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Entry tags:
Merlin; Merlin/Arthur
Title: The Green Man: The Hunter (2/?)
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur x Merlin
Rating: R
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?
Arthur and Merlin meet again.
Part 1: The Wild Boy
Part 2:
Last Time:
Despite his dreams, Arthur did not return to the forest until he was seventeen. His Knighthood was nearly upon him, and his father sent him on errands that usually an older Knight would have taken. Arthur knew that these missions were tests of a sort, his father's way of determining if he were man enough to take the mantle of Knighthood. He was never quite certain if he had passed or not, Uther as closed to him as the Queen's chambers. So he slowly entered the forest, remembering the slender boy with the antler blade, wondering how one survived in such a fashion.
So preoccupied with his thoughts was Arthur that he did not note the unnatural stillness of the forest. He did not hear the suspicious rustling in the underbrush until his horse began to shy under him, and then it was too late. The club connected solidly with the side of his royal skull, sending him slumping into unconsciousness and off his mount. The forest was still and silent but for the shadowy curve in the road, and the bandits knew their trade well. They deftly slipped jewels and coins from the Prince's person.
Arthur woke to crashing motion all around him, his head swimming. His spotted vision cleared slowly, but that did not help him understand what he saw. Dead men lay all around him, blood oozing from slit throats and stab wounds. He tried to rise, but his head would not let him, and so he slumped forward, trying to clear his vision once more. A strangling noise behind him caught his attention, and he turned in time to see one of the brigands collapse to his knees, hands scrabbling futilely at the garrote around his throat. Behind him stood the wild boy, older now, and more lethal than ever.
The wild boy's hair was longer than Arthur remembered, but just as raven dark and burr tangled. He wore necklaces made out of rat and bird skulls strung on sinews. A hide kilt was slung low around slender hips, a wide leather belt holding it up. The belt, Arthur was certain, had been stolen from some dead man. Skins and rags protected the wild boys feet, lower legs, and forearms, but still the stranger was more naked than not. His skin was pale golden, shoulders and arms burned darker with sun. Blood was spattered across the wild boys face and chest, and Arthur had thought he looked deadly from the start, but the blood only added to that.
"I mean you no harm," Arthur said hurriedly, scrambling back towards the fire, hands aching for a weapon. The boy cocked his head to the side, a rather inhuman motion, and Arthur stilled. "I mean you no harm, I swear," he promised again, and the wild boy slowly approached, stepping more fully into the fire light. He was still slender, every rib showing, every joint pointed beneath his skin. But hard living had carved sinewy muscles under his skin as well, and Arthur knew the wild boy had the strength to strangle a grown man with his bare hands.
"I know you," the wild boy said haltingly, coiling the garrote around his wrist, then crouching, wiping his bloody hands in the trampled grass.
"You speak?" Arthur gasped, a bit amazed, and the boy nodded.
"I learn," the boy said haltingly. "I knew before, but I learn more, when the men come to the forest." Arthur nodded, glancing once more around them, at the bodies in the clearing.
"These men?" he asked, and the wild boy nodded.
"They steal you," the boy said. "They steal my sister. She fight, kill them, but them too many. They hurt her. Kill her. Now I kill them." It made sense, in simple animal logic, and Arthur almost pitied the bastards.
"Are there any others?" Arthur asked, again making to rise. The wild boy shook his head to the negative, then reached out, flattened his filthy palm against Arthur's chest and pressed him back to the forest floor.
"You hurt," the boy said. "Stay." Arthur would have protested, but he felt weak as a day old kitten, and his head was still swimming nauseatingly. The wild boy disappeared into the shadows, simply melted into the nothingness beyond the ring of light. Arthur waited, and after a while, he drifted off.
Arthur woke to wide golden eyes staring at him across the fire. The forest was still all around them, but it was the stillness of night and sleep, not the unnatural stillness of ambush. Slowly Arthur's eyes adjusted, and he saw it was still night, and the golden orbs belonged to the wild boy, and were simply reflecting the firelight back at him. He heard the soft susurration of a cloth in a water vessel, and then a cool rag was swiping over his face. He gasped softly, and water trickled into his mouth, waking his thirst. Arthur reached up blindly, and his hands found soft smooth skin stretched over hard muscle. He felt gently, mapping the wild boy's invisible body with his hands, until he found an arm and traced it to a hand, and a carved wooden bowl.
He pulled the hand holding the bowl closer, and then the rough edge was pressed to his lips, and he drank eagerly, not caring if the water were clean or not. But the water tasted fresh and sweet, and the cool cloth disguised the shape of the wild boy's hand as it cradled his neck. Gasping, Arthur collapsed weakly, letting the strength of the wild boy support him to the mouldering forest floor. The wild boy pulled the bowl away, filled it again from a water skin, then crumpled some leaves between his fingers and added those. Arthur watched, transfixed, as the wild boy's eyes flared with golden firelight as he stirred in the leaves.
The boy's eyes met his, stormy grey to summer blue, as he offered the bowl again.
"To clear your head," the boy said, and his speech was smoother, surer than before. Arthur reached up with both hands, and again he wild boy cradled his head, helped him support the bowl. "Rest," the wild boy ordered, and Arthur could not resist the command. For a moment he was surprised at how very tired he was, but then he was slumping back to the forest floor, limbs limp with drugged sleep. The wild boy stood gracefully, eyes luminous in the fire-lit clearing. A soft call, and a massive buck slipped into the clearing. The boy rubbed at the stag's nose, then bent, shouldering the weight of his golden haired guest. He eased the Prince across the withers of the stag, then mounted and let the buck carry them out of the clearing.
Part Three: Jack of the Green
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur x Merlin
Rating: R
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?
Arthur and Merlin meet again.
Part 1: The Wild Boy
Part 2:
Last Time:
...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.
Despite his dreams, Arthur did not return to the forest until he was seventeen. His Knighthood was nearly upon him, and his father sent him on errands that usually an older Knight would have taken. Arthur knew that these missions were tests of a sort, his father's way of determining if he were man enough to take the mantle of Knighthood. He was never quite certain if he had passed or not, Uther as closed to him as the Queen's chambers. So he slowly entered the forest, remembering the slender boy with the antler blade, wondering how one survived in such a fashion.
So preoccupied with his thoughts was Arthur that he did not note the unnatural stillness of the forest. He did not hear the suspicious rustling in the underbrush until his horse began to shy under him, and then it was too late. The club connected solidly with the side of his royal skull, sending him slumping into unconsciousness and off his mount. The forest was still and silent but for the shadowy curve in the road, and the bandits knew their trade well. They deftly slipped jewels and coins from the Prince's person.
Arthur woke to crashing motion all around him, his head swimming. His spotted vision cleared slowly, but that did not help him understand what he saw. Dead men lay all around him, blood oozing from slit throats and stab wounds. He tried to rise, but his head would not let him, and so he slumped forward, trying to clear his vision once more. A strangling noise behind him caught his attention, and he turned in time to see one of the brigands collapse to his knees, hands scrabbling futilely at the garrote around his throat. Behind him stood the wild boy, older now, and more lethal than ever.
The wild boy's hair was longer than Arthur remembered, but just as raven dark and burr tangled. He wore necklaces made out of rat and bird skulls strung on sinews. A hide kilt was slung low around slender hips, a wide leather belt holding it up. The belt, Arthur was certain, had been stolen from some dead man. Skins and rags protected the wild boys feet, lower legs, and forearms, but still the stranger was more naked than not. His skin was pale golden, shoulders and arms burned darker with sun. Blood was spattered across the wild boys face and chest, and Arthur had thought he looked deadly from the start, but the blood only added to that.
"I mean you no harm," Arthur said hurriedly, scrambling back towards the fire, hands aching for a weapon. The boy cocked his head to the side, a rather inhuman motion, and Arthur stilled. "I mean you no harm, I swear," he promised again, and the wild boy slowly approached, stepping more fully into the fire light. He was still slender, every rib showing, every joint pointed beneath his skin. But hard living had carved sinewy muscles under his skin as well, and Arthur knew the wild boy had the strength to strangle a grown man with his bare hands.
"I know you," the wild boy said haltingly, coiling the garrote around his wrist, then crouching, wiping his bloody hands in the trampled grass.
"You speak?" Arthur gasped, a bit amazed, and the boy nodded.
"I learn," the boy said haltingly. "I knew before, but I learn more, when the men come to the forest." Arthur nodded, glancing once more around them, at the bodies in the clearing.
"These men?" he asked, and the wild boy nodded.
"They steal you," the boy said. "They steal my sister. She fight, kill them, but them too many. They hurt her. Kill her. Now I kill them." It made sense, in simple animal logic, and Arthur almost pitied the bastards.
"Are there any others?" Arthur asked, again making to rise. The wild boy shook his head to the negative, then reached out, flattened his filthy palm against Arthur's chest and pressed him back to the forest floor.
"You hurt," the boy said. "Stay." Arthur would have protested, but he felt weak as a day old kitten, and his head was still swimming nauseatingly. The wild boy disappeared into the shadows, simply melted into the nothingness beyond the ring of light. Arthur waited, and after a while, he drifted off.
Arthur woke to wide golden eyes staring at him across the fire. The forest was still all around them, but it was the stillness of night and sleep, not the unnatural stillness of ambush. Slowly Arthur's eyes adjusted, and he saw it was still night, and the golden orbs belonged to the wild boy, and were simply reflecting the firelight back at him. He heard the soft susurration of a cloth in a water vessel, and then a cool rag was swiping over his face. He gasped softly, and water trickled into his mouth, waking his thirst. Arthur reached up blindly, and his hands found soft smooth skin stretched over hard muscle. He felt gently, mapping the wild boy's invisible body with his hands, until he found an arm and traced it to a hand, and a carved wooden bowl.
He pulled the hand holding the bowl closer, and then the rough edge was pressed to his lips, and he drank eagerly, not caring if the water were clean or not. But the water tasted fresh and sweet, and the cool cloth disguised the shape of the wild boy's hand as it cradled his neck. Gasping, Arthur collapsed weakly, letting the strength of the wild boy support him to the mouldering forest floor. The wild boy pulled the bowl away, filled it again from a water skin, then crumpled some leaves between his fingers and added those. Arthur watched, transfixed, as the wild boy's eyes flared with golden firelight as he stirred in the leaves.
The boy's eyes met his, stormy grey to summer blue, as he offered the bowl again.
"To clear your head," the boy said, and his speech was smoother, surer than before. Arthur reached up with both hands, and again he wild boy cradled his head, helped him support the bowl. "Rest," the wild boy ordered, and Arthur could not resist the command. For a moment he was surprised at how very tired he was, but then he was slumping back to the forest floor, limbs limp with drugged sleep. The wild boy stood gracefully, eyes luminous in the fire-lit clearing. A soft call, and a massive buck slipped into the clearing. The boy rubbed at the stag's nose, then bent, shouldering the weight of his golden haired guest. He eased the Prince across the withers of the stag, then mounted and let the buck carry them out of the clearing.
Part Three: Jack of the Green