Merlin; Merlin/Arthur

[wrennette]

Title: The Green Man: The Wild Boy (1/?)
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur x Merlin
Rating: NC-17 (eventually)
Disclaimer: Merlin is the property of the BBC. The author in no way profits from this fiction.
Summary: AU - In the legends, Merlin is always a boy without a father. He's also the wild man of the woods. What if his mother died when he was just a boy and he raised himself, half feral in the forest?
Notes: At the beginning, Arthur and Merlin are about thirteen years old. I'm also adopting the mythology where he has a twin sister Ganieda, but I'll probably kill her off.


Arthur glanced over at his father anxiously, hoping that the King could not see just how nervous he was. It was his first time riding out with the Knights, and all the other Squires had been left back in the encampment. But it was essential that the heir to the throne learn the arts of war up close and personal. The company of Knights was a small one, the majority remaining behind in defense of Camelot. After all, they were not openly at war with Mercia, and so bringing a full contingent of Knights would have seemed paranoid. Still, Arthur would not have minded a few more Knights. He had heard the whispers the servants thought they hid behind their hands. These woods were haunted.

Everything was quiet, and it made Arthur nervous. The shrill scream of a bird from deeper in the forest made him start, and his mount danced under him, snorting. Neither the King nor any of the Knights spared him a single glance, continuing on. He felt his face heat and ducked his head down near his horse's neck, murmuring soft nonsense into the beast's ears, smoothing one hand along the warm fur beneath its mane. When he looked up, he stopped short, reining in quickly to avoid running into the mount of the Knight riding ahead of him.

"What is the meaning of this?" Uther demanded, and Arthur half stood in his stirrups. A slender boy stood in the middle of the path, the emaciated form of a girl clutched against his side. Both were clothed only in their hair and skins. Their cheeks and stomachs were hollow with hunger, and Arthur could count their every rib standing out in stark relief. The girl's night dark hair hung in heavy plaits over her small breasts, a crown of wilted ivy wound around her temples. She was pale as the moon, eyes closed, leaning against her companion. A rough hide kilt covered her hips and upper thighs, a wicked looking knife thrust into the waist, pouches dangling around her slender hips.

She and the boy were of a height, and their colouring was quite similar. His cheeks were reddened with exposure, his raven hair hanging, matted past his shoulders, tangled with sticks and burrs. Both of them were cut all over with brambles and smeared with dirt. A dark stain that Arthur was certain was blood was smeared across the boy's mouth, and the same colour stained his hands and forearms to the elbow. Like the girl, he wore a rough hide kilt, a knife and small pouches attached to the waist.

"Who are you?" one of the Knights demanded, and the boy cocked his head, looking up at them quizzically. "Your name boy," the Knight urged, drawing his sword, and the boy backed away a step, baring his teeth ferally. The girl turned her face into her companion, and she whispered softly in his ear. The boy backed away another step, and from the small of his back produced a long blade fashioned from a stag's discarded antler. A low animalistic growl welled out of the boy, big grey eyes narrowing down to dark slits. The Knights shifted, kneeing their horses between the royal family and the feral boy. But the boy kept backing away, clearly just wanting to keep them away, keep them from the girl.

When they reached the town, the Knights brought them tales of the wild children from the locals. No one could say for certain who they were. Just that they had been in the forest for some time, and were mostly harmless. The boy though, the boy was lethal when provoked. Once or twice some drunk got the idea that the wild girl might make a quick, unresisting lay, and gone into the forest to bring her out. None of those who went in with the intention of harming the girl came out alive. They would be found on the edge of the forest some days later, throat slit or windpipe crushed, small bloody handprints on their bodies.

The idea of it was rather shocking to Arthur. His life had been touched by death from the very start, but he had never killed a man. The sight of Knights wounded from tournaments rather turned his stomach, with the blood and gore. Not that he would ever admit that of course. But it was definitely part of the reason he trains so hard. He wasn't sure he could deal with his own blood spilling hot and red over the sands of the arena. They didn't stay long in the village at the edge of the woods. They had business to attend to. Arthur, for one, was glad to be far away from the strange wild children. He was even gladder when they returned to Camelot by a different road, and avoided the forest altogether.

Over the next few years though, as Arthur grew from Squire towards Knighthood, the memory of the gaunt faced feral boy haunted his dreams. Sometimes, he would dream of walking the forests closer to Camelot, bow in hand, and the wild boy would walk silently at his side, that long bone knife in his bloodstained hands, hair falling in silken waves about his shoulders. Other times they would face one another in a clearing in the woods, both stripped to the waist, blooded from one another's blades. The dreams where he fought the wild boy always made Arthur jerk awake in a cold sweat, heart pounding, knowing in his heart that something was wrong but not knowing quite what.

Part Two: The Hunter

Comments

[busarewski.livejournal.com]

very intriguing, looking forward to more =)

[wrennette]

thanks - i actually have the next two parts mapped out, which is not something i usually do when i'm working on a series, so we'll see how it turns out.