and pretend they were brave knights.
Real knights from various kingdoms stood at the ready, armed with swords or pikes, morning stars, crossbows, maces and lances. They shifted uneasily while horses stomped and snorted.
And swarming slowly over the hills like a shadow was an army, led by an impossible man.
~oOo~
Arthur's hand was tight on the hilt of his sword, his sweating palms making the leather moist and uncomfortable. He had gone forth slaying bandits, armies, monsters, even the undead – faced these dangers head on, focused only on the battle and the needed moves that would save his life. But some things even a king trained from birth to kill could find unnerving enough to cause a bit of a sweat, and what came creeping over the hill like a gargantuan shadow was one of them.
The army was close enough for Arthur to see enough detail to make his heart beat fast and a bead of sweat run down his back. These were not men he was seeing, but skeletons so dark they seemed to have been dipped in ink, and dressed in rags that flowed like gauze in a breeze. Their weapons were vicious, serrated things and what bits of armor they wore were as dark as their bones.
And leading them was the giant. He lumbered like a tree with legs, eating up the distance quickly with his long stride. Each step he made thundered against the ground, and the closer he got, the more the ground vibrated with his footfalls. He wore little save for a loin cloth, a chest-plate like bits of armor hammered together, arm guards, thigh guards, and a heavy cape of bristling fur various shades of red, black, brown, yellow and silver-white. He carried a massive spiked club also of metal, and carried no shield.
The giant crest the hill, stopped, and surveyed the armies before him. A smile wrinkled his cheeks behind a black beard that hung all the way to his pot belly. Then he laughed.
It was like a deep drum, that laugh; a sound that went down to the bones and shook them, that went into the gut and churned it, that gripped the spine and chilled it. He leaned casually on his club and shook his head ruefully.
"You little men never learn," he said in a voice like a fiery bellows. "No army has ever stopped me. Do you honestly fancy yourselves any different?"
King Lot stepped forward, his hand on his sword. "Merely a precaution," he said, glaring. "We know of your fondness for challenges. Well, I suppose you could say we have a fondness for protecting our lands and people."
The giant chuckled. "I can appreciate that, I suppose. I do have a fondness for protecting what is mine as well. So…" he lifted his club and rested it against his shoulder. "Who would like to test their mettle first? Step forward, now. Quick as you can."
No one moved, not right away, which might have been far more humiliating had it not been a shared hesitation. Then a man did step forward – a barrel-chested fellow favoring the combination of skins and furs of Annis' people, and rivaling Percival in both height and muscle. He, too, had an impressive club, but it was a child's toy compared to the giant's.
"This quick enough for you?" the man said.
The giant chuckled. "Indeed. Your name, good sir?"
"Galek. And yours?"
The giant answered by lifting his club, giving it a few good swings, then bringing it down straight towards Galek's head. It was a braggart's attack, but Galek proved swift for a man of his size. He leaped back easily, and the giant laughed merrily.
"Finally, a challenge!" He swung again. The giant's movements were slow, Galek smaller and quicker compared to the giant. One would think small and quick the advantage, but each time Galek darted for the giant's legs in order to smash his Achilles tendon, the giant would step away easily as thought expecting the move.
And the giant laughed and laughed, like a child having a merry old time.
Then Galek began to tire, his movements slowing and his swings messy. The giant tutted sadly.
"It always comes to this," he said. "Such a pity."
The giant brought down his club. Galek did not leap away fast enough, and the club struck, smashing him into the ground like an insect.
The giant sighed. "So be it. I presume he is not the only challenger, yes? It was a good go, I will give him that. I will return tomorrow at the same time to face the next challenge."
He lifted his club that dripped with blood, then lifted Galek's body and slung it over his shoulder like a piece of meat. The giant turned and lumbered away as the army slowly retreated like an outgoing wave.
Lot made his way to Arthur, looking grim. "I think," he said, "That a bit of joint strategy may be in order."
"But my lord, surly if we attack now while the thing's back is turned…" said the waxen-haired man.
Lot rolled his eyes and shot the younger man a sharp look of reproof. "Landes, for the last bloody time, you read the reports. You know what happened when that monster was attacked."
"But…"
"No, I will hear no more of it or you are dismissed."
Landes shut his mouth, his jaw twitching in irritation.
Lot sighed. "My apologies. Landes is a bit too eager when it comes to matters of battle. More the charging forth type than the planning type. And I think you would agree that we are in dire need of a strategy."
"Very much so," Arthur said. He looked toward the giant, but he had long since vanished behind the hill. "More than that we need information. Have you brought any scholars with you?"
"About half the scholars I could find in my kingdom," Lot said.
Arthur nodded. "Good. I'll send my court physician to speak with them. He has much knowledge on these matters."
"I'm wondering if any knowledge would help at this point," Lot said.
Arthur could feel his expression turn grim as he recalled what little Gaius could tell him on giants. They were going to need far more than swords and knowledge.
Arthur's eyes scanned the area as though the answer would appear right in front of him were he to look long enough. As he searched, his gaze was accosted by a flash of red, and he fixed on a wiry shape slipping from the branches of a tree before darting into the forest like a startled deer.
A feeling of melancholy and regret filled Arthur.
They were going to need magic for this.
TBC...