by GR Griffin
“Something wrong?” the druid enquired, titling his head in confusion at Arthur’s behaviour.
Resignedly, Arthur turned away after having detected nothing but sincerity and genuine joy in the druid’s composure. Without words, he stumbled forwards, calling Merlin to his side rather pompously. Raising his eyebrows, Merlin steered Arthur in the right direction, scolding him for his tone.
“You can’t just summon me like that, I’m not your manservant.” Merlin chided with a click of his tongue, his tone far more playful than Arthur had ever heard it. He assumed it was just because Merlin seemed to be unusually perky in the mornings.
“No,” Arthur mused, eye glinting mischievously. “But if you were, I’d imagine you’d be the worst servant known to mankind.”
“That’s of course, assuming you’d be the imbecilic, royal pratface then?” Merlin replied with a grin, diving out of reach of Arthur’s hands.
How either of them were going to manage a whole day alone together, it was honestly beyond him.
♦☼♦
The Mountains of Ghedent were truly spectacular, more grand and magnificent than they had been flying over Albion. Right now, Merlin had teleported them into to a smaller mountainous region, where the imposing giants that Arthur was sure was home to many great legends and heroic tales painted the horizon. Gaping, he studied the vast peaks escalating into the sky endlessly. Even some of the clouds were enshrouded around their bodies, their structures tremendously big. This modest region they were standing on however, consisted of a handful of Fault-block Mountains; giant rocky faces with a majority of their skin consumed in vegetation. It appeared the altitude of these mountains was not able to welcome the conditions needed for snow. Despite the mountains seeming less inferior, Arthur couldn’t help but feel like this region had a particularly deceitful undertone. Whatever it was, he couldn’t put his finger on. But he didn’t like it.
“Where exactly are we?” He asked, uncomfortable with the idea of walking along the explicitly narrow pathway on the edge of the mountainside. Merlin walked with ease, oblivious to the fact that if he slipped he’d probably die. He must have been here before, he seemed too comfortable with the treacherous environment, Arthur deduced.
Turning his head back to a motionless Arthur, clearly too stunned by their current location to move, Merlin shot him a blinding grin.
“This is Mánhús.” He supplied enigmatically, gesturing for Arthur to walk forwards with his hand.
Breathing deeply, the blonde hesitantly stumbled towards Merlin. One hand clung onto the rock behind him, the other blindly wavering in front of him, as if it would help him maintain his balance. He ignored Merlin’s evident amusement. This definitely wasn’t funny. Parts of the soil were crumbling off and falling down into the abyss of the forest beneath his feet! Eventually reaching the safe-haven of secure ground, which admittedly had absolutely nothing to do with Merlin, Arthur breathed a sigh. They stood on a plateau of the mountain, exquisitely carved – by either nature or man it was unclear which. Judging by the calculated archway leading towards another narrow passage, Arthur assumed the druids had reinforced this structure.
Quickly, he regained composure, posture straight, eyes alert. Merlin smiled knowingly at him.
“What exactly does M…Mahnhushe-“
“Mánhús-” Merlin interjected.
“-mean?”
He met Arthur’s eyes playfully, smile widening to the degree where it almost looked a little sinister. Dispelling that gruesome expression from his mind, Arthur averted his vision, assured he was not going to be getting a response. For now, Merlin seemed content in leaving him in the dark with all of this. Whether that was a good thing or not, he didn’t know. But one thing he did know: Merlin was becoming increasingly annoying with his blatant overdramatic bliss, almost indulging in his own private joke. Merlin paced forwards, through the thin archway.
“So how are you feeling?” Arthur followed him through the archway, noticing the engravings in the walls, ancient symbols of some kind. “First lesson and all, nervous?”
Merlin’s tone sounded challenging. Foolishly Arthur rose to the teasing.
“Nope. I can do anything you throw my way.” The blonde boasted, parading forwards with a pronounced arrogance.
“Still playing the part of the stupid prat then?”
“Yes,” Arthur snorted sarcastically. “Just as you are playing the part of the idiot.”
He’d been too engrossed to notice the change in atmosphere. Merlin came to a halt by the end of the narrow pathway; a hushed laugh escaped his lips. From in front of Merlin, cascading droplets of water that trickled over the archway obstructed the view. Though that didn’t muffle the peculiar noises coming from ahead; the rustling, the evident fact that something was there. Satisfied, Merlin leant towards Arthur.
“Now we’re here, why don’t we get started? You hear that?”
The words were right on cue. Swallowing-hard, Arthur nodded because yes, he did hear the strident roar blasting through his ears. It was quickly followed by a couple more. The roar sounded ominous, that was for sure. Certain his student had heard it, Merlin continued – his blinding happiness morphing into smugness.
“That’s the sound of a Wyvern nesting ground.”
“What’s a Wyvern?” Arthur swiftly responded, not liking the direction of this conversation one bit.
Narrowing his eyes, a wry smirk plastered on his face, Merlin tugged Arthur forwards.
“Why don’t we go and see-?”
“I don’t think I want to-”
“-Too late!” with that Merlin pushed them both through the mini waterfall.
Eyes wide, Arthur studied the sight ahead. The Wyverns looked like some kind of relative to a Dragon. They have reptilian features, but also features of mythological origin. They were each the size of a horse alone, four legged with pronounced hind legs. Their scaly skin varied in colour. From what Arthur could see it was many shades of grey, possibly even fifty. Sprouting from its face were prominent horns. Some of these Wyverns had horns that coiled and curled complexly, whilst others were seemingly fresh stubs on their heads. They were fully equipped with defensive and offensive claws; their jaws were littered with teeth. There must have been about a hundred of them, nestling around the large plateau.
“They don’t look friendly.” He stated bluntly, watching a pair fight each other.
“They’re not.” Merlin admitted, false anxiety lacing his voice. “In fact, if you don’t know how to deal with them properly, you could end up with a nasty injury,” picking his fingernails casually, Merlin paused. “or worse.”
“How do you deal with them?” Arthur hissed, more and more afraid they would be spotted in the corner and attacked.
“I thought you said my lessons were going to be easy and that you could do anything I threw your way?” picking up on the mischievous tone embedded in the voice, Arthur came to a realisation of what exactly this lesson was.
Embarrassment flushed over his body. Merlin was sly, and he had tricked him. He’d brought him all the way out here just to make an example and prove a wretched point, teach him a lesson! Leaning against the wall, Merlin deviously tilted his head towards the nesting grounds, enjoying the look of astonishment on Arthur’s face. He’d clearly guessed his game finally, but that didn’t mean he had to stop playing for a few more minutes.
“You have made it clear that you are exceptionally knowledgeable in everything to do with Albion,” shrugging the druid met the man’s eyes. “What do you need my guidance for? Go and figure it out for yourself.”
Uncertain, and increasingly uncomfortable with the situation, especially Merlin’s newfound authority, Arthur frowned.
“No.”
Blinking in surprise, Merlin pushed himself off the stone, cocking his head to one side.
“…No?”
“I’m sorry.” Arthur spat out before he could stop himself, adrenaline and embarrassment grasping him by the shoulders.
Merlin folded his arms across his chest, sending the man a pointed look. Arthur sighed laboriously, ploughing a hand through his hair, chucking his eyes to the ground rapidly. This was all so embarrassing. Thank god nobody else was around to witness this- especially Morgana. Nonetheless, he found as he started to speak, sincerity crawled into his voice.
“It was…rude of me to insult you and suggest that you were a bad teacher.”
For a moment, Merlin observed the young Pendragon silently, eyes studying the genuine discomfiture on that handsome face. Bringing his eyes slowly to those alluring blue eyes, Merlin gazed into them. Silence hovered around the pair, and Arthur felt himself feeling ridiculously self-conscious underneath the gaze of this druid. He’d apologised, that’s what Merlin had wanted- right? Then why on earth was he still looking at him like that? This surprising layer of Arthur Pendragon was intriguing, and sent an unfamiliar warmth through Merlin’s skin. Perhaps there was some truth to the Crystals after all.
Abruptly, Merlin’s eyes crinkled at the corners, a fresh smile on his face. He outstretched his hand. Reluctantly, Arthur reached for the hand, unsure what exactly this gesture signified between them. They shook quickly and efficiently claimed back their hands, acting as if such a proclamation of something close to friendship had never happened.
“How about we start at lesson one?” Merlin asked, steering the pair of them out of the Wyvern nest quietly.
“I’d like that.” Arthur replied earnestly, trying to hide the smile creeping over his face.
The pair walked in silence for a few minutes, strangely content with each other’s company. Unable to sustain this, because this wasn’t how Arthur functioned- and Merlin was somehow irresistibly easy to argue with, the blonde broke it.
“You never told me what Mánhús meant, Merlin.”
Choking back a laugh, Merlin turned to Arthur with a broad grin accentuating his cheekbones. His next words were rewarded by a deadpan look, and then Arthur’s attempt to grab the agile druid. That’s how the pair of them ended up running – to be more specific: Arthur chasing Merlin - childishly through the forests of Albion. Beacause apparently, Mánhús meant:
“Place of wicked hell.”
Chapter 18
To say Arthur might have broken the rules of his agreement to stay in Ealdor would have been an understatement. Here he was, waltzing through the forest with Lancelot and Gwaine by his side, leading them to the Ealdor clan. Well, it had mainly been Gwaine’s idea. Leon, who was desperate to come along, was mortified to discover he was no longer permitted. Uther had reassigned Leon to a higher position in the project, meaning the majority of his time was spent in the base. What exactly this new position was, Arthur and his friends didn’t know. It made him uneasy, knowing his father was making other secret plans around the Albion Project. It made him think about how much he actually knew.
The forest was shrouded with morning mist, refreshing and cool against their faces. Gwaine was refusing to shut-up, clearly excited about visiting the clan. It had been a week since Arthur had completed the quest with Merlin. The Trident of the Fisher King now stood valiantly at the top of the plateau where Balinor, Hunith and Merlin stood in the druid meetings. The Elders were surprised by his swift return. Neither Merlin or Arthur revealed the depth of the danger they had faced; hypothermia, Manticore, crumbling towers, the Orthena. It was their private adventure. But Merlin had been…cryptically silent since. That much was clear. Arthur wasn’t sure how to ask Merlin what or if anything had happened in the abandoned castle that was troubling him. They weren’t exactly close enough to have sentimental conversations.
Flinging one of the large fern branches from his face, Arthur cast a glance towards Gwaine and Lancelot. The pair smiled back at him, Gwaine still talking more to himself than to the others because Lance and Arthur had stopped listening to the rambling by now. They came to the clearing, the tip of the ancient forest, covered by the arms of the trees. Lancelot widened his eyes in astonishment, Gwaine stopped talking, mouth open. Arthur grinned at their expressions and pushed forwards into Ealdor. The pair of them followed hesitantly, eyes gazing around the expanse of land. Trying to drink in all the surroundings was overwhelming. The clan was peaceful, a safe-haven. And there, a little higher up in the near distance – the…
“The Crystal Cave!” Lancelot breathed, taking out his flashy phone. He took a photo eagerly, shooting Gwaine a smile. “Leon is going to be so jealous.”
Inhaling a fresh breath of Ealden air, Arthur chuckled to himself at the prospect. Viewing the Crystal Cave via a picture sent by Lancelot’s phone was not going to go down well with Leon at all. He would no doubt become restless, demanding to know every explicit detail of the cave, and of the druid people also. Morgana would be the one subjected to listen to his lectures of course.
Now Arthur knew technically he had just violated one of the rules set by Balinor, brining two new people back to the clan. But that didn’t matter too much right? Things seemed to be pretty relaxed around here…the people had been far more pleasant to him recently than at first. It had only been two weeks and already many were trying to start conversation with him. All but one of course. Speak of the devil, the infuriated Will strode over menacingly, causing a scene.
“You can’t just bring people here!” he exclaimed in horror, eyeing up Lancelot and Gwaine viciously. Lance quickly put his phone away, in case it was viewed as some kind of hostile weapon. “Who do you think you are?! You’re not one of us, you can’t just do whatever you damn-well please.”
Raising his eyebrows, Gwaine smirked.
“Well aren’t you a bundle of fun and joy.”
It took every single ounce of concentration within him not to laugh or grin at Gwaine’s flippant comment. Instead, Arthur remained silent, glowering back at Will. The idiot’s dramatic shouting had drawn far more attention towards them. In fact, Arthur swallowed-hard, Balinor was walking towards him this very moment. He didn’t look happy. Shit! Perhaps this was a bad idea after all. Shuffling in his place awkwardly, Arthur met Balinor’s stern gaze.
“We made it clear to you that no-one should follow you here.” He cast his eyes towards the two strangers. “And yet you disobey our negotiation which allows you to stay.”
At these words the druids hovering around called out in agreement, poking and jibing the newcomers fearfully. Arthur was dumbfounded into silence, unsure what exactly to say. He had gotten himself into this situation; his father would kill him if he was chucked out of Ealdor now. That would be the end of everything they’d worked for. He spotted a mound of black hair pushing through the crowd and sighed in relief. Merlin pushed his way to the front, exchanging glances between Arthur, Balinor and Will.
“What’s going on?” he asked, voice severe.
“Hey John Smith,” a handsome, familiar rugged face called out. “Got any more hilarious names for Arthur?”
It took Merlin a few moments to process the voice. Gazing into those eyes glinting with unabashed mischief, Merlin burst into a fond laugh, surprising all around him. Walking towards the man, he grinned and caught him in a hug.
“Gwaine!” he said aloud, recalling the man’s name.
“Good to see you too.” Gwaine replied.
Personally, Arthur thought these two were not well enough acquainted for hugging and laughing and joking around together. Gwaine hardly knew Merlin. He’d met him once, in an elevator, for ten minutes. Not to mention that was many months ago now. Gruffly, Arthur folded his arms over his chest, glowering at their embrace, which had endured for too long. Lancelot glanced coyly over to Arthur, earning his very own glower. Releasing Gwaine, Merlin’s features lit up. He turned to his father and Arthur wished that he could evoke such natural glee from the druid. Obviously confused, Balinor studied his son’s relaxed composure.
“You know these men?”
Nodding, Merlin outstretched a hand warmly towards the two strangers. He’d never met the tanned, handsome man but if he was a
friend of Gwaine and Arthur, surely he was to be trusted.
“Yes. They helped me escape Camelot when I went to find Gaius.” A few gasps sounded from all around and Balinor’s concerned expression faltered slightly. Yes, this was a blatant lie. They hadn’t helped him escape; he’d met them in an elevator.
“They’re trust-worthy. And has Arthur not proven himself pure of heart?” sending Arthur a gentle smile, Merlin continued.
“He has not led anyone of bad intention to this place.”
There was a curious silence lingering around the crowd. Balinor, deeply confused and anxious, studied his son’s face carefully. Will was standing opposite Merlin, face burning crimson, fists clenched. For good measure, Merlin added some more reassuring words.
“If you don’t trust them, trust me.”
Those words seemed to pacify his motionless father.
“I give these two men permission to stay in Ealdor.”
Releasing the breath he had held in, Arthur broke into a smile. Turning to Lancelot and Gwaine happily he observed their excited faces. When he met Merlin’s eyes, suddenly dark and full of something, Arthur realised he should probably stick to propriety with some things. Smile fading, he bowed his head towards Balinor.
“Thank you Balinor.” He said in a low voice.
Balinor said nothing. He glanced over to Merlin once more before dismissing the crowd and walking back towards the plateau. The moment he left, all four of the men burst into broad smiles. Merlin turned to Gwaine and the stranger amiably.
“Sorry about that.” Merlin said, a little giddy.
He hadn’t met this many new people since childhood- apart from the arrival of Gwenevere of course. It wasn’t customary to visit other clans unless major events occurred. Each druid clan was a tight network, everybody knew everybody. The thought of having some new faces around, new people with different believes- different thoughts- was fascinating, exciting. Merlin knew he probably shouldn’t be this ecstatic about it, but he was and he couldn’t hide it either.