Merlin; Arthur/Merlin
28 October 2008 08:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wrennetteTitle: Red Skies: Night
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur x Merlin
Rating: G
Summary: It's up to Merlin to save Arthur from the Erlking.
Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to it's creators at the BBC. The author intends no copyright infringement and makes no profit.
Notes: The title is from the seafarer's saying, "red skies at morning, sailors take warning, red skies at night, sailors delight". The idea is partly influenced by the amazing Dark is Rising Sequence, especially The Dark is Rising and The Grey King, but knowledge of these books is unnecessary. Also influenced by Welsh and other Celtic mythology.
Note 2: So from the rating, you can guess that I didn't actually get to the slash. Sorry?
Arthur groaned softly, reaching up to rub at the bump on his head. Sensation filtered back in, and he groaned more loudly as the various aches and pains of spending a stormy night draped over a horses withers and then sleeping on the hard forest floor made themselves known. He wasn't restrained, which was a start. Blinking blearily, he looked about. The trees grew tall and close around him, obscuring the sky. It was night, he was certain of that by the thickness of the shadows. Slowly he stood, looking about more closely. He had been deprived of all his weaponry, and it was impossible to tell one direction from another. Everything looked the same in every direction he looked. A shadow detached itself from behind a tree, and he turned, trying to track it. It was futile. Small shadows flitted everywhere through the otherwise still forest, and an uncomfortable feeling of being watched settled on the back of Arthur's neck. He shuddered, turning quickly, but as he had half expected, no one was there.
It was impossible to tell the passage of time in this strange desolate forest. Everything lay in shadow, and it seemed as though he were the only living creature. The idea made him shiver slightly. He had to find a way out. He looked about on the ground, eventually finding a sharp looking stone. It would have to do. He took it in his left hand and decided on a direction arbitrarily. Arthur walked in as straight a line as he could, marking the trunks of the trees as he went, to prevent himself from looping back on his own path without knowing. He walked for hours, thirst making his tongue swell in his mouth. He didn't dare stop though. The night stretched on, as did the forest. There was wizardry involved, Arthur was certain of it. What he was less certain of was what his captor wanted with him. He had simply been grabbed, stolen away like so much loot, and no explanation given. No ransom had been demanded, and he had not yet seen his captor.
He walked and walked, until finally his legs gave way beneath him. Arthur leaned against the roots of the giant willow, throat aching. He hurt all over, his muscles and joints exhausted from the hours of walking. In such a state, there was no way he could hope to avoid sleep. And so Arthur fell into the deep sleep of the physically exhausted. When he woke, the forest was unchanged around him, the same close growing maze of hollies, willows and evergreens. The unbroken darkness stretched above him, and he had no idea how long he had lain unconscious. With a weary sigh he heaved himself to his feet and began walking again. Although he never crossed his marked path, Arthur began to develop the uncomfortable feeling that he was going in circles. The forest looked the same no matter where he rested his eyes, and he couldn't tell if he was making progress or not. He told himself he was. He told himself he just had to keep walking, and eventually he would stumble across something familiar. That, or his father's knights would arrive. He had to trust in that. He had to trust that either his own uncommonly good luck or his father's unyielding stubbornness would get him back to Camelot.
With that trust in the front of his mind, Arthur walked until he couldn't stand any longer. For all he knew though, he was in the same place he had woken earlier. So he forced himself to stay on his feet. Despite the burning in his legs, he forced himself to keep stumbling forward, always forward. He was panting with thirst, his stomach twisting with hunger, but that almost didn't matter. What mattered was the fear that had begun to grow in the back of his mind. He had felt fear very few times in his life. When the Griffon had attacked. When Merlin had been poisoned. When his mother had disappeared and never come back. But never - never over something as silly as being lost and alone in the woods. But these woods, they were different. He was beginning to think he wasn't as alone as he had at first thought. That thought, that there might be someone else there with him, some silent, spectral presence that lurked just out of sight, was more terrifying than he ever could have imagined. He didn't let his mind dwell on it, or rather, he tried not to. But then he would catch shadows dancing in the gloom, shadows that had no right to be where the were, because there was no moon, no sun, not even a torch to cast them.
Arthur wasn't sure how long he had been walking when he saw the light. It wasn't like the peaceful ball that had led him out of the witch's cave into safety and freedom. It burned small and far away, like a candle in a distant window. Not caring that the light led away from the path he had set for himself, Arthur made for it. He staggered and stumbled, trying to remember to mark the trees he passed so he didn't double back on himself. Roots reached up to trip him, and when he forced himself back to his feet, the light was gone. Arthur looked around wildly, but the forest was the same, dim and dark, wherever he looked. Shadows danced away from him, and defeated, he sank back to the ground, eyes and limbs heavy with exhaustion. As his eyelids scratched closed, he heard a soft, faraway laugh, breathy and vaguely sinister, but he couldn't keep his eyes open. He couldn't force himself to stay awake a moment longer.
When he woke, strange half remembered dreams troubled Arthur. His entire body felt like it was carved of stone and then frozen in midwinter ice. But the light was back. In a different direction than he remembered it, but it was the same flickering little light, he was certain of it. Wearily Arthur dragged himself to his feet, his bit of stone forgotten as he staggered deeper and deeper into the woods. The light never got closer though, no matter how his legs ached, no matter how he scraped his knees and knuckles and palms with stumbles and near falls. Still the light receded, and when he collapsed once again in exhaustion and couldn't force himself to rise, it hung flickering in the distance, taunting him. He cursed, arms shaking as he tried to force his limbs to move, but he couldn't. He was simply too tired. Too tired even to close his eyes. Arthur collapsed against the hard ground, unseeing eyes turned towards the invisible sky, soft laughter mocking him in the distance.
"Shhh child," the voice said gently, and Arthur moaned as a cool, moist cloth was pressed to his fevered brow and then his cracked lips. "Rest," the voice said, and it was so familiar. He fought to open his eyes, but they didn't budge, didn't follow his command. He whimpered softly, and more water was trickled into his mouth, stinging his chapped lips and swollen tongue. "Rest," the voice urged, and Arthur passed once more into unconsciousness. A cool hand against his cheek woke him some time later, and he blinked lazily.
"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" he asked softly, and she smiled, an expression he almost remembered.
"Yes child," she said, her cool fingers mapping his face. "You are. But the veil is thin here. You're trapped between worlds Arthur, where I can reach out to you. Arthur, you must listen. It is very important." He nodded, slowly sitting, facing her, eyes drinking in her sparkling visage. She smiled, full lips so like his own turning up sadly, eyes the color of the summer sky falling closed for a moment, her ripe-wheat hair shimmering like a silken hood.
"You are in the Between," she said again. "Brought to fight as the Erl-King's champion." He opened his mouth to ask, but she shook her head quickly. "I haven't much time Arthur," she said gently, still wearing that heartbroken smile. He closed his mouth so firmly his teeth clicked, and she nodded. "The only way to return to the land of the living is to kill the Erl-King," she said. "And the only thing that will hurt him is an Oak spear. The only Oak is the Midsummer tree, where you will be asked to fight the Sun King. Arthur, whatever you do, do not kill the Sun King. Harm him if you must. But get by him to the Midsummer tree, and fashion an Oak spear. You must kill the Erl-King Arthur, or you are doomed to stay here for the rest of time." He reached out to her, wanting to touch her, just once, but she was only so much mist. She smiled sadly. "I'm sorry Arthur," she said softly. "I must go." He reached for her again.
"Mother," he pleaded, but she was gone. He slowly blinked awake, and immediately wished he hadn't. The world, this Between land, was just as dark and cold as he had remembered, and he could feel the warmth of her memory leaching out of his body into the ground. He felt stronger than he had since his arrival though, and was able to stand easily.
"The Midsummer tree," he murmured to himself, but even before he began looking about, he knew it was hopeless. There was no way he could find one tree, the one Oak in this impenetrable forest. He let a single defeated sob escape his mouth before he forced the hopelessness away. I am Arthur son of Uther, he reminded himself, I am the Pendragon, the Crown Prince of Camelot. The words rang hollow even in his head, and so he repeated them, again and again, until he almost believed. Then, he started to walk. The light was gone, and so he tracked endlessly in what he hoped was a straight line. So slowly he at first thought he was imagining it though, the trees thinned and the sky over head became visible. There was no moon, and the constellations were not those he knew. For the first time, he believed he truly was in a different land, not just wandering, delusional, in some strange primeval forest. But with stars to guide him, even if they were unfamiliar, he could at least be certain he was going more or less in a consistent direction.
When he nearly stumbled into a brackish little stream, he went to his knees in gratitude, lowering his face into the muck and sucking it directly into his mouth, not caring that he could taste the filth that muddied the water. When he knelt back up, panting, a spectre on horseback waited still and silent in front of him. Blind terror threatened to overwhelm Arthur for a moment. It had the shape of a tall man, hunched forward in the saddle. But the horse could not rightly be called a horse, for it was little more than skin stretched over sinew and bone, wild eyes rolling in its skull, matted hair hanging along its neck and from its rump. The rider turned slightly, and Arthur could only see the hint of a pale, cruel mouth beneath the voluminous hood.
"The King requests your presence," the rider said, and its voice was like stones grating against one another, like iron dragged over flags. Arthur shuddered, shrinking back unconsciously.
"And if I refuse?" he asked hollowly, and the rider threw back its head and laughed. At least, Arthur assumed it was a laugh, but it sounded more like someone being murdered, and Arthur was rather proud that he retained control of his bodily functions.
Before Arthur could really react, the rider's slender bonelike fingers were around his wrist, as tight and strong as a manacle, and then he was being heaved over the withers of the horse, rather like a sack of potatoes. The bony shoulders of the beast dug into his front, and Arthur grit his teeth to keep from crying out as he was jostled. Some interminable amount of time later, Arthur found himself blinking up from the ground. But it was not hard, and it was not cold. He was sprawled in the center of a lush green space. At one end of the massive court was a heavy black throne, carved out of stone. Behind it was the pale sickle of the new moon and the glittering otherworldly stars of the Between. Within the throne, a pale form huddled in dark, figure concealing robes. Opposite was a simple carved wood chair under the most massive spreading Oak Arthur had ever seen. The morning sunshine cast the tree in golden light, filtering through the leaves to dapple the shoulders of an enormous man. He was dressed simply, in pale rough breeches that clung to his well muscled thighs. This was the Sun King then, and the Midsummer tree.
Arthur looked between the two poles, weighing his chances. He had to fight the Sun King. He had to kill the Erl-King. Right. Definitely not easier than it sounded. Slowly he stood, bowing politely to each of the Kings, then waiting. Neither King spoke. Arthur waited. He waited and waited, and neither King spoke, nor moved, nor gave any sign at all that they even lived. He waited, and when he grew bored, he looked about, then started towards the Midsummer tree. He got three steps before the rider from before appeared before him, mount rearing and snorting. Arthur started back, throwing his arm up in self defense. He ducked and tried to move past the rider, but it was impossible. It was as though the creature could multiply itself, it moved so quickly. He tried again to get around it, and this time the flint sharp hooves of the horse slammed against his chest, sending him sprawling. He thought he distantly heard his name, but he couldn't breathe, and so instead of answering, he let the familiar darkness overwhelm his vision, limbs going slack as he lost consciousness.
"Sire," the voice called him this time, and the hand was familiar, warm and calloused, tapping gently against his cheek. A soft, warm ball of fluff pressed up under his chin, vibrating, and he moaned softly. "Arthur!" the voice cried, "Sire," and then a cool vial was held to his lips. The liquid burned and stung, and he swallowed it quickly. It burned down his throat, and he sat gasping. A brilliant torch guttered over head, and Merlin smiled at him, eyes shimmering gold in the shadows.
"Merlin?" He asked in amazement, and Merlin's smile widened. "Why would the Erl-King take you?" Arthur asked confusedly, and Merlin outright grinned.
"He didn't," Merlin said almost smugly. "I came to rescue you." Arthur blinked a few times, because there was no possible way for that sentence to conform itself to any sort of logic.
"You're rescuing me?" Arthur asked skeptically, and Merlin's grin faded somewhat.
"That's gratitude for you," Merlin groused at Arthur's chest, and it took the Prince a moment to remember the warm ball that was curled on his stomach. It blinked up at him with eyes as golden as Merlin's, and Arthur's brain began to catch up. He looked about more closely, saw the broad greensward with the thrones on either end to one side of him, and the impenetrable forest to the other.
"How?" he asked, and Merlin shook his head, face suddenly serious.
"There isn't time Arthur," Merlin said softly, then stood, going to a beautiful grey mare Arthur had not yet noticed. It was Morgana's horse, he was certain of it, and again he was a bit confused. "You have to kill the Erl-King," Merlin said, handing him a long dagger and then a slender javelin. "The Oak spear is the only thing that will kill him," Merlin continued. "And whatever you do, don't kill the Sun King. Arthur, are you paying attention?" Arthur nodded, hefting the light spear, wondering if it would be enough. "If you kill the Sun King Arthur, you'll have to take his place, and fight forever against the Champions of the Erl-King, until one of them kills you and takes your place. Do you understand? You mustn't kill the Sun King." Arthur nodded, his mother's warning finally making sense.
Merlin rose fluidly, and the cat leapt up, climbing one of the manservant's legs and then up onto his shoulder. Merlin chuckled softly, stroking the cat under its chin, then held out his hand for Arthur. For a long moment Arthur just stared at the long slender fingers, and then he reached up and grabbed hold. Merlin was stronger than he looked, and he easily pulled Arthur to his feet. Merlin smiled again, and it finally clicked to Arthur that gold was not a natural color for a person's eyes. Before he could ask, before his uncertainty could slide into fear, Merlin turned, a heavy old cloak enfolding him, making him one more shadow among many, and the torch moved towards the lawn. Arthur followed silently, hastily buckling the dagger to his belt, fingers dancing over the smooth worn grip of the javelin. If he had the Oak spear, he needn't fight the Sun King at all. He simply had to kill the Erl-King, and he would be free. A smile of pure relief broke across Arthur's face. He quickened his step until he strode at Merlin's side. The dark haired boy gifted him an intense sideways look, and Arthur nodded in grateful acceptance, then broke into a sprint.
What happened next, Arthur would never be able to say. He remembered the sensation of motion, and of pure, unadulterated terror. He remembered Merlin calling his name, and the blossoming sphere of silvery blue light. He remembered the cold and jarring shock as he slid the sharpened Oak between the Erl-King's ribs, and the wood shattering in his hands. He remembered the brilliant red of blood and the shimmering gold of the Sun King, and then, nothing. Awareness filtered in with the feeling of sunlight and motion, of slim strong arms around his waist. He shifted painfully, and the motion ceased. There was the soft sound of a horse lipping and tearing as leaves and grass, and the arms carefully lifted him down, laid him in sweet smelling grass.
"Arthur," said a soft, raw voice, and slowly he woke. Merlin was silhouetted against the sunset, a half circle of brilliant, bloody red casting his face in deep shadow.
"Merlin," he said confusedly. "I had the strangest dream." Merlin smiled, and there was a sadness Arthur hadn't noticed before that lurked in his slate blue eyes.
"It's alright," Merlin said gently. "I have you now." And strangely, despite that he was naught but a servant, Arthur believed him.
Part Three: Home
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur x Merlin
Rating: G
Summary: It's up to Merlin to save Arthur from the Erlking.
Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to it's creators at the BBC. The author intends no copyright infringement and makes no profit.
Notes: The title is from the seafarer's saying, "red skies at morning, sailors take warning, red skies at night, sailors delight". The idea is partly influenced by the amazing Dark is Rising Sequence, especially The Dark is Rising and The Grey King, but knowledge of these books is unnecessary. Also influenced by Welsh and other Celtic mythology.
Note 2: So from the rating, you can guess that I didn't actually get to the slash. Sorry?
Arthur groaned softly, reaching up to rub at the bump on his head. Sensation filtered back in, and he groaned more loudly as the various aches and pains of spending a stormy night draped over a horses withers and then sleeping on the hard forest floor made themselves known. He wasn't restrained, which was a start. Blinking blearily, he looked about. The trees grew tall and close around him, obscuring the sky. It was night, he was certain of that by the thickness of the shadows. Slowly he stood, looking about more closely. He had been deprived of all his weaponry, and it was impossible to tell one direction from another. Everything looked the same in every direction he looked. A shadow detached itself from behind a tree, and he turned, trying to track it. It was futile. Small shadows flitted everywhere through the otherwise still forest, and an uncomfortable feeling of being watched settled on the back of Arthur's neck. He shuddered, turning quickly, but as he had half expected, no one was there.
It was impossible to tell the passage of time in this strange desolate forest. Everything lay in shadow, and it seemed as though he were the only living creature. The idea made him shiver slightly. He had to find a way out. He looked about on the ground, eventually finding a sharp looking stone. It would have to do. He took it in his left hand and decided on a direction arbitrarily. Arthur walked in as straight a line as he could, marking the trunks of the trees as he went, to prevent himself from looping back on his own path without knowing. He walked for hours, thirst making his tongue swell in his mouth. He didn't dare stop though. The night stretched on, as did the forest. There was wizardry involved, Arthur was certain of it. What he was less certain of was what his captor wanted with him. He had simply been grabbed, stolen away like so much loot, and no explanation given. No ransom had been demanded, and he had not yet seen his captor.
He walked and walked, until finally his legs gave way beneath him. Arthur leaned against the roots of the giant willow, throat aching. He hurt all over, his muscles and joints exhausted from the hours of walking. In such a state, there was no way he could hope to avoid sleep. And so Arthur fell into the deep sleep of the physically exhausted. When he woke, the forest was unchanged around him, the same close growing maze of hollies, willows and evergreens. The unbroken darkness stretched above him, and he had no idea how long he had lain unconscious. With a weary sigh he heaved himself to his feet and began walking again. Although he never crossed his marked path, Arthur began to develop the uncomfortable feeling that he was going in circles. The forest looked the same no matter where he rested his eyes, and he couldn't tell if he was making progress or not. He told himself he was. He told himself he just had to keep walking, and eventually he would stumble across something familiar. That, or his father's knights would arrive. He had to trust in that. He had to trust that either his own uncommonly good luck or his father's unyielding stubbornness would get him back to Camelot.
With that trust in the front of his mind, Arthur walked until he couldn't stand any longer. For all he knew though, he was in the same place he had woken earlier. So he forced himself to stay on his feet. Despite the burning in his legs, he forced himself to keep stumbling forward, always forward. He was panting with thirst, his stomach twisting with hunger, but that almost didn't matter. What mattered was the fear that had begun to grow in the back of his mind. He had felt fear very few times in his life. When the Griffon had attacked. When Merlin had been poisoned. When his mother had disappeared and never come back. But never - never over something as silly as being lost and alone in the woods. But these woods, they were different. He was beginning to think he wasn't as alone as he had at first thought. That thought, that there might be someone else there with him, some silent, spectral presence that lurked just out of sight, was more terrifying than he ever could have imagined. He didn't let his mind dwell on it, or rather, he tried not to. But then he would catch shadows dancing in the gloom, shadows that had no right to be where the were, because there was no moon, no sun, not even a torch to cast them.
Arthur wasn't sure how long he had been walking when he saw the light. It wasn't like the peaceful ball that had led him out of the witch's cave into safety and freedom. It burned small and far away, like a candle in a distant window. Not caring that the light led away from the path he had set for himself, Arthur made for it. He staggered and stumbled, trying to remember to mark the trees he passed so he didn't double back on himself. Roots reached up to trip him, and when he forced himself back to his feet, the light was gone. Arthur looked around wildly, but the forest was the same, dim and dark, wherever he looked. Shadows danced away from him, and defeated, he sank back to the ground, eyes and limbs heavy with exhaustion. As his eyelids scratched closed, he heard a soft, faraway laugh, breathy and vaguely sinister, but he couldn't keep his eyes open. He couldn't force himself to stay awake a moment longer.
When he woke, strange half remembered dreams troubled Arthur. His entire body felt like it was carved of stone and then frozen in midwinter ice. But the light was back. In a different direction than he remembered it, but it was the same flickering little light, he was certain of it. Wearily Arthur dragged himself to his feet, his bit of stone forgotten as he staggered deeper and deeper into the woods. The light never got closer though, no matter how his legs ached, no matter how he scraped his knees and knuckles and palms with stumbles and near falls. Still the light receded, and when he collapsed once again in exhaustion and couldn't force himself to rise, it hung flickering in the distance, taunting him. He cursed, arms shaking as he tried to force his limbs to move, but he couldn't. He was simply too tired. Too tired even to close his eyes. Arthur collapsed against the hard ground, unseeing eyes turned towards the invisible sky, soft laughter mocking him in the distance.
"Shhh child," the voice said gently, and Arthur moaned as a cool, moist cloth was pressed to his fevered brow and then his cracked lips. "Rest," the voice said, and it was so familiar. He fought to open his eyes, but they didn't budge, didn't follow his command. He whimpered softly, and more water was trickled into his mouth, stinging his chapped lips and swollen tongue. "Rest," the voice urged, and Arthur passed once more into unconsciousness. A cool hand against his cheek woke him some time later, and he blinked lazily.
"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" he asked softly, and she smiled, an expression he almost remembered.
"Yes child," she said, her cool fingers mapping his face. "You are. But the veil is thin here. You're trapped between worlds Arthur, where I can reach out to you. Arthur, you must listen. It is very important." He nodded, slowly sitting, facing her, eyes drinking in her sparkling visage. She smiled, full lips so like his own turning up sadly, eyes the color of the summer sky falling closed for a moment, her ripe-wheat hair shimmering like a silken hood.
"You are in the Between," she said again. "Brought to fight as the Erl-King's champion." He opened his mouth to ask, but she shook her head quickly. "I haven't much time Arthur," she said gently, still wearing that heartbroken smile. He closed his mouth so firmly his teeth clicked, and she nodded. "The only way to return to the land of the living is to kill the Erl-King," she said. "And the only thing that will hurt him is an Oak spear. The only Oak is the Midsummer tree, where you will be asked to fight the Sun King. Arthur, whatever you do, do not kill the Sun King. Harm him if you must. But get by him to the Midsummer tree, and fashion an Oak spear. You must kill the Erl-King Arthur, or you are doomed to stay here for the rest of time." He reached out to her, wanting to touch her, just once, but she was only so much mist. She smiled sadly. "I'm sorry Arthur," she said softly. "I must go." He reached for her again.
"Mother," he pleaded, but she was gone. He slowly blinked awake, and immediately wished he hadn't. The world, this Between land, was just as dark and cold as he had remembered, and he could feel the warmth of her memory leaching out of his body into the ground. He felt stronger than he had since his arrival though, and was able to stand easily.
"The Midsummer tree," he murmured to himself, but even before he began looking about, he knew it was hopeless. There was no way he could find one tree, the one Oak in this impenetrable forest. He let a single defeated sob escape his mouth before he forced the hopelessness away. I am Arthur son of Uther, he reminded himself, I am the Pendragon, the Crown Prince of Camelot. The words rang hollow even in his head, and so he repeated them, again and again, until he almost believed. Then, he started to walk. The light was gone, and so he tracked endlessly in what he hoped was a straight line. So slowly he at first thought he was imagining it though, the trees thinned and the sky over head became visible. There was no moon, and the constellations were not those he knew. For the first time, he believed he truly was in a different land, not just wandering, delusional, in some strange primeval forest. But with stars to guide him, even if they were unfamiliar, he could at least be certain he was going more or less in a consistent direction.
When he nearly stumbled into a brackish little stream, he went to his knees in gratitude, lowering his face into the muck and sucking it directly into his mouth, not caring that he could taste the filth that muddied the water. When he knelt back up, panting, a spectre on horseback waited still and silent in front of him. Blind terror threatened to overwhelm Arthur for a moment. It had the shape of a tall man, hunched forward in the saddle. But the horse could not rightly be called a horse, for it was little more than skin stretched over sinew and bone, wild eyes rolling in its skull, matted hair hanging along its neck and from its rump. The rider turned slightly, and Arthur could only see the hint of a pale, cruel mouth beneath the voluminous hood.
"The King requests your presence," the rider said, and its voice was like stones grating against one another, like iron dragged over flags. Arthur shuddered, shrinking back unconsciously.
"And if I refuse?" he asked hollowly, and the rider threw back its head and laughed. At least, Arthur assumed it was a laugh, but it sounded more like someone being murdered, and Arthur was rather proud that he retained control of his bodily functions.
Before Arthur could really react, the rider's slender bonelike fingers were around his wrist, as tight and strong as a manacle, and then he was being heaved over the withers of the horse, rather like a sack of potatoes. The bony shoulders of the beast dug into his front, and Arthur grit his teeth to keep from crying out as he was jostled. Some interminable amount of time later, Arthur found himself blinking up from the ground. But it was not hard, and it was not cold. He was sprawled in the center of a lush green space. At one end of the massive court was a heavy black throne, carved out of stone. Behind it was the pale sickle of the new moon and the glittering otherworldly stars of the Between. Within the throne, a pale form huddled in dark, figure concealing robes. Opposite was a simple carved wood chair under the most massive spreading Oak Arthur had ever seen. The morning sunshine cast the tree in golden light, filtering through the leaves to dapple the shoulders of an enormous man. He was dressed simply, in pale rough breeches that clung to his well muscled thighs. This was the Sun King then, and the Midsummer tree.
Arthur looked between the two poles, weighing his chances. He had to fight the Sun King. He had to kill the Erl-King. Right. Definitely not easier than it sounded. Slowly he stood, bowing politely to each of the Kings, then waiting. Neither King spoke. Arthur waited. He waited and waited, and neither King spoke, nor moved, nor gave any sign at all that they even lived. He waited, and when he grew bored, he looked about, then started towards the Midsummer tree. He got three steps before the rider from before appeared before him, mount rearing and snorting. Arthur started back, throwing his arm up in self defense. He ducked and tried to move past the rider, but it was impossible. It was as though the creature could multiply itself, it moved so quickly. He tried again to get around it, and this time the flint sharp hooves of the horse slammed against his chest, sending him sprawling. He thought he distantly heard his name, but he couldn't breathe, and so instead of answering, he let the familiar darkness overwhelm his vision, limbs going slack as he lost consciousness.
"Sire," the voice called him this time, and the hand was familiar, warm and calloused, tapping gently against his cheek. A soft, warm ball of fluff pressed up under his chin, vibrating, and he moaned softly. "Arthur!" the voice cried, "Sire," and then a cool vial was held to his lips. The liquid burned and stung, and he swallowed it quickly. It burned down his throat, and he sat gasping. A brilliant torch guttered over head, and Merlin smiled at him, eyes shimmering gold in the shadows.
"Merlin?" He asked in amazement, and Merlin's smile widened. "Why would the Erl-King take you?" Arthur asked confusedly, and Merlin outright grinned.
"He didn't," Merlin said almost smugly. "I came to rescue you." Arthur blinked a few times, because there was no possible way for that sentence to conform itself to any sort of logic.
"You're rescuing me?" Arthur asked skeptically, and Merlin's grin faded somewhat.
"That's gratitude for you," Merlin groused at Arthur's chest, and it took the Prince a moment to remember the warm ball that was curled on his stomach. It blinked up at him with eyes as golden as Merlin's, and Arthur's brain began to catch up. He looked about more closely, saw the broad greensward with the thrones on either end to one side of him, and the impenetrable forest to the other.
"How?" he asked, and Merlin shook his head, face suddenly serious.
"There isn't time Arthur," Merlin said softly, then stood, going to a beautiful grey mare Arthur had not yet noticed. It was Morgana's horse, he was certain of it, and again he was a bit confused. "You have to kill the Erl-King," Merlin said, handing him a long dagger and then a slender javelin. "The Oak spear is the only thing that will kill him," Merlin continued. "And whatever you do, don't kill the Sun King. Arthur, are you paying attention?" Arthur nodded, hefting the light spear, wondering if it would be enough. "If you kill the Sun King Arthur, you'll have to take his place, and fight forever against the Champions of the Erl-King, until one of them kills you and takes your place. Do you understand? You mustn't kill the Sun King." Arthur nodded, his mother's warning finally making sense.
Merlin rose fluidly, and the cat leapt up, climbing one of the manservant's legs and then up onto his shoulder. Merlin chuckled softly, stroking the cat under its chin, then held out his hand for Arthur. For a long moment Arthur just stared at the long slender fingers, and then he reached up and grabbed hold. Merlin was stronger than he looked, and he easily pulled Arthur to his feet. Merlin smiled again, and it finally clicked to Arthur that gold was not a natural color for a person's eyes. Before he could ask, before his uncertainty could slide into fear, Merlin turned, a heavy old cloak enfolding him, making him one more shadow among many, and the torch moved towards the lawn. Arthur followed silently, hastily buckling the dagger to his belt, fingers dancing over the smooth worn grip of the javelin. If he had the Oak spear, he needn't fight the Sun King at all. He simply had to kill the Erl-King, and he would be free. A smile of pure relief broke across Arthur's face. He quickened his step until he strode at Merlin's side. The dark haired boy gifted him an intense sideways look, and Arthur nodded in grateful acceptance, then broke into a sprint.
What happened next, Arthur would never be able to say. He remembered the sensation of motion, and of pure, unadulterated terror. He remembered Merlin calling his name, and the blossoming sphere of silvery blue light. He remembered the cold and jarring shock as he slid the sharpened Oak between the Erl-King's ribs, and the wood shattering in his hands. He remembered the brilliant red of blood and the shimmering gold of the Sun King, and then, nothing. Awareness filtered in with the feeling of sunlight and motion, of slim strong arms around his waist. He shifted painfully, and the motion ceased. There was the soft sound of a horse lipping and tearing as leaves and grass, and the arms carefully lifted him down, laid him in sweet smelling grass.
"Arthur," said a soft, raw voice, and slowly he woke. Merlin was silhouetted against the sunset, a half circle of brilliant, bloody red casting his face in deep shadow.
"Merlin," he said confusedly. "I had the strangest dream." Merlin smiled, and there was a sadness Arthur hadn't noticed before that lurked in his slate blue eyes.
"It's alright," Merlin said gently. "I have you now." And strangely, despite that he was naught but a servant, Arthur believed him.
Part Three: Home
