Arthur was rather rudely awoken to the loud sound of his breakfast tray clattering on the table, the object of his dreams apparently in no mood to be gentle. Briefly, the prince wondered if she should be working, considering her sudden illness the night before. Arthur himself had carried her to her chambers, allowing the feast to continue in his wake. He wasn't very hungry anyway. But he was neither brave nor stupid enough to argue with his servant, and besides, he enjoyed her company.
"Merlyn!" he moaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He turned to face her, but she had her back to him, jerking open the curtains to allow the morning light to temporarily blind him.
"Merlyn!" he shouted again, thoroughly annoyed. She wasn't being herself today. He held a pillow over his head, relying on the comfort of darkness. His brief respite was interrupted, however, by a strange banging sound reverberating through his room.
"Merlyn!" he cried once again, unable to fathom what she could possibly be doing.
"That's not me." she replied. Arthur lifted his pillow away from his face, hoping that whomever was being so loud would just leave him be.
Naturally, that was never going to happen.
"Excuse me, sire." Sir Leon burst through the doors, his expression grave. The prince sighed, throwing his pillow off the bed and sat up, trying to maintain a certain regal appearance despite his undressed state.
"You're needed in the council chambers as a matter of urgency." the knight reported, worry lacing his tone.
Arthur closed his eyes for a brief moment, realising the relative peace of the past years had finally come to an end. He could only hope that another immortal army wasn't on the horizon: they were far too much trouble to contend.
~
The prince couldn't say he was surprised to see the number of knights gathered in the council chambers, a lone woman, a peasant judging by her clothing, sobbing in the closed circle of men. Gaius was there, comforting her, though he didn't seem to be having much luck. Agravaine walked solemnly towards him, his serious frown doing nothing to placate Arthur's nerves.
"What's happened to her?"
"Her village was attacked." his uncle reported, shuffling back towards the girl.
That was odd. There hadn't been any major attacks on any of the outlying villages since Morgana disappeared. Yes, a few bandits had slaughtered some errant cattle, but none had dared to truly defy a kingdom which had defeated an immortal army. It would, in theory, be suicide.
"By who?" he inquired, wondering if his beloved sister had stooped to destroying the lives of innocents in the hope of creating unrest amongst his people. It hurt him, sometimes, to realise how much she'd changed. She wasn't the Morgana he knew, not anymore.
Agravaine shrugged, mystified. "It's not entirely clear, sire."
Arthur nodded absentmindedly, slowly approaching the sobbing girl. Her head was bowed, her clothes ragged, but when she slowly lifted her head, there was something so very fearful in her eyes. She had seen something terrible. He had seen enough of war to be sure of that.
"What's your name?" the prince asked, looking kindly down upon the poor girl. He bent his knees, crouching to her height, hoping he appeared a little less threatening.
"Drea." she answered timidly, clearly overwhelmed by the sudden attention. Her gaze flitted across the faces of his men, their imposing, red cloaks doing nothing to calm her anxious fidgeting.
"Drea, I'm Arthur. Don't be frightened." he murmured calmly, watching as the girl's face crumbled, sobs wracking her thin frame. He wished that he didn't have to do this, but they needed to know what they were facing. "Tell me what happened."
When she met his gaze, Arthur couldn't help but compare her to a wounded deer, her sad eyes staring at him unblinkingly.
"My mother, my father, my little sister, they're..."
"It's all right." the prince whispered, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It's all right. Someone attacked them."
Drea nodded, her gaze falling to the floor, tears running down her flushed cheeks.
"Who?"
"There was no one. Just... shapes." she explained, her breath quickening, as if she were recalling something so very terrifying. But then, Arthur supposed, to a village girl, any sort of warrior would be a threat, no matter their skills.
"You didn't see their faces?" he asked, realising that this may be a little more tricky than he'd first thought. If Drea couldn't identify her attackers, there was little chance of his knights catching them.
But the girl shook her head frantically, squeezing her eyes shut, seeming to relive some terrible memory. "They had no faces. I-I keep telling you. They were there, but... they weren't there. They moved so quickly. It was as if they weren't real, but... they must have been. I-I could hear the people screaming... and then... silence. They were all... dead."
Drea began to cry again, hiding her face in her hands. Arthur took her by the shoulders, hoping his gentle touch would soothe her.
"Hey, thank you." he whispered, pushing her into Gaius' awaiting arms. He would be best suited to deal with her trauma.
Arthur turned back to his uncle, trying to make sense of what he'd heard. "Where is this village?"
"Howden. It's to the east of the White Mountains. No more than half a day's hard ride."
"Ready the men." the regent ordered realising that, if he was to understand what Drea was describing, he would have to see it himself.
~
Arthur had taken his best knights, alongside Merlyn, of course, on the excursion to Howden, racing amongst the trees towards the village. The servant lagged behind them, the whispers of the Cailleach still crawling under her skin. She shivered, on edge, spooked by every sudden movement. Something was so very wrong with the world, a ghostly murmur of broken magic, a tear in the very fabric of reality. It felt as if there had been a shift in her very destiny, in her soul.
In the distance, she could hear what sounded like a woodpecker, the sudden noise startling her in her unnerved state. She gasped, trying to pull herself together. It may have been a while since she'd faced a major threat, but that was no excuse for her sudden jumpiness.
"Merlyn, do you need your comfort blanket?" Arthur sneered, evidently oblivious to the complete wrongness of the world.
She grimaced, in no mood for such jests. "What do you mean?"
"You're making me edgy." the prince stated, glancing at her worriedly.
Merlyn was about to reply when a sudden movement caught her eye. She turned, only to see Lancelot's horse whinny, shaking its head with pompous displeasure. Why the knight had been chosen for this mission, the servant didn't know. He was meant to be spending his time with Gwen, not risking his life.
"That's a horse." Arthur sighed.
Merlyn looked out into the trees, a sense of foreboding settling in the pit of her stomach. "Maybe it sensed something."
"Yes, that you're a clotpole." the prince smirked, annoyingly triumphant.
Merlyn scowled. "That's my word."
"Yeah, and it suits you perfectly."
Merlyn had nothing to say to that, listening to the loud squawk of birds echoing in the distance.
~
Arthur looked out at the village just below the lip of the valley, smoke streaming from the nearby houses, a cold gloom settling over the land. Silence reigned, as if all sound had been sucked from the landscape, a cloak of shadows feeding on unnerving fate. The prince didn't know what to make of it. Death was barely tangible in the air.
"It's too quiet." he muttered to himself, dismounting from his horse. Their was a certain wrongness surrounding the village; he didn't want to put the animals in any unnecessary risk.
His knights followed him, approaching the village with weary disquiet. It seemed deserted, like everyone had simply disappeared, vanished by the cool air. Washing hung from lines, the wind blowing the dried fabric, whistling through the cracked buildings, a domestic omen.
They continued down the pathway, looking out for any sort of movement. A squeaking wheel from an overturned cart caught Arthur's eye, its ghostly presence doing nothing to calm his beating heart. He felt as if there had been a shift in the fabric of reality, as if this was a remnant of some forgotten suffering.
A door creaked loudly, almost stopping his frozen heart. His eyes fell on the culprit, the wood moving out of time with the wind. He held his breath, clutching his sword tightly, but before he moved towards it, a goat appeared, bleating as it wriggled through the gap between the door and the wall, the first sign of life in this deserted slice of hell. Arthur breathed again, beckoning for his men to explore the village, unable to speak. It seemed wrong to do so, to break the spell of silence tingling through his mind.
A loud crunch stopped him. He turned, raising his sword once again, only to see that it was Gwaine, eating one of the apples abandoned in the middle of the road. The prince glared at him, shaken at how easily frightened he had become. Clearly it wasn't just Merlyn who could see foes where there were only ghosts, monsters where there were friends.
"Sorry." Gwaine said through a mouthful of apple, looking rather sheepish. Arthur watched as his men simply shook their heads, faintly amused. There was no point in scolding him, not when there appeared to be no immediate danger.
"Here!" Elyan called, tearing Arthur from his mirth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gwaine drop his apple, Merlyn and his men hurrying towards the sound of Elyan's voice. They made it to one of the huts, where his knight was leaning over a body. Elyan stood, giving Arthur a better view.
It was a man, maybe a village elder, his eyes open, staring lifelessly up at the ceiling. His mouth was open, as if he had died screaming, his skin so pale that it was almost translucent. Frost covered his face, weaving through his orange beard, almost as if he'd been frozen alive. Suddenly, Arthur could hear a faint shrieking, the sound of something otherworldly, dangerous.
He turned, looking back at nothing more than shadows. He didn't know what it was, but before he could register what he was seeing, it disappeared. If his knights hadn't been staring in the same place that he'd seen the ghostly thing, he would've believed he was imagining things.
"You saw it?" he questioned, trying to stop his fear from showing.
For a moment there was no reply, his men not quite able to believe their eyes. They had glimpsed something supernatural, maybe even terrible.
"We are literally chasing shadows." Gwaine murmured, chuckling nervously. This wasn't the kind of thing Arthur could hit with a sword. If whatever they'd seen had caused such death, there was nothing the prince could do to stop it.
"Come on." he mumbled, hating the way his voice trembled.
Darkness had fallen quickly, so Arthur ordered Merlyn to build a fire, using its flames to make torches as they continued to explore the village. The orange light seemed abstract, peculiar against the harsh chill of the homes, but the prince ignored it, savouring the little warmth he could muster before heading out into the night.
He could still hear the screaming, but this time, saw no wisp of strange mist, following Leon as they divided into smaller groups. Merlyn, he knew, was with Lancelot. He felt terrible for bringing the man on this mission, especially now, with his impending sense of doom, but he knew that he would keep his servant safe. Well, it wasn't like Merlyn couldn't take care of herself, but the knight's presence comforted him as he disappeared into the mystical gloom.
~
Merlyn hated the village with every fibre of her being. It was wrong. Cold. So very cold. Death a thick presence in the air. It was almost unfathomable how very wrong she felt, like even her magic wanted to escape, to hide away in the deepest recesses of the earth, to never touch any of this place ever again. It was wrong. So wrong. They needed to go.
And the screaming, almost constant now; she wasn't sure if it was still in her mind. It sounded like a thousand lost souls trapped in the darkness, pleading for a mercy that she wasn't ready to give. She'd lost Lancelot, but that didn't seem to matter now. She was running, but she didn't remember why. She stopped. The screaming stopped. Only the name of the wind fluttered past her ears; she knew she was so desperately alone.
"Léoht."
Light. She needed light. A ball of white lightning crackled in her hand, but it only last long enough for her to see her empty surroundings before it extinguished, leaving her alone and in the dark once more. Her breathing had quickened; she felt like she was going to be sick.
"Léoht."
No. No. Her magic had never failed her before, not so utterly. It was there, she could still feel it, but it refused her command, refused to touch the wrongness of the world around her.
"Léoht."
Nothing. She was really alone, without even magic to guide her. She drew her sword, Excalibur, unsure what it would do against something intangible.
And then she heard the shrieking, the sound of agonising torture. It was getting louder, as if it was closing in on her, a predator of unknown proportions.
She saw it before it got to her, shrill, a white, ghostly presence barrelling through the air.
"Flíeh nu on moras."
Her eyes glowed, she could feel it, but her magic still swirled just beyond her reach. Frozen with fear, she could do nothing but repeat her mutterings, praying that it would be enough.
"Merlyn!" Lancelot shouted, ripping her from her trance. He swiped his torch at the creature, vanquishing it from sight, its screams fading into the midnight air.
"What happened?" the knight asked, still staring at the spot where the creature had been.
"My magic.. I couldn't use it." Merlyn gasped, struck by utter terror. She felt like crying, but the tears wouldn't come.
She allowed herself one moment to drown in her cold see of panic before taking a deep breath, turning to the direction of the footsteps fast approaching them.
"There's something out there." Lancelot shouted towards the approaching knights, sounding almost composed.
"You saw it?" Arthur questioned, his eyes fixed on Merlyn.
"When it saw the light, it fled." Lancelot reported.
"Let's get the horses." Gwaine piped up, oblivious to the turmoil in Merlyn's heart.
"It's not something y-you can chase or something you can kill." she said hoarsely, her words punctuated by another chilling scream.
Arthur seemed to see something on her face that convinced him of her truth. "We need to get out of here."
Nobody argued.
~
When Merlyn returned to Camelot, she didn't know why she was surprised that everything was falling apart. Chaos burned through the town, a contrast to the cool air, the people panicking as they ran from shapeless monsters, some of them joining the dead in a restless slumber. She found Gwen fighting amongst the knights, carrying her torch as if it were a sword, but raced passed her, needing to find Gaius. He was in the great hall, surrounded by frozen bodies, with his back to the door.
"Gaius." she called quietly, doing her best not to shatter into fear. She could feel her magic, now, weak, but at least she could call upon it. Her powers had returned, at least, for now.
"Merlyn." the physician smiled thinly, but even that little happiness faded when he saw the look upon her face. "You saw them?"
She nodded, scanning the room, hating the number of bodies she saw there.
"Here, help me." Gaius beckoned. "Bring me some more sheets."
He walked away, but Merlyn stayed put, dwelling in her fears, shaken by how useless she'd been. If Lancelot hadn't been near her, she would be another one of these bodies, a frozen statue, a beacon of ruin.
"Merlyn?" he called, but the witch was too lost in her thoughts to register his voice.
"My magic is useless against them." she said, almost to herself. "I've tried. I have never felt so powerless. When it came for me, I felt this... emptiness. I couldn't breathe. I'm scared."
"Merlyn." Gaius sounded far more calm than the witch could even pretend to be. "It's all right. It's not your fault."
Wasn't it? Was it not she who pushed Morgana into the arms of Morgause? Was it not she who refused to help her when she felt so horribly alone? For someone who wasn't to blame, she couldn't help but feel that everything was her fault.
~
"We've suffered fifty dead, maybe more, mostly in the lower town." Agravaine reported, the numbers safe in Arthur's private chambers. Only the prince, his uncle, Gaius and Merlyn were privy to the conversation, Camelot's next steps to be decided by only those Arthur trusted completely.
"And there's no way of fighting them?" he questioned, hoping that, miraculously, perhaps the physician had found some enlightened method for destroying the creatures.
Agravaine shook his head grimly. "No. Our only weapons are torches. And the light doesn't kill them. It only repels them."
What brilliant news.
"What are they?"
"The Dorocha, sire. The spirits of the dead." Gaius replied, his omniscience impressive. The physician stepped into the middle of the room, resting wary eyes on the prince. "On Samhain's eve, in the time of the old religion, the high priestesses would perform a blood sacrifice and realease them."
"But who would do such a thing now?" Agravaine inquired, as if they all didn't already know the answer.
Gaius turned to him, obviously resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Even Arthur thought it was a stupid question. "Morgana. We know that she was travelling to the Isle of the Blessed."
The prince walked aimlessly around his room, restless. "How do we defeat these creatures?"
"I don't know, sire. No mortal has ever survived their touch."
How promising.
~
Merlyn felt her hands shaking as she lit the candles in Arthur's room, their little warmth doing nothing to help the constant chill that seemed to crawl up her spine. The screams od the Dorocha disturbed her work; as she turned towards the direction of the sound, she knocked a candle onto the floor, watching it skid towards the prince's curtain.
She glanced back at Arthur, who gave her a look of surprise, worry flickering through his eyes.
"I thought I saw something." she muttered, blowing out her match as she looked down at the fallen candle. It had only been a shadow, and the Dorocha had no reason to hide, but reason didn't seem to slow her heart.
"What was it, a spider?" Arthur questioned, looking back towards his paperwork. A gust of wind toyed with the curtains; it took a moment for Merlyn to notice the open window behind them. She stepped towards the candle, but stopped, her fear overriding any form of logic.
"Just pick it up." Arthur ordered from behind her, his footsteps hesitant as he strode to her side. Together, they stared at the candlestick, as if it were some magical artifact, a thing of wonder. "Do you want me to get one of the maids to do it? Or why don't I just ask the cook?"
Personally, Merlyn thought that in a battle between the cook and the Dorocha, the cook would win, but she didn't think that it was exactly the time to express such a sentiment.
"It's not a joke." Merlyn murmured, but didn't move forward to fetch the candlestick. Arthur seemed to sober himself up and, ever the knight in shining armour, marched forward, drawing his sword and pointing it at the curtain. He paused for a moment, before using his blade to swipe the curtain out of the way, revealing nothing but a brick wall.
Merlyn sighed in relief, so very glad to be proved wrong. Of course, this meant that Arthur had to gloat.
"You see, Merlyn, I could never be like you." he stated, bending down to fetch the candlestick and, in the process, giving the servant a good view of his lovely arse. He threw it in the air, catching it effortlessly; the servant realised that she'd like nothing better than to punch him in his smug face. "I could never let myself look so spineless."
"Oh, you see, I'm different. I could never let myself look heartless."
Arthur frowned. "What?"
"Well, all right, thoughtless." Merlyn shrugged, doing her best not to grin as the prince walked towards her.
"Never."
"Definitely humourless." Merlyn decided, barely managing to keep a straight face.
"That's because you're not funny." Arthur grinned, handing the candle back to his servant, his fingers lingering a little too long in contact with her skin.
Merlyn chuckled, but her mirth was cut short by the screams of the Dorocha. She and Arthur looked towards the window, wondering what poor soul had faced such a creature.
"You're not scared?" she asked, wondering if the prince would bother lying to her.
"Oh, I am, Merlyn." he turned to face her, his expression almost hollow. "Maybe more than you."
He made to move past her, but she grabbed his arm, kissing him on the cheek. "I love you. You know that, right?"
Arthur smiled warmly, looking intently into her eyes. "Of course I do."
~
Percival still felt a little out of place working alongside the knights rather than with the guards, used to being part of the furniture rather than someone worthy of an opinion. He wasn't the only one struggling with the change: he could see that both Elyan and Lancelot seemed troubled by their new status, although Gwaine seemed to take it in his stride. Then again, he'd always had a sort of noble aura about him. Maybe it was the hair.
Merlyn, at least, had helped guide him through his new duties. She'd become a good friend, though he could tell that she was a little disappointed of his hesitance when it came to magic. He had spent too long walking the corridors of Camelot; even a whisper of sorcery was enough to make his skin crawl. It wasn't that he disliked it, quite to the contrary, but he was used to having to hide his emotions, his notions; it seemed strange that Merlyn would talk about such things at all. He often saw her and Lancelot huddled in corners, conspiring together about whatever monster was most recently attacking Camelot. Part of him wanted to join them, but he was a coward, fearful of what might happen if they were caught.
One day, magic would be free, and he would be glad for it, but for now, he was content to wait.
He followed a group of knights, torch in hand, through the dusk, unnerved by the darkened streets. He glanced around the looming buildings, listening for anything remotely terrible, pausing when a faint whimpering replaced the whistling wind. He turned to a narrow pathway, using the light of his torch to see through the gloom, only to find a fearful child concealed behind a small barrel.
"Hey, hey, hey. Its all right." he said calmly, knowing it would do no good to show even an ounce of his own fear. "It's all right. You're safe now."
He slowly approached the small boy, peering around the barrel, only to find two more children huddled in the dark. In the distance, he could hear the faint scream of the Dorocha. He sighed. There was no way that he could leave them alone out here; he was a knight of Camelot after all.
He looked back at the street, but the other knights had already faded into the mist. He'd have to risk it.
Dropping his torch, Percival picked up the three children and ran for his life, sure that the nearest safe house couldn't be too far. He barely made it a few meters, however, before a dorocha came at him, its shrieks resounding through the fog. He flinched, turning to shield the children, when out of nowhere, a torch swung at the creature, dispersing it into the gloom. Percival grinned: he'd never been so glad to see Elyan's stupid face.
The pair of them ran to the nearest lit home, letting the children free to find their parents amongst the candles. They'd be safe there, at least until dawn.
"Thanks." Percival managed between heavy breaths, patting Elyan on the shoulder.
His fellow knight winced, but grinned up at him. "Couldn't let you have all the glory, could I?"
Percival chuckled, realising that, for all the power amonisity had brought him, this, being seen, being thanked, even loved, was so much better.
~
Arthur watched the steady stream of his people plodding through the gates to the city, their numbers increasing with every moment. In the light of day, they were jovial, laughter springing from the children, dancing around the courtyard with a wonder the prince had never truly felt. They seemed so free.
"They're coming from across the kingdom. They're looking to Camelot for protection." Gaius, who had helped him so much over the last two years, reported; Arthur knew that it wasn't in his heart to turn them away.
"And we'll give it to them." he assured the physician.
Agravaine frowned, as if the regent's declaration meant something other than housing those he'd sworn to protect. He may be a good advisor, but his uncle would be a terrible king.
"We cannot house them all!" he exclaimed, as if something so simple was utterly impossible. They could do it. Arthur was certain.
"We have to try." he murmured, expecting it to be the end of the matter.
But Agravaine was nothing if not persistent. "How? We cannot live like this forever, Arthur. We must find a way to vanquish these creatures."
He was right. They couldn't live in fear of the dark, not when there was such beauty in the moon and stars. Arthur had hoped and prayed and loved in the dark, had found comfort staring up at the inky sky, wishing on the heavens, entranced by ashen thunderstorms. No. His people wouldn't live like this forever. They couldn't.
"Somewhere in all your books, Gaius, there must be something. All I'm asking for is a way to fight them." he pleaded, sure that they weren't completely hopeless.
Gaius shuffled from foot to foot, his gaze shifting around the room. "I fear the Dorocha cannot be defeated by swords and arrows, sire. If I am right and the veil between the worlds is torn, then there's only one path open to us. We must travel to the Isle of the Blessed and repair it."
Arthur nodded, dreading the answer to his next question. "And how do I do that?"
"I'm not sure, but for the tear to be created, it would require a blood sacrifice. To seal it will require another." Gaius explained, his tone so very dire.
Arthur swallowed, trying to process what the physician was implying. A death was the cost, a single man to save a kingdom. There was no other choice.
"We ride before nightfall." he stated, gesturing for his small council to disperse, but each of them stayed in place, Merlyn silent as she leant back against the wall.
"And who will be the sacrifice?" Gaius inquired, but the prince was sure that he already knew the answer.
Arthur turned towards him, his mind at peace. "If laying down my life will spare the people of Camelot, then that is what I must do."