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merlin_holidaysTitle: Of Cabbages and Kings
Recipient:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rotrude
Author:riventhorn
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 17,200
Warnings: None
Summary: In which Merlin makes the mistake of tempting fate and finds himself in a fairytale world surrounded by monsters, witches, and one very annoying Pendragon.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to V for being a wonderful beta! Also to E for reading the first few pages and offering encouragement!
Disclaimer: The characters depicted herein belong to Shine and BBC. I make no profit from this endeavor.
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.’
-“Jabberwocky” by Lewis Carroll
Merlin peered into the rearview mirror, checking to make sure his cap was on straight, before climbing out of the limousine. Today could not possibly be as bad as yesterday. It simply couldn’t. He needed this job.
Things had started out deceptively smoothly the day before. He had rolled up to the Pendragons’ mansion a good ten minutes early, and when Arthur Pendragon had walked out the door—well, suffice it to say that Merlin’s enthusiasm for chauffeuring him around had increased markedly. Although really, Arthur couldn’t be more than nineteen—no older than Merlin—it was ridiculous that he had a limousine to drive him about town. But Merlin had kept these thoughts to himself. “I’m Merlin,” he had said brightly, holding out his hand.
Arthur’s gaze had traveled slowly from Merlin’s hand up to his face. “Is that some kind of joke?” he had demanded.
“Um, no,” Merlin had replied, lowering his hand. “Do you mean because your name is Arthur? I swear I really am called Merlin. It’s kind of a funny story, really, how my mum picked that name. You see—”
“Just shut up and open the door,” Arthur had snapped, and Merlin’s enthusiasm had plummeted once again.
Things didn’t improve. It turned out that he was supposed to have picked Arthur up a coffee, and when Arthur found out that he hadn’t, he spent two minutes berating Merlin before ordering him to stop and get one. Parking limousines was an absolute bitch. Then he got lost and had to ask Arthur for directions, which Arthur delivered in a sneering tone, accompanied by a variety of insults. And then Merlin had slammed too hard on the breaks, spilling the hard-won coffee all over Arthur’s trousers. Arthur had yelled at him, and Merlin finally had yelled back, calling Arthur, among other things, a prat, a dollop-head, and an entitled ass.
But today, things would be different. He had picked up the coffee—made precisely to Arthur’s exacting specifications. He had spent an hour studying maps last night, so he was sure not to get lost. And no matter what Arthur said, he would grit his teeth and smile. Providing Arthur didn’t tell him he was fired as soon as he walked out the door.
When Arthur appeared, he glanced at Merlin and grimaced, but didn’t say a word. Merlin offered a silent prayer of thanks, handed Arthur his coffee, and then slid into the driver’s seat. He checked the rearview mirror quite often as he pulled out of the driveway. Arthur might be an annoying git, but he was also quite fit, and the t-shirt he was wearing showed off his muscles. Arthur sipped his coffee, told Merlin it had too much sugar, and then unfolded a newspaper, holding it up in front of his face. Merlin sighed and turned his attention back to the road.
They were stuck in traffic, and Merlin was staring glumly out the window, wishing that he was still home in bed or having a leisurely breakfast—preferably waffles—or stepping into his favorite bookshop to browse the new releases—basically anywhere but behind the wheel of a limo stuffed in an uncomfortable uniform. The traffic suddenly opened up a bit, and Merlin pressed on the gas, and the next thing he knew, the cars and tall buildings had vanished, and the limo was hurtling through an open field, heading straight for a giant mushroom. A giant blue mushroom.
Merlin slammed on the brakes, and the limo skidded to a halt. There was an irritated noise from the backseat, but Arthur stayed buried in his newspaper.
Blinking, Merlin stared out at the mushroom. It must have been four feet tall and was indeed a garish blue color. Merlin pinched his arm—hard. The mushroom stayed put. He glanced out the side window. A few more mushrooms were scattered about in the grass of the meadow. A line of trees marked the beginnings of a forest. Merlin looked out the other window. More mushrooms and…was that a dragon sitting on one of them?
It was. Not a large dragon, but definitely a dragon. It had shiny green and gold scales that shimmered in the sunlight. As Merlin watched, it took out what appeared to be a pocket-watch, glanced at it, and then peered at the limo, tapping its claws impatiently.
“Where the hell are we?” Arthur suddenly demanded. He had put down the newspaper and was now glaring at Merlin.
“I—I don’t know,” Merlin replied, loosening his collar nervously.
“You don’t know,” Arthur repeated. “Do you mean to say you’ve gotten lost again?”
“No!” Merlin protested. “That is—I’m not quite sure what’s happened. One minute we were there, and then the next minute we were…here.” He waved a hand at the mushroom.
“That is a mushroom,” Arthur said slowly. “It is a blue mushroom.”
“Yes. There are a few more of them out that way. And there’s a dragon, sitting atop one.”
Arthur looked. “What the fuck was in that coffee you gave me?” he demanded, reaching forward and grabbing Merlin’s jacket.
“Nothing!” Merlin struggled out of his grip. “I didn’t do anything, I swear!” Well, he had been wishing he was somewhere else. And strange things had a way of happening around him. But—no. No, he couldn’t have done this.
Arthur was breathing heavily. He sat back and picked up his newspaper. “Then this is a dream,” he announced and stared determinedly at the op-ed column.
“It’s not a dream,” Merlin muttered. He looked at the dragon again. It was looking decidedly annoyed, and steam was rising from its nostrils. Merlin unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door. “I’m going to talk to the dragon,” he announced. Arthur did not reply.
The dragon regarded him silently as he approached. He stopped when there was still a fair distance between them, wondering anxiously about flames and the chances of being burned to a crisp. The dragon twitched its claws, beckoning him to come closer, and he hesitantly obeyed.
“Um, hello,” he said.
“Greetings, Merlin,” the dragon replied. It had a very thick accent that made it hard to understand. Merlin supposed it was a bit difficult trying to talk when you had a snout and fangs.
“You, uh, know my name then?”
“Oh, yes.” The dragon chuckled.
“Right.” Merlin swallowed hard. “And who are you?”
“I am an M. S. Harry,” the dragon said—at least, Merlin thought that was what it said; he really could hardly understand it.
“M. S. Harry?” he repeated, puzzled.
“Emissary!” the dragon hissed. “Emissary!” A tongue of flame licked out of its jaw.
“Oh!” Merlin jumped. “Right. Sorry.” He shuffled his feet nervously. “Whose emissary?”
“Cliodhna, the queen of this land, sent me, as she was unable to come herself.”
“Why?”
“Because she is trapped in a foul and evil enchantment,” the dragon replied.
“Who enchanted her?” Merlin glanced over his shoulder at the limo. Meeting a dragon was all well and good, but he wished it would hurry up its story. He really needed to figure out a way to get back to their world before Arthur fired him in a fit of pique.
“Anfauglir the Black—a most cunning and crafty sorcerer. Not only did he trap our queen, he also set loose a fearsome monster to trouble our land.”
“I’m sorry,” Merlin said. “Why did he do that?”
The dragon sighed heavily. “The politics of fairyland are quite intricate. If you really wish me to give you the details…”
“No, no, that’s all right,” Merlin said hastily.
“In any case, what matters is that you are here,” the dragon continued. “You must break the enchantment and free Queen Cliodhna.”
“Me?” Merlin shook his head. “Look, I’m very sorry, but—”
“Only our queen has the power to return you to your world,” the dragon said, cutting him off. “You must free her or you shall be trapped as well.”
“But I can’t!” Merlin protested. “I can’t break a spell! Don’t you have to be a sorcerer to do that?”
“Which is exactly what you are.”
“No. No, you’ve got the wrong person.” Merlin took a step backwards. “I’m not a sorcerer.”
The dragon gave him a very knowing look. “Is that so?”
Merlin thought of the many odd things that had happened over the years—the fireplace suddenly flaring to life when he had been feeling a bit chilly, the door to his flat unlocking when he had been standing outside in the rain having forgotten his keys, that time with the goblin that he was sure had been a hallucination brought on by letting Will talk him into drinking far too much whisky one night. The feeling that there was something missing inside him.
“You’re saying I can do magic?” he said slowly.
“There’s no need for me to say it—it’s a fact,” the dragon replied.
“But even if I can do magic, I don’t know any spells!” Merlin threw up his hands. “So I can’t rescue your queen, much less kill this monster.”
“You know many spells, Merlin,” the dragon said. “You have simply forgotten them. And as for the Jabberwock—you cannot kill it. The spells that created it are too powerful, even for you. That task belongs to your friend.” It nodded in the direction of the limo.
“Arthur?” Merlin said, incredulous. “Arthur is supposed to kill the monster?” He paused, frowning. “Wait. Did you call it a Jabberwock? That’s not possible—that’s a poem by Lewis Carroll!”
The dragon snorted. “You of all people, Merlin, should not be debating what is possible and what is not. Besides, Anfauglir the Black happens to have a fondness for nineteenth century British literature. It could have been worse,” the dragon added. “Just think if he had gotten his hands on Beowulf.”
“Well, a Jabberwock doesn’t sound much better,” Merlin snapped. “And there’s no way Arthur is going to be able to kill it. He won’t even get out of the limo!”
“Arthur is the only one who can wield the vorpal sword that can pierce the magic binding the Jabberwock to life. You must help him find the sword.” The dragon pointed across the meadow. “I suggest heading in that direction. And as for getting out of the limo, he had better do so.” It pulled out its pocket-watch again. “Very shortly, the Jabberwock will be arriving. I suggest that the both of you flee the premises.”
“But—wait!” Merlin cried as the dragon flapped its wings and started rising into the air. “You can’t just leave me here! I need to know more!”
The dragon ignored him and quickly disappeared over the tree tops.
Merlin groaned. “You just had to tempt fate, didn’t you?” he muttered to himself. “You just had to say that today couldn’t possibly be worse than yesterday.” Sighing, he started back towards the limo. How he was going to explain this to Arthur, he really didn’t know.
Arthur had not moved. He cautiously lowered the newspaper when Merlin climbed into the limo, but then snapped it up again.
“Arthur,” Merlin said, and then repeated it a little more loudly, “Arthur.”
“Go away!” Arthur snapped. “I’m not going to acknowledge you. Or any of this. If I don’t, it will all disappear, and I’ll be back home.”
“Arthur, this isn’t a dream.” Merlin tugged the newspaper from his hands. “This is real, and we have to get out of here because a monster is coming.”
“You’re right, this isn’t a dream—it’s a nightmare.” Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. “I am not getting out of this car.”
“Fine!” Merlin snapped. “Fine. Stay here and get eaten by the Jabberwock!”
“The Jabberwock?” Arthur raised his eyebrows. “You do know that’s a work of fiction?”
“Not here. Here the Jabberwock is a real, live monster that you have to kill.”
“Me?” Arthur laughed. “How? Throw my shoe at it?”
“No.” Merlin gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to simply grab Arthur’s collar and drag him out of the damn limo. “We have to go find a sword. And then I have to end the spell that is holding the queen of this land a prisoner so that she can send us home. That is how we are getting back.”
“You are insane. You are insane, and I’m not going to listen to this any longer.” And Arthur turned away and searched through his jacket pockets, finally pulling out his iPod.
“Arthur, we have to get out of here!” Merlin shouted, making a grab for the iPod. Arthur snatched it away.
“Fuck off,” he snarled.
Merlin breathed heavily through his nose and then jerked open the door. “I’m going,” he said. “Stay here then and get eaten!” Arthur ignored him.
Muttering angrily, Merlin strode away across the meadow, heading in the direction the dragon had pointed. He’d wait around in the forest for a while, let Arthur get nervous, then go back and see if he could talk some sense into him. He had just reached the trees when the ground trembled. Merlin paused. He felt the tremor again. He hoped it wasn’t an earthquake—that really would be the last straw.
He could hear something, too—a sort of howling. It rose and fell on the wind, sending shivers up his back. The ground shook again, harder.
Suddenly, he realized what it must be. Turning, he started running back towards the limo. “Arthur!” he shouted desperately. “Arthur get out of there!”
He was still far away when the Jabberwock broke out of the trees. It was hideous and terrifying—a scaly body with stunted wings and a long tail, a serpentine neck that ended in a head crowned with twisted horns. It opened its mouth and howled again. Merlin could see its fangs. Sharp claws dug into the ground. It was heading straight for the limousine.
A second later, the door opened and Arthur stumbled out. He stared at the Jabberwock, frozen in shock.
“Arthur!” Merlin screamed again, and his shout galvanized Arthur, who started running towards him. But he wasn’t fast enough—the Jabberwock was closing in too quickly. It was momentarily distracted by the limousine and paused, ripping open the roof with a casual swipe of its paw, slicing through the metal as easily as if it were a piece of cheese. Snarling, it swung its tail around, hitting the limo, and sending it tumbling end over end. Then it spotted Arthur.
Merlin didn’t think—couldn’t think. But suddenly he was raising his hand, strange words coming out of his mouth. A ball of flame shot out, heading for the Jabberwock. It shrieked in surprise and ducked out of the way. It stopped, looking warily at Merlin.
Arthur reached him, eyes wide with fear, and Merlin grabbed him, started tugging him towards the forest. “Come on! That won’t stop it for long.”
They reached the trees, and Merlin pulled Arthur into a stand of thick bushes, ignoring the thorns that ripped at their clothes. Trying not to breathe loudly, they crouched in the midst of the leaves, listening to the Jabberwock prowling around. Slowly, the sounds receded, and finally silence fell.
Merlin turned to find Arthur staring at him.
“What did you do?” Arthur asked in a low voice. “You raised your hand and—and—”
“I don’t know,” Merlin replied. He was trembling from the adrenaline, the shock of having a bloody fireball bursting from his hands. “The dragon said I could do magic, and weird things have a way of happening around me, but…” He trailed off, staring down at his hands.
“Weird things?” Arthur grabbed his collar and jerked Merlin around to face him. “Did you bring us here?”
“No! Well,” Merlin futilely tried to pry Arthur’s fingers off, “I was sort of wishing I was somewhere else, and then we were, but I think—”
“Take us back!” Arthur shook him. “If you’re magic, take us back!”
“I can’t.” Merlin tore away, leaving Arthur glaring at him. “I don’t know how. And the dragon said only Queen Cliodhna has the power to send us back.”
“Tell me everything it said,” Arthur demanded, and Merlin did, stuttering a little under Arthur’s furious gaze.
“This is ridiculous,” Arthur said bitterly when Merlin had finished. He stood up, brushing dirt off his knees. Sighing, he stared at the trees for a few minutes before giving Merlin another glare. “Well what are you waiting for? Let’s go find the sword.” And he strode off into the forest.
Merlin scrambled after him. “So you believe it then? You believe that this is real?”
“It doesn’t seem I have a choice,” Arthur replied in a grim tone.
“It will be all right,” Merlin told him. “We’ll get home.”
“Just shut up,” Arthur muttered. “The only thing worse than being stuck in this place with a monster on the loose is being stuck here with you.”
Hurt, Merlin subsided, and fell back to walk behind Arthur.
**
The afternoon wore on as they trudged along. They had found a faint path, which seemed to be leading in the direction the dragon had told them to go, so they decided to follow it. Although Merlin kept expecting to hear the Jabberwock’s howl and see it charging out of the trees, it did not return. Indeed, the forest was practically silent about them, only a few birds calling out to one another. It seemed strangely cold—flowers grew among the grasses and green leaves decorated the trees, but Merlin was soon shivering. Arthur looked cold as well—he had on his jacket, but it wasn’t a very warm one.
The cold made Arthur grumpy, and he also began complaining about being hungry.
“I don’t keep sandwiches in my pockets!” Merlin finally snapped at him.
Arthur scowled. “You look perfectly ridiculous, wandering about in that uniform.”
“Why, would you prefer me naked?” Merlin retorted, although he did feel silly walking through the forest in a chauffeur’s outfit.
To his surprise, Arthur blushed, but he said, “No. I just wish you would do something useful. I’m hungry—can’t you conjure up something to eat?”
“I told you, I don’t know how I’m doing the magic.” Merlin took off his cap and ran a hand through his hair. “We’ll just have to keep our eyes open for berries or something.”
Arthur snorted in disgust and fell silent.
They hadn’t gone far before they spotted a small, wooden hut through the trees. A tangled garden surrounded it, choked with weeds. After an exchange of furious whispers, Arthur decided to go knock on the door, despite Merlin’s feeling that it was a bad idea. In his opinion, the hut looked exactly like the sort of place a witch would live.
No one answered the door, and after waiting a minute, Arthur tried the handle. It opened, and the door swung inward, creaking.
“Arthur, I really don’t think we should go in,” Merlin said, glancing over his shoulder.
“Don’t you smell that?” Arthur asked, sniffing the air. “It smells like fresh bread.” He sniffed again. “And chicken. We might be able to find something to eat.”
Reluctantly, Merlin followed Arthur into the hut. It was silent and empty but for a wooden table and two chairs. The table was covered with food—cooked chicken, fresh bread, luscious peaches, and a frosted cake. Arthur immediately grabbed a piece of bread.
“Arthur, don’t eat that!” Merlin said sharply, and Arthur paused.
“Why not? It isn’t moldy.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little odd to find this here?” Merlin demanded. “It might be enchanted. Who knows what will happen if you eat it.”
Arthur scoffed. “Nonsense. I’m sure whoever lives here just stepped out for a moment. And I’m really hungry.” And he took a bite of the bread.
Merlin held his breath, and even Arthur seemed to be waiting nervously. But after a few seconds, when nothing happened, he flashed Merlin a smug smile and then sat down in one of the chairs. He picked up a peach and began eating it, juice dripping down his fingers.
Merlin’s own mouth was watering, and his stomach growled. He had just settled onto the other chair and was reaching for a fork, when Arthur’s eyes suddenly slid closed, and his head fell onto the table with a thunk.
“Arthur!” Merlin leaped up and grabbed his arm, shaking him. “Arthur, are you all right?”
Anxiously, he put his fingers on Arthur’s throat, fearing the worst. But Arthur’s heartbeat thudded strongly. Merlin shook him again. “Arthur, wake up!”
But Arthur didn’t wake. He didn’t wake when Merlin slapped him. He didn’t wake when Merlin pinched his arm.
Merlin sank back down into the chair and stared morosely at Arthur’s peaceful countenance. What was he going to do now? He couldn’t carry Arthur, but he couldn’t leave him here, either.
He was just starting to consider trying some magic, although he hadn’t the faintest clue where to begin, when the door opened. Merlin sprang to his feet, gripping one of the bread knives in his hand.
A woman appeared, long hair framing a pale face. She wore a white gown, with no ornamentation beyond a dark red stone that hung from a chain around her neck. In her arms, she carried a leather-bound book, its pages held together with a piece of twine.
“The handsome ones are always so easy to bewitch,” she murmured, looking at Arthur. She raised her eyes to meet Merlin’s and smiled. “I see you have managed to avoid my trap.”
“Who are you?” Merlin demanded, edging around the table so that he was standing between her and Arthur. “I’m not going to let you hurt him.”
“I don’t mean your king any harm,” she replied. “But I am a witch. So few people pass by this way—I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to try out one of my spells.” She peeked round Merlin’s shoulder at Arthur. “It does seem to have worked splendidly.”
Merlin slowly lowered the knife. “Why did you call him a king?”
“I see you have forgotten much,” the witch said, and she held out the book. “Perhaps this will help you remember.”
Hesitantly, Merlin took the book from her hands. “What is it?”
“A spell book. You shall need it to free our queen.” She gestured out the window. “Already, the magic is being sapped from the land. The weather is growing colder, the plants dying. And the Jabberwock and the other monsters are spreading fear and destruction.” She laid her hand on Merlin’s arm. “You must hurry.”
“But I don’t know if I can,” Merlin protested. “And Arthur—how is he supposed to fight the Jabberwock?”
“Do not underestimate your king. Or yourself,” the witch replied, and she turned away, walking towards the door.
“Wait!” Merlin called after her. “What about Arthur? How do I wake him?”
The witch looked over her shoulder. “How are people usually woken from an enchanted sleep?” She winked and stepped over the threshold.
Merlin gaped after her for a moment and then rushed to the door. “You can’t be serious, I—” But the garden was empty. The witch had vanished.
Groaning, Merlin went back inside. Arthur was still fast asleep. He stared down at him for a moment, and finally set the book down with a sigh. “This is going to be the second time I’ve saved your sorry arse,” he commented, hauling Arthur into a sitting position. Arthur’s head lolled forward, and Merlin cupped it in his hands. “I wish you really wanted me to do this,” he whispered before bending down and pressing his lips to Arthur’s.
Arthur’s skin was warm under his fingers, and he couldn’t help sliding his fingers up to brush against Arthur’s soft hair. He felt Arthur’s mouth move against his and quickly pulled back. Arthur was blinking up at him in confusion. “What happened?” he asked, staring around the room.
“You didn’t listen to me is what happened,” Merlin told him. “I warned you not to eat the food, but no, no, you knew best of course.”
“It was enchanted?” Arthur stood up quickly, backing away from the table.
“Yes. The witch who did it dropped by while you were asleep and gave me this spell book.” Merlin decided to leave out a few of her other comments—such as calling Arthur a king and that offhanded remark about other monsters.
“And did you—did you kiss me to wake me up?” Arthur’s voice rose an octave, and a blush started creeping up his neck.
“Yep.” Merlin grinned. “Just like a princess.”
Arthur glared at him, still blushing.
Merlin could have teased him some more, but decided to be merciful and picked up the book instead. He undid the twine around it and carefully opened its pages. The ink was faded, the paper yellowed with age.
“Well that won’t do us any good,” Arthur said, looking over Merlin’s arm at the book. “Unless you can read whatever language it’s written in.”
“I can read it,” Merlin said slowly. Part of him looked at the words and saw only gibberish, but another part understood the spells—recognized words, knew how they would feel on his tongue.
He could feel Arthur staring at him, and he shut the book, tucking it under his arm. “Come on. We should get going. Unless you want to wait for the witch to return.”
“No,” Arthur said hastily. “I’ve had enough of witches.”
“You did make a lovely princess, though,” Merlin mused and ducked out of the way, laughing, when Arthur tried to cuff him round the head.
**
They walked on until the sun sank behind the trees.
“I suppose we should stop for the night,” Merlin said, looking around for a likely spot. “The path is so faint—I’m afraid we’ll lose it if we keep walking much longer.”
“Fine,” Arthur said grudgingly. They clambered down a small embankment that offered at least some protection from the wind. Merlin started gathering dead wood and bits of grass.
“I thought I’d try making a fire,” he explained.
“How? Rubbing two sticks together?” Arthur said, scowling and huddling deeper into his jacket. It had grown colder as night fell, and they were both shivering.
“No. With my magic.”
Arthur brightened at the thought of getting a bit warmer and helped Merlin gather wood. They crouched down next to the pile, and Arthur stared at Merlin hopefully. Merlin swallowed and rubbed his hands together.
“Right.” He took a deep breath and held his fingers over the wood. He pictured flames leaping into existence. Nothing happened.
Arthur’s face fell, and he sat back. “I thought you were actually going to do something right for once,” he muttered.
Merlin glared at Arthur, and then back at the wood. He knew he could do this. Relaxing, he closed his eyes, letting himself drift. He had never tried to actually touch his magic before—not consciously. Perhaps he could feel something, deep within himself. If he could just draw it out—
He felt his lips move, a word fall from his mouth, “Baerne.”
He heard Arthur gasp. Opening his eyes, he looked down to see flames licking at the wood. “I did it!” he exclaimed, leaning closer to hold his hands over the welcome warmth.
“I guess you aren’t completely useless,” Arthur said, shifting closer to the fire. He cleared his throat. “And Merlin—thank you. For earlier. With the Jabberwock and the witch.”
“Well, it is part of my contract,” Merlin said, smiling. “Don’t let your passenger get torn apart by monsters or enchanted by witches.”
Arthur laughed. “Why are you driving a limousine anyway?” He glanced at Merlin. “I can’t say that you seemed too thrilled about it.”
Merlin shrugged. “I need the money. I’m trying to save up to go to university.”
“I’m going next month,” Arthur said. “Well, that was the plan anyway.” He sighed, looking out at the dark trees that surrounded them, pressing in close. “What do you want to study?”
“Journalism.” Merlin tossed another stick onto the fire. “What about you?”
“Not sure.” Arthur sighed again. “My dad wants me to go into business, but I rather fancy law or perhaps political science. Of course, it might be a moot point now.”
“Don’t say that.” Merlin studied Arthur’s face, noting the tightness around his mouth and eyes. “We’ll be fine. We’ll get out of this.”
“You saw that thing,” Arthur replied in a low voice. “How am I supposed to face that? I’ve never held a sword in my life.”
“Well, you play football, right?” He had picked up Arthur from practice the day before and had practically driven into a mailbox when Arthur stripped off his sweat-soaked shirt in the backseat and shrugged on a clean one.
Arthur gave him a disbelieving look. “How is football going to help against a Jabberwock?”
“You’re fast on your feet. Agile.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Right. My skills at scoring goals are going to defeat a fairytale monster. Of course, how obvious.” He shook his head. “Maybe we can just skip that part. I mean, now that we know you can do magic, you’ll be able to free the queen and that will be that.”
“Maybe.” Merlin picked up the spell book. “I should probably start looking for the spell that will break the enchantment.”
Arthur remained sitting by the fire for a while, but finally he moved to the base of a tree where some leaves had drifted and lay down, curling into a ball. Merlin’s own eyes were feeling heavy, the effects of the entire day catching up to him. He yawned and closed the book, then tried to find a comfortable spot of his own.
“Arthur?” he said after a few minutes. “Are you asleep?”
“No.” He heard Arthur shifting around. “I’m too fucking cold.”
Merlin hesitated. “We could, um, sleep together. Not together, I mean, but, well—”
“Shut up and get over here,” Arthur said.
There were a few awkward moments with elbows and legs and hands, but they finally ended up with Arthur pressed against Merlin’s back. Arthur put a wary arm around him, and Merlin moved a little closer. “We can switch during the night,” he murmured.
“All right.” Arthur’s breath tickled his ear. In other circumstances, Merlin would have been nervous, on edge, and completely turned on, but right now he was so tired that all he could manage was to tuck Arthur’s hand into his jacket before falling asleep.
**
Merlin woke slowly. A tree root was poking him in the ribs and his back was freezing. But his face was pressed against something warm and soft. Opening his eyes, he realized it was Arthur’s hair. He had one leg thrown across Arthur’s, and his arms tight around Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur was pressed against him, his face buried in Merlin’s neck.
He pulled back just a little—enough to see Arthur’s face. Arthur was still asleep, his mouth open, and he’d drooled on Merlin’s jacket. Smiling, Merlin brushed his fingers across Arthur’s cheek. “Hey,” he said softly. “Time to wake up, Arthur.”
Arthur made an unhappy noise and snuggled closer.
“Not a morning person, are you?” He shook Arthur’s shoulder. “Come on. Rise and shine.”
Arthur groaned and opened his eyes. He blinked in a puzzled manner, frowning as he stared at Merlin’s face. “Merlin? What’s going on?” He shifted, and Merlin reluctantly pulled his arms away.
Arthur sat up, running a hand through his hair, dislodging a few sticks. The puzzled look faded, and Arthur’s shoulders slumped. “We’re still here then,” he said dully. “I’d hoped it really had been a dream.”
Merlin forced a laugh. “I’m afraid you’ll have to suffer through my company for another day.”
“I don’t mind that,” Arthur said quietly, not looking at him. “I didn’t mean what I said yesterday.”
“I know.” Merlin struggled to his feet. The sun was just touching the tops of the trees, but a mist still lay over the ground. He offered his hand to Arthur. “Ready?”
Arthur looked up and managed a small smile. He took Merlin’s hand and clambered to his feet. He didn’t let go immediately, and Merlin glanced down at their joined hands. Arthur flushed and pulled away. “I think there’s a stream over there,” he said. “I’m going to wash my face at least.”
Merlin followed him and they crouched on the bank, sputtering as the cold water splashed against their skin. They took long drinks, too, and Merlin hunted among the bushes, finally coming up with a handful of berries.
“Do you think they’re safe?” Arthur asked doubtfully.
“They could almost be raspberries,” Merlin said. “Except for the color.”
“Blue.” Arthur sighed. “Why does everything have to be blue?”
Merlin popped one of the berries in his mouth. “I like blue.”
“You would.” Arthur ate one as well.
Nothing happened, so they polished off the small handful Merlin had collected, and then headed back to the path.
**
As they walked on, the ground grew rockier and more open. The tall trees of the forest disappeared, replaced by stunted and twisted ones with shriveled leaves. The remains of flowers and bushes could be seen along the path, but they were all dead and wilted. Instead, strange plants grew in their place. Their leaves were an odd, dark purple color, and slimy tendrils curled along the stems.
“What are these?” Arthur said, looking at them in disgust.
“Slithy toves, perhaps?” Merlin answered. “I’m serious!” he added when Arthur rolled his eyes. “And look at the sky—that weird, yellow color—‘brillig’ seems like an apt description for it.”
“About the poem,” Arthur paused and then said quickly, “the Jabberwock isn’t the only monster.”
“I know.” Merlin sighed. “The witch mentioned something about other monsters. The Jubjub bird and frumious Bandersnatch I suppose.”
Arthur stopped and grabbed Merlin’s arm. “And just when were you going to share that piece of information with me?” he demanded.
“I didn’t want to upset you,” Merlin began, reaching out a placating hand, but Arthur stepped away.
“Upset me? We’re stuck in this—this mad world. There’s a monster roaming around that could make mincemeat out of us, and you were worried about upsetting me?”
“I’m sorry!” Merlin reached out again, but Arthur just stared at his hand coldly before stalking past and continuing down the path. Sighing, Merlin plodded after him.
“I really am sorry,” he tried again awhile later as they clambered down a steep slope, slipping on loose rocks and pebbles.
“What else aren’t you telling me?” Arthur demanded, ignoring the steadying hand Merlin offered him.
“The witch called you a king. I don’t know why.” Merlin gave Arthur a hopeful smile. “No more secrets, I promise.”
“My name might be Arthur—that doesn’t mean I’m actually a king!” Arthur scowled. “I don’t know how to wield a sword or fight monsters or any of it!”
“I know, but—”
“No, you don’t. You have magic. You’re as much a freak as the rest of this place.”
Merlin flinched and gave Arthur a reproachful look. For a second Arthur looked guilty, but then his face hardened. “Come on,” he said, “the quicker we find this sword, the faster this nightmare will be over.”
“Fine,” Merlin bit out, and he pushed past Arthur, walking swiftly ahead.
He was so busy thinking up choice insults to hurl at Arthur that he never even heard trouble approaching. Suddenly a shrill squawk sounded, and Arthur was yelling, “Merlin, look out!”
Merlin looked up in time to see a massive bird diving down at him. In shape, it resembled a vulture, but Merlin had never heard of a vulture this large. Its feet bore sharp claws, aimed straight for his eyes.
The next second, Arthur barreled into him, bringing them both crashing to the ground. The bird swept over them, its wings kicking up a flurry of dust, and Arthur cried out.
“What is it?” Merlin struggled to sit up, looking around frantically for the bird.
“Its talons—got me in the back,” Arthur said, trying to rise. He bit back another cry and slumped back down in the dirt.
“Don’t try to move,” Merlin told him, getting warily to his feet. He scanned the sky, shielding his eyes against the sun.
A black blur came hurtling down at him. Gathering his breath, Merlin reached for his magic. This time, it came easily, as did the words of the spell. He shouted them, and fire streaked from his hands, engulfing the bird. With a wailing croak, it plummeted to the earth and lay still, smoke rising from its blackened feathers.
Wrinkling his nose at the smell, Merlin crouched down next to Arthur. “I think that was a Jubjub bird,” he said shakily. The back of Arthur’s jacket was in tatters, and blood was seeping through the cloth. Swallowing hard, Merlin started removing it. “Let me see how badly you’re hurt.”
“That evil wizard—” Arthur gasped as he bent his arms, letting Merlin slip of the jacket, “that evil wizard is taking a fucking lot of artistic license. Nowhere in the poem does it say a Jubjub bird has a ten-foot wingspan or inch-long talons. Nowhere!”
“Let’s just hope there’s only one of them.” Merlin laid Arthur’s jacket aside and slowly eased up his t-shirt. Four ragged gashes stretched across Arthur’s back from just above his right hip to his left shoulder. They were bleeding heavily and already looked inflamed.
“How bad is it?” Arthur asked in a low voice.
“Not bad,” Merlin replied quickly.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” Merlin said, knowing it didn’t sound at all convincing. He looked around. There was nothing except rocks and dirt. They had no medical supplies to speak of—he didn’t know much about treating injuries, but these looked like they would require stitches, not to mention some kind of antiseptic.
“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice trembled a little.
Merlin moved around until he was facing him. “I’ll tear up your shirt—make some bandages. You’ll be fine.” He managed a smile. “Really. I promise.”
Arthur held his eyes for a moment and then nodded slowly. Carefully, Merlin ripped off the tattered remains of Arthur’s t-shirt. Arthur held still while he tied the makeshift bandages around his back and chest, although Merlin could tell it hurt. He took off his own jacket and put it around Arthur’s shoulders, then helped him to his feet.
Merlin quickly realized that Arthur wasn’t going to be able to make it far—not like this. Every step caused him pain and soon the back of Merlin’s jacket was damp with blood. Arthur’s face was pale, and he staggered often, leaning heavily on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin tried to help, fingers growing numb from the cold, but Arthur’s pace grew slower and slower. Swallowing back his fear and panic, Merlin mumbled encouragement, telling Arthur that he would be fine. That they would find someone or something that could help. But the land stretched before them, empty and barren. Finally, Arthur’s legs gave way, and he sank to the ground.
“I just have to rest. Just for a minute,” he gasped.
They were in a small hollow. A stand of tall bushes grew off to one side, and a stream wound its way through the rocks.
“We’ll stop here for the night,” Merlin said, trying to make it sound like it was due to the fading sunlight and not Arthur’s growing weakness. He half-carried Arthur off the path and under the bushes. Balling up Arthur’s ruined jacket into a pillow, he helped Arthur lie on his stomach. Arthur moaned. Sweat coated his forehead, and he was shivering. Merlin gathered wood and started a fire, then went to the stream and soaked his handkerchief in the water. He sat down next to Arthur, sponging the sweat off his forehead.
“What possessed you to leap in front of me?” he murmured. “Thank you for that, by the way.”
“Merlin,” Arthur muttered, but he didn’t open his eyes. “Hurts. Merlin, it hurts.”
“I know.” Arthur’s cheeks were flushed with fever. Merlin soaked the cloth again and laid it against Arthur’s brow.
“Have to—have to send the sword back,” Arthur gasped. “Merlin—Merlin where are you?”
“I’m here. Right here.” He found Arthur’s hand and gripped it. “And we have to find the sword, Arthur.”
“No,” Arthur moaned. “The lake—long time ago. But now—can’t let anyone else wield it. I—I won’t need it anymore.”
“We still have to find it,” Merlin repeated. “Try and get some sleep, Arthur.”
But Arthur thrashed around, his hand tightening around Merlin’s. “Needed you,” he whispered. “Mordred—I couldn’t. I couldn’t.”
Merlin shivered. Mordred. What if Arthur really was the famous king? What if he was starting to remember things, just like Merlin had remembered the spells?
“It’s all so dark,” Arthur said. His eyes had snapped open, but he was staring out unseeing. Whatever he beheld, it was a place and time that had long ago passed into myth.
“You’ll be all right,” Merlin told him, blinking back the tears that had sprung into his eyes. “I’m with you this time, Arthur. You’re not going to die.” He smoothed back Arthur’s tangled hair.
“Merlin,” Arthur whispered again, and then his eyes slid shut, and his breathing slowed as he fell asleep.
Merlin drew his jacket more closely about Arthur, and then picked up the spell book, hunching over the fire. There had to be a spell in here that would save Arthur. There had to be.
**
The night dragged on. Arthur slept fitfully, now and then crying out strange names and mumbling incoherently. Merlin found spells—many spells. Spells to heal poisoning and arrow wounds and bites and sword thrusts. He tried them all—and nothing worked.
Morning found him kneeling by Arthur’s side. Arthur’s face looked grey and drawn, his breathing shallow. “You can’t die,” Merlin said, scrubbing away the tears that spilled down his face. “Arthur, please. Please don’t die.” He took Arthur’s hand in his again, threading their fingers together.
“I can help him!” a small voice said, and Merlin leaped up, startled, looking around wildly.
“Who’s there?” he demanded, his hand straying towards a piece of wood.
“Me!” the voice said unhelpfully.
“Where are you?”
“Right here!” the voice said, sounding petulant, and Merlin felt something tugging on the leg of his trousers. He looked down, and his mouth dropped open. A fairy was staring up at him.
Gulping, Merlin got back on his knees. The fairy had iridescent wings, shimmering in the growing sunlight. She wore a tattered dress of leaves sewn together, and her hair looked unkempt. She couldn’t have been more than five inches tall.
“You said you know how to help my friend?” he asked, and she nodded.
“The Jubjub bird’s claws are filled with poison,” she said in her thin little voice. “Only a certain potion can cure it.”
“And you have some?”
She nodded again.
“Please get it—or tell me where it is! He’s dying!”
She tilted her head and fluttered her wings, rising into the air until she was hovering right in front of his face. “I want one of those first!” she demanded and pointed imperiously at one of the shiny buttons on Merlin’s jacket, draped over Arthur’s back.
“All right.” He tugged one off, tucking the jacket back around Arthur when he was done. He held it out to her, but then closed his hand before she could touch it. “First get me the potion.”
She pouted. “I’m not going to cheat you,” she said in a sulky tone, but she motioned for Merlin to follow her.
With an agonized glance at Arthur, Merlin did, ducking through the bushes. They hadn’t gone far, though, before the fairy stopped at an old hollow log. She crawled in, and Merlin peered into the opening. It was filled with a strange mixture of things—some moss piled into a bed in a corner, an owl’s feather, some dried mushrooms, a glass bead, and a small bottle filled with clear liquid.
“Is that it?” Merlin demanded, and she nodded. He quickly set the button down and grabbed the bottle, dashing back towards Arthur. The fairy followed him, flying next to his ear.
Ignoring her, Merlin knelt next to Arthur and hauled him into a sitting position. Arthur’s head lolled back against his shoulder, and Merlin opened his mouth, poured the potion in, and then stroked his throat, making him swallow it.
“Is that it?” Merlin asked the fairy. “When will he get better?”
“Soon.” She landed on Arthur’s knee and peered up at him. “I can show you where some herbs grow, and you can make a poultice for his wounds.”
Merlin accepted her help gratefully. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“I’m not going to tell you my name!” she said, sounding shocked.
“Well, I have to call you something,” he said, smiling. “My name is Merlin. And this is Arthur.”
She hovered doubtfully in the air. Merlin held out his hand. Warily, she landed on it, crouching down, her little wings quivering. “I don’t know any human names,” she said.
“How about ‘Buttercup’? It’s a lovely yellow flower where I come from.”
“I like flowers.” She smiled. “That is a good name, Merlin!” She left his hand and fluttered onto his shoulder. “Are you magic?”
“I can do magic, yes.”
Buttercup nodded thoughtfully and pointed him in the direction of some light purple ferns that she assured him had wonderful healing properties.
Merlin followed her directions and soon had a thick paste that he applied to Arthur’s injuries. Already Arthur seemed better—the fever was gone, and he was sleeping peacefully. Buttercup disappeared for a moment, and when she reappeared, she carried a small pouch. She sprinkled the contents onto Arthur’s back. It looked like sparkling dust motes, caught in the sun, but she refused to say what it was.
“I suppose you wouldn’t know where I might be able to find something to eat?” Merlin asked, and heaved a sigh of relief when Buttercup nodded vigorously. They spent the morning seeking out berries and mushrooms. Buttercup was fascinated with Merlin’s watch and kept poking at it, asking him to explain ‘batteries.’ Merlin tried his best.
When they returned to the hollow, and Merlin checked Arthur’s wounds, he gasped. They were practically healed—four tender scars were all that was left. “You’re amazing, Buttercup!” he exclaimed, and she preened.
“Arthur. Wake up, Arthur.” Merlin shook Arthur’s shoulder, and his eyes slowly opened. Merlin held his breath—would Arthur remember any of the dreams and visions?
Arthur looked confused for a moment, but then his expression cleared, and he sat up. Immediately he reached around to touch his back, and his eyes widened. “Did you do this?” he asked Merlin.
Merlin shook his head. “No. That was Buttercup.”
“Buttercup?”
“Yes.” Merlin grinned and looked towards the stone that Buttercup had fled behind when Arthur sat up. “You can come out now,” he told her.
Slowly, Buttercup emerged.
“A fairy?” Arthur moved towards her, and Buttercup shrieked, flying up to Merlin’s shoulder and clinging to his hair.
“You frightened her,” he said to Arthur. “Buttercup, it’s all right, he won’t hurt you.”
Buttercup tightened her grip, and Merlin winced. Arthur rolled his eyes and sat back, sighing. “The last thing I remember is you dragging me here.” He stared around the hollow, rubbing his face wearily, and then plucked at the sleeve of Merlin’s jacket. “I suppose I’ll have to wear this?”
So Arthur didn’t recall any of the visions. Merlin was glad—no one should have to remember their death in some other life. Although the way Arthur had said his name…it had sounded as though he had, well, loved Merlin’s other self. Clearing his throat, Merlin pushed those thoughts away. “It’s the jacket or going without,” he confirmed.
Arthur grimaced and did up the buttons. The jacket was too small for him and pulled tight against his shoulders. Merlin handed him some of the berries and mushrooms he had gathered, and Arthur ate them hungrily. Catching himself staring at the way Arthur’s tongue licked out to clean his fingers, Merlin turned his attention to Buttercup.
“Do you know anything about a vorpal sword?” he asked, gently tugging his hair away from her grasp.
Buttercup gasped and flitted about excitedly. “Are you going to kill the Jabberwock, Merlin?”
“Maybe,” Merlin hedged, seeing Arthur tense out of the corner of his eye.
“It murdered my family,” Buttercup whispered, and two tiny tears slid down her cheeks. “I used to live in a lovely city on a hilltop. And one day—one day the Jabberwock came. I was the only one who escaped,” she finished sadly, her wings crumpling around her shoulders. “I’ve been wandering in the wilderness ever since.”
Merlin tried to think of words that would comfort her, but it was Arthur who spoke. “I’m going to kill the Jabberwock,” he said firmly.
“Really?” Buttercup brightened, and her wings shimmered again.
“Really.” Arthur raised his chin, a determined light in his eyes.
Merlin fumbled with his watch. “I want you to have this, Buttercup. As a thank you for all your help.”
Buttercup stared at the watch and then looked at Merlin, her eyes wide. “I want to come with you!”
“It will be dangerous,” Merlin began, but Buttercup’s eyes filled with tears. “All right,” he said hastily. “All right.”
Buttercup clapped her hands and flew around his head. Arthur gave him a look.
“She was crying,” Merlin protested, and Arthur sighed.
“You’re a pushover, Merlin,” he said, but there was a certain fondness in his voice, and when Merlin gave him a tentative smile, he smiled back.
**
Merlin quickly discovered that Buttercup was incapable of staying still for any length of time. She flitted ahead of them or darted off to investigate shiny things that caught her eye, occasionally coming back to rest on Merlin’s shoulder. She was still skittish of getting close to Arthur, who seemed a little offended.
“I don’t usually have such a problem with girls,” he told her, holding out his hand. Buttercup flew back to Merlin. “Not that it does them any good,” Arthur added, letting his hand drop.
“Why not?” Buttercup asked, peeking over the top of Merlin’s head.
“I’m attracted to men, not women,” Arthur explained, flushing a little and avoiding looking at Merlin.
Merlin cleared his throat. “I’m afraid you won’t get a kiss from either of us,” he said, and Arthur quickly glanced at him. Merlin’s face felt hot, but he determinedly kept his eyes on Arthur’s—until he stumbled over a rock.
“Watch where you’re going, Merlin,” Arthur said, smirking. Merlin righted himself and gave Arthur a glare.
“Ouch!” Arthur exclaimed a second later, putting a hand to his head. Buttercup had flown up behind Arthur and pulled out a few strands of his hair. She darted back to the safety of Merlin’s shoulder. “What was that for?” Arthur demanded.
Merlin shrugged. “She likes shiny things,” he said with a grin.
Arthur rubbed his scalp. “I won’t hurt you,” he said to Buttercup in a coaxing tone. “It can’t be comfortable perched on Merlin’s bony shoulder.”
“Hey!” Merlin protested.
“I’ll sing you a song,” Arthur told her. “It’s all about a girl named Buttercup.”
“Really?” Buttercup flitted closer to him. “Is she as lovely as I am?”
Arthur pretended to consider this. “No, definitely not,” he said at last, shaking his head.
Buttercup smiled and fluffed her hair before alighting on Arthur’s hand. “Sing me the song!” she demanded.
“Why do you build me up, build me up, Buttercup, baby, just to let me down,” Arthur began, and Merlin laughed. “What?” Arthur asked, stopping.
“You have a horrible voice,” Merlin replied.
“I never said I could sing well,” Arthur pointed out.
“Keep singing!” Buttercup told him. “I want to hear my song!”
So Arthur sang all the verses, while Merlin pretended to stop up his ears.
**
Next
Recipient:
rotrudeAuthor:
riventhornRating: NC-17
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 17,200
Warnings: None
Summary: In which Merlin makes the mistake of tempting fate and finds himself in a fairytale world surrounded by monsters, witches, and one very annoying Pendragon.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to V for being a wonderful beta! Also to E for reading the first few pages and offering encouragement!
Disclaimer: The characters depicted herein belong to Shine and BBC. I make no profit from this endeavor.
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.’
-“Jabberwocky” by Lewis Carroll
Merlin peered into the rearview mirror, checking to make sure his cap was on straight, before climbing out of the limousine. Today could not possibly be as bad as yesterday. It simply couldn’t. He needed this job.
Things had started out deceptively smoothly the day before. He had rolled up to the Pendragons’ mansion a good ten minutes early, and when Arthur Pendragon had walked out the door—well, suffice it to say that Merlin’s enthusiasm for chauffeuring him around had increased markedly. Although really, Arthur couldn’t be more than nineteen—no older than Merlin—it was ridiculous that he had a limousine to drive him about town. But Merlin had kept these thoughts to himself. “I’m Merlin,” he had said brightly, holding out his hand.
Arthur’s gaze had traveled slowly from Merlin’s hand up to his face. “Is that some kind of joke?” he had demanded.
“Um, no,” Merlin had replied, lowering his hand. “Do you mean because your name is Arthur? I swear I really am called Merlin. It’s kind of a funny story, really, how my mum picked that name. You see—”
“Just shut up and open the door,” Arthur had snapped, and Merlin’s enthusiasm had plummeted once again.
Things didn’t improve. It turned out that he was supposed to have picked Arthur up a coffee, and when Arthur found out that he hadn’t, he spent two minutes berating Merlin before ordering him to stop and get one. Parking limousines was an absolute bitch. Then he got lost and had to ask Arthur for directions, which Arthur delivered in a sneering tone, accompanied by a variety of insults. And then Merlin had slammed too hard on the breaks, spilling the hard-won coffee all over Arthur’s trousers. Arthur had yelled at him, and Merlin finally had yelled back, calling Arthur, among other things, a prat, a dollop-head, and an entitled ass.
But today, things would be different. He had picked up the coffee—made precisely to Arthur’s exacting specifications. He had spent an hour studying maps last night, so he was sure not to get lost. And no matter what Arthur said, he would grit his teeth and smile. Providing Arthur didn’t tell him he was fired as soon as he walked out the door.
When Arthur appeared, he glanced at Merlin and grimaced, but didn’t say a word. Merlin offered a silent prayer of thanks, handed Arthur his coffee, and then slid into the driver’s seat. He checked the rearview mirror quite often as he pulled out of the driveway. Arthur might be an annoying git, but he was also quite fit, and the t-shirt he was wearing showed off his muscles. Arthur sipped his coffee, told Merlin it had too much sugar, and then unfolded a newspaper, holding it up in front of his face. Merlin sighed and turned his attention back to the road.
They were stuck in traffic, and Merlin was staring glumly out the window, wishing that he was still home in bed or having a leisurely breakfast—preferably waffles—or stepping into his favorite bookshop to browse the new releases—basically anywhere but behind the wheel of a limo stuffed in an uncomfortable uniform. The traffic suddenly opened up a bit, and Merlin pressed on the gas, and the next thing he knew, the cars and tall buildings had vanished, and the limo was hurtling through an open field, heading straight for a giant mushroom. A giant blue mushroom.
Merlin slammed on the brakes, and the limo skidded to a halt. There was an irritated noise from the backseat, but Arthur stayed buried in his newspaper.
Blinking, Merlin stared out at the mushroom. It must have been four feet tall and was indeed a garish blue color. Merlin pinched his arm—hard. The mushroom stayed put. He glanced out the side window. A few more mushrooms were scattered about in the grass of the meadow. A line of trees marked the beginnings of a forest. Merlin looked out the other window. More mushrooms and…was that a dragon sitting on one of them?
It was. Not a large dragon, but definitely a dragon. It had shiny green and gold scales that shimmered in the sunlight. As Merlin watched, it took out what appeared to be a pocket-watch, glanced at it, and then peered at the limo, tapping its claws impatiently.
“Where the hell are we?” Arthur suddenly demanded. He had put down the newspaper and was now glaring at Merlin.
“I—I don’t know,” Merlin replied, loosening his collar nervously.
“You don’t know,” Arthur repeated. “Do you mean to say you’ve gotten lost again?”
“No!” Merlin protested. “That is—I’m not quite sure what’s happened. One minute we were there, and then the next minute we were…here.” He waved a hand at the mushroom.
“That is a mushroom,” Arthur said slowly. “It is a blue mushroom.”
“Yes. There are a few more of them out that way. And there’s a dragon, sitting atop one.”
Arthur looked. “What the fuck was in that coffee you gave me?” he demanded, reaching forward and grabbing Merlin’s jacket.
“Nothing!” Merlin struggled out of his grip. “I didn’t do anything, I swear!” Well, he had been wishing he was somewhere else. And strange things had a way of happening around him. But—no. No, he couldn’t have done this.
Arthur was breathing heavily. He sat back and picked up his newspaper. “Then this is a dream,” he announced and stared determinedly at the op-ed column.
“It’s not a dream,” Merlin muttered. He looked at the dragon again. It was looking decidedly annoyed, and steam was rising from its nostrils. Merlin unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door. “I’m going to talk to the dragon,” he announced. Arthur did not reply.
The dragon regarded him silently as he approached. He stopped when there was still a fair distance between them, wondering anxiously about flames and the chances of being burned to a crisp. The dragon twitched its claws, beckoning him to come closer, and he hesitantly obeyed.
“Um, hello,” he said.
“Greetings, Merlin,” the dragon replied. It had a very thick accent that made it hard to understand. Merlin supposed it was a bit difficult trying to talk when you had a snout and fangs.
“You, uh, know my name then?”
“Oh, yes.” The dragon chuckled.
“Right.” Merlin swallowed hard. “And who are you?”
“I am an M. S. Harry,” the dragon said—at least, Merlin thought that was what it said; he really could hardly understand it.
“M. S. Harry?” he repeated, puzzled.
“Emissary!” the dragon hissed. “Emissary!” A tongue of flame licked out of its jaw.
“Oh!” Merlin jumped. “Right. Sorry.” He shuffled his feet nervously. “Whose emissary?”
“Cliodhna, the queen of this land, sent me, as she was unable to come herself.”
“Why?”
“Because she is trapped in a foul and evil enchantment,” the dragon replied.
“Who enchanted her?” Merlin glanced over his shoulder at the limo. Meeting a dragon was all well and good, but he wished it would hurry up its story. He really needed to figure out a way to get back to their world before Arthur fired him in a fit of pique.
“Anfauglir the Black—a most cunning and crafty sorcerer. Not only did he trap our queen, he also set loose a fearsome monster to trouble our land.”
“I’m sorry,” Merlin said. “Why did he do that?”
The dragon sighed heavily. “The politics of fairyland are quite intricate. If you really wish me to give you the details…”
“No, no, that’s all right,” Merlin said hastily.
“In any case, what matters is that you are here,” the dragon continued. “You must break the enchantment and free Queen Cliodhna.”
“Me?” Merlin shook his head. “Look, I’m very sorry, but—”
“Only our queen has the power to return you to your world,” the dragon said, cutting him off. “You must free her or you shall be trapped as well.”
“But I can’t!” Merlin protested. “I can’t break a spell! Don’t you have to be a sorcerer to do that?”
“Which is exactly what you are.”
“No. No, you’ve got the wrong person.” Merlin took a step backwards. “I’m not a sorcerer.”
The dragon gave him a very knowing look. “Is that so?”
Merlin thought of the many odd things that had happened over the years—the fireplace suddenly flaring to life when he had been feeling a bit chilly, the door to his flat unlocking when he had been standing outside in the rain having forgotten his keys, that time with the goblin that he was sure had been a hallucination brought on by letting Will talk him into drinking far too much whisky one night. The feeling that there was something missing inside him.
“You’re saying I can do magic?” he said slowly.
“There’s no need for me to say it—it’s a fact,” the dragon replied.
“But even if I can do magic, I don’t know any spells!” Merlin threw up his hands. “So I can’t rescue your queen, much less kill this monster.”
“You know many spells, Merlin,” the dragon said. “You have simply forgotten them. And as for the Jabberwock—you cannot kill it. The spells that created it are too powerful, even for you. That task belongs to your friend.” It nodded in the direction of the limo.
“Arthur?” Merlin said, incredulous. “Arthur is supposed to kill the monster?” He paused, frowning. “Wait. Did you call it a Jabberwock? That’s not possible—that’s a poem by Lewis Carroll!”
The dragon snorted. “You of all people, Merlin, should not be debating what is possible and what is not. Besides, Anfauglir the Black happens to have a fondness for nineteenth century British literature. It could have been worse,” the dragon added. “Just think if he had gotten his hands on Beowulf.”
“Well, a Jabberwock doesn’t sound much better,” Merlin snapped. “And there’s no way Arthur is going to be able to kill it. He won’t even get out of the limo!”
“Arthur is the only one who can wield the vorpal sword that can pierce the magic binding the Jabberwock to life. You must help him find the sword.” The dragon pointed across the meadow. “I suggest heading in that direction. And as for getting out of the limo, he had better do so.” It pulled out its pocket-watch again. “Very shortly, the Jabberwock will be arriving. I suggest that the both of you flee the premises.”
“But—wait!” Merlin cried as the dragon flapped its wings and started rising into the air. “You can’t just leave me here! I need to know more!”
The dragon ignored him and quickly disappeared over the tree tops.
Merlin groaned. “You just had to tempt fate, didn’t you?” he muttered to himself. “You just had to say that today couldn’t possibly be worse than yesterday.” Sighing, he started back towards the limo. How he was going to explain this to Arthur, he really didn’t know.
Arthur had not moved. He cautiously lowered the newspaper when Merlin climbed into the limo, but then snapped it up again.
“Arthur,” Merlin said, and then repeated it a little more loudly, “Arthur.”
“Go away!” Arthur snapped. “I’m not going to acknowledge you. Or any of this. If I don’t, it will all disappear, and I’ll be back home.”
“Arthur, this isn’t a dream.” Merlin tugged the newspaper from his hands. “This is real, and we have to get out of here because a monster is coming.”
“You’re right, this isn’t a dream—it’s a nightmare.” Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. “I am not getting out of this car.”
“Fine!” Merlin snapped. “Fine. Stay here and get eaten by the Jabberwock!”
“The Jabberwock?” Arthur raised his eyebrows. “You do know that’s a work of fiction?”
“Not here. Here the Jabberwock is a real, live monster that you have to kill.”
“Me?” Arthur laughed. “How? Throw my shoe at it?”
“No.” Merlin gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to simply grab Arthur’s collar and drag him out of the damn limo. “We have to go find a sword. And then I have to end the spell that is holding the queen of this land a prisoner so that she can send us home. That is how we are getting back.”
“You are insane. You are insane, and I’m not going to listen to this any longer.” And Arthur turned away and searched through his jacket pockets, finally pulling out his iPod.
“Arthur, we have to get out of here!” Merlin shouted, making a grab for the iPod. Arthur snatched it away.
“Fuck off,” he snarled.
Merlin breathed heavily through his nose and then jerked open the door. “I’m going,” he said. “Stay here then and get eaten!” Arthur ignored him.
Muttering angrily, Merlin strode away across the meadow, heading in the direction the dragon had pointed. He’d wait around in the forest for a while, let Arthur get nervous, then go back and see if he could talk some sense into him. He had just reached the trees when the ground trembled. Merlin paused. He felt the tremor again. He hoped it wasn’t an earthquake—that really would be the last straw.
He could hear something, too—a sort of howling. It rose and fell on the wind, sending shivers up his back. The ground shook again, harder.
Suddenly, he realized what it must be. Turning, he started running back towards the limo. “Arthur!” he shouted desperately. “Arthur get out of there!”
He was still far away when the Jabberwock broke out of the trees. It was hideous and terrifying—a scaly body with stunted wings and a long tail, a serpentine neck that ended in a head crowned with twisted horns. It opened its mouth and howled again. Merlin could see its fangs. Sharp claws dug into the ground. It was heading straight for the limousine.
A second later, the door opened and Arthur stumbled out. He stared at the Jabberwock, frozen in shock.
“Arthur!” Merlin screamed again, and his shout galvanized Arthur, who started running towards him. But he wasn’t fast enough—the Jabberwock was closing in too quickly. It was momentarily distracted by the limousine and paused, ripping open the roof with a casual swipe of its paw, slicing through the metal as easily as if it were a piece of cheese. Snarling, it swung its tail around, hitting the limo, and sending it tumbling end over end. Then it spotted Arthur.
Merlin didn’t think—couldn’t think. But suddenly he was raising his hand, strange words coming out of his mouth. A ball of flame shot out, heading for the Jabberwock. It shrieked in surprise and ducked out of the way. It stopped, looking warily at Merlin.
Arthur reached him, eyes wide with fear, and Merlin grabbed him, started tugging him towards the forest. “Come on! That won’t stop it for long.”
They reached the trees, and Merlin pulled Arthur into a stand of thick bushes, ignoring the thorns that ripped at their clothes. Trying not to breathe loudly, they crouched in the midst of the leaves, listening to the Jabberwock prowling around. Slowly, the sounds receded, and finally silence fell.
Merlin turned to find Arthur staring at him.
“What did you do?” Arthur asked in a low voice. “You raised your hand and—and—”
“I don’t know,” Merlin replied. He was trembling from the adrenaline, the shock of having a bloody fireball bursting from his hands. “The dragon said I could do magic, and weird things have a way of happening around me, but…” He trailed off, staring down at his hands.
“Weird things?” Arthur grabbed his collar and jerked Merlin around to face him. “Did you bring us here?”
“No! Well,” Merlin futilely tried to pry Arthur’s fingers off, “I was sort of wishing I was somewhere else, and then we were, but I think—”
“Take us back!” Arthur shook him. “If you’re magic, take us back!”
“I can’t.” Merlin tore away, leaving Arthur glaring at him. “I don’t know how. And the dragon said only Queen Cliodhna has the power to send us back.”
“Tell me everything it said,” Arthur demanded, and Merlin did, stuttering a little under Arthur’s furious gaze.
“This is ridiculous,” Arthur said bitterly when Merlin had finished. He stood up, brushing dirt off his knees. Sighing, he stared at the trees for a few minutes before giving Merlin another glare. “Well what are you waiting for? Let’s go find the sword.” And he strode off into the forest.
Merlin scrambled after him. “So you believe it then? You believe that this is real?”
“It doesn’t seem I have a choice,” Arthur replied in a grim tone.
“It will be all right,” Merlin told him. “We’ll get home.”
“Just shut up,” Arthur muttered. “The only thing worse than being stuck in this place with a monster on the loose is being stuck here with you.”
Hurt, Merlin subsided, and fell back to walk behind Arthur.
**
The afternoon wore on as they trudged along. They had found a faint path, which seemed to be leading in the direction the dragon had told them to go, so they decided to follow it. Although Merlin kept expecting to hear the Jabberwock’s howl and see it charging out of the trees, it did not return. Indeed, the forest was practically silent about them, only a few birds calling out to one another. It seemed strangely cold—flowers grew among the grasses and green leaves decorated the trees, but Merlin was soon shivering. Arthur looked cold as well—he had on his jacket, but it wasn’t a very warm one.
The cold made Arthur grumpy, and he also began complaining about being hungry.
“I don’t keep sandwiches in my pockets!” Merlin finally snapped at him.
Arthur scowled. “You look perfectly ridiculous, wandering about in that uniform.”
“Why, would you prefer me naked?” Merlin retorted, although he did feel silly walking through the forest in a chauffeur’s outfit.
To his surprise, Arthur blushed, but he said, “No. I just wish you would do something useful. I’m hungry—can’t you conjure up something to eat?”
“I told you, I don’t know how I’m doing the magic.” Merlin took off his cap and ran a hand through his hair. “We’ll just have to keep our eyes open for berries or something.”
Arthur snorted in disgust and fell silent.
They hadn’t gone far before they spotted a small, wooden hut through the trees. A tangled garden surrounded it, choked with weeds. After an exchange of furious whispers, Arthur decided to go knock on the door, despite Merlin’s feeling that it was a bad idea. In his opinion, the hut looked exactly like the sort of place a witch would live.
No one answered the door, and after waiting a minute, Arthur tried the handle. It opened, and the door swung inward, creaking.
“Arthur, I really don’t think we should go in,” Merlin said, glancing over his shoulder.
“Don’t you smell that?” Arthur asked, sniffing the air. “It smells like fresh bread.” He sniffed again. “And chicken. We might be able to find something to eat.”
Reluctantly, Merlin followed Arthur into the hut. It was silent and empty but for a wooden table and two chairs. The table was covered with food—cooked chicken, fresh bread, luscious peaches, and a frosted cake. Arthur immediately grabbed a piece of bread.
“Arthur, don’t eat that!” Merlin said sharply, and Arthur paused.
“Why not? It isn’t moldy.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little odd to find this here?” Merlin demanded. “It might be enchanted. Who knows what will happen if you eat it.”
Arthur scoffed. “Nonsense. I’m sure whoever lives here just stepped out for a moment. And I’m really hungry.” And he took a bite of the bread.
Merlin held his breath, and even Arthur seemed to be waiting nervously. But after a few seconds, when nothing happened, he flashed Merlin a smug smile and then sat down in one of the chairs. He picked up a peach and began eating it, juice dripping down his fingers.
Merlin’s own mouth was watering, and his stomach growled. He had just settled onto the other chair and was reaching for a fork, when Arthur’s eyes suddenly slid closed, and his head fell onto the table with a thunk.
“Arthur!” Merlin leaped up and grabbed his arm, shaking him. “Arthur, are you all right?”
Anxiously, he put his fingers on Arthur’s throat, fearing the worst. But Arthur’s heartbeat thudded strongly. Merlin shook him again. “Arthur, wake up!”
But Arthur didn’t wake. He didn’t wake when Merlin slapped him. He didn’t wake when Merlin pinched his arm.
Merlin sank back down into the chair and stared morosely at Arthur’s peaceful countenance. What was he going to do now? He couldn’t carry Arthur, but he couldn’t leave him here, either.
He was just starting to consider trying some magic, although he hadn’t the faintest clue where to begin, when the door opened. Merlin sprang to his feet, gripping one of the bread knives in his hand.
A woman appeared, long hair framing a pale face. She wore a white gown, with no ornamentation beyond a dark red stone that hung from a chain around her neck. In her arms, she carried a leather-bound book, its pages held together with a piece of twine.
“The handsome ones are always so easy to bewitch,” she murmured, looking at Arthur. She raised her eyes to meet Merlin’s and smiled. “I see you have managed to avoid my trap.”
“Who are you?” Merlin demanded, edging around the table so that he was standing between her and Arthur. “I’m not going to let you hurt him.”
“I don’t mean your king any harm,” she replied. “But I am a witch. So few people pass by this way—I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to try out one of my spells.” She peeked round Merlin’s shoulder at Arthur. “It does seem to have worked splendidly.”
Merlin slowly lowered the knife. “Why did you call him a king?”
“I see you have forgotten much,” the witch said, and she held out the book. “Perhaps this will help you remember.”
Hesitantly, Merlin took the book from her hands. “What is it?”
“A spell book. You shall need it to free our queen.” She gestured out the window. “Already, the magic is being sapped from the land. The weather is growing colder, the plants dying. And the Jabberwock and the other monsters are spreading fear and destruction.” She laid her hand on Merlin’s arm. “You must hurry.”
“But I don’t know if I can,” Merlin protested. “And Arthur—how is he supposed to fight the Jabberwock?”
“Do not underestimate your king. Or yourself,” the witch replied, and she turned away, walking towards the door.
“Wait!” Merlin called after her. “What about Arthur? How do I wake him?”
The witch looked over her shoulder. “How are people usually woken from an enchanted sleep?” She winked and stepped over the threshold.
Merlin gaped after her for a moment and then rushed to the door. “You can’t be serious, I—” But the garden was empty. The witch had vanished.
Groaning, Merlin went back inside. Arthur was still fast asleep. He stared down at him for a moment, and finally set the book down with a sigh. “This is going to be the second time I’ve saved your sorry arse,” he commented, hauling Arthur into a sitting position. Arthur’s head lolled forward, and Merlin cupped it in his hands. “I wish you really wanted me to do this,” he whispered before bending down and pressing his lips to Arthur’s.
Arthur’s skin was warm under his fingers, and he couldn’t help sliding his fingers up to brush against Arthur’s soft hair. He felt Arthur’s mouth move against his and quickly pulled back. Arthur was blinking up at him in confusion. “What happened?” he asked, staring around the room.
“You didn’t listen to me is what happened,” Merlin told him. “I warned you not to eat the food, but no, no, you knew best of course.”
“It was enchanted?” Arthur stood up quickly, backing away from the table.
“Yes. The witch who did it dropped by while you were asleep and gave me this spell book.” Merlin decided to leave out a few of her other comments—such as calling Arthur a king and that offhanded remark about other monsters.
“And did you—did you kiss me to wake me up?” Arthur’s voice rose an octave, and a blush started creeping up his neck.
“Yep.” Merlin grinned. “Just like a princess.”
Arthur glared at him, still blushing.
Merlin could have teased him some more, but decided to be merciful and picked up the book instead. He undid the twine around it and carefully opened its pages. The ink was faded, the paper yellowed with age.
“Well that won’t do us any good,” Arthur said, looking over Merlin’s arm at the book. “Unless you can read whatever language it’s written in.”
“I can read it,” Merlin said slowly. Part of him looked at the words and saw only gibberish, but another part understood the spells—recognized words, knew how they would feel on his tongue.
He could feel Arthur staring at him, and he shut the book, tucking it under his arm. “Come on. We should get going. Unless you want to wait for the witch to return.”
“No,” Arthur said hastily. “I’ve had enough of witches.”
“You did make a lovely princess, though,” Merlin mused and ducked out of the way, laughing, when Arthur tried to cuff him round the head.
**
They walked on until the sun sank behind the trees.
“I suppose we should stop for the night,” Merlin said, looking around for a likely spot. “The path is so faint—I’m afraid we’ll lose it if we keep walking much longer.”
“Fine,” Arthur said grudgingly. They clambered down a small embankment that offered at least some protection from the wind. Merlin started gathering dead wood and bits of grass.
“I thought I’d try making a fire,” he explained.
“How? Rubbing two sticks together?” Arthur said, scowling and huddling deeper into his jacket. It had grown colder as night fell, and they were both shivering.
“No. With my magic.”
Arthur brightened at the thought of getting a bit warmer and helped Merlin gather wood. They crouched down next to the pile, and Arthur stared at Merlin hopefully. Merlin swallowed and rubbed his hands together.
“Right.” He took a deep breath and held his fingers over the wood. He pictured flames leaping into existence. Nothing happened.
Arthur’s face fell, and he sat back. “I thought you were actually going to do something right for once,” he muttered.
Merlin glared at Arthur, and then back at the wood. He knew he could do this. Relaxing, he closed his eyes, letting himself drift. He had never tried to actually touch his magic before—not consciously. Perhaps he could feel something, deep within himself. If he could just draw it out—
He felt his lips move, a word fall from his mouth, “Baerne.”
He heard Arthur gasp. Opening his eyes, he looked down to see flames licking at the wood. “I did it!” he exclaimed, leaning closer to hold his hands over the welcome warmth.
“I guess you aren’t completely useless,” Arthur said, shifting closer to the fire. He cleared his throat. “And Merlin—thank you. For earlier. With the Jabberwock and the witch.”
“Well, it is part of my contract,” Merlin said, smiling. “Don’t let your passenger get torn apart by monsters or enchanted by witches.”
Arthur laughed. “Why are you driving a limousine anyway?” He glanced at Merlin. “I can’t say that you seemed too thrilled about it.”
Merlin shrugged. “I need the money. I’m trying to save up to go to university.”
“I’m going next month,” Arthur said. “Well, that was the plan anyway.” He sighed, looking out at the dark trees that surrounded them, pressing in close. “What do you want to study?”
“Journalism.” Merlin tossed another stick onto the fire. “What about you?”
“Not sure.” Arthur sighed again. “My dad wants me to go into business, but I rather fancy law or perhaps political science. Of course, it might be a moot point now.”
“Don’t say that.” Merlin studied Arthur’s face, noting the tightness around his mouth and eyes. “We’ll be fine. We’ll get out of this.”
“You saw that thing,” Arthur replied in a low voice. “How am I supposed to face that? I’ve never held a sword in my life.”
“Well, you play football, right?” He had picked up Arthur from practice the day before and had practically driven into a mailbox when Arthur stripped off his sweat-soaked shirt in the backseat and shrugged on a clean one.
Arthur gave him a disbelieving look. “How is football going to help against a Jabberwock?”
“You’re fast on your feet. Agile.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Right. My skills at scoring goals are going to defeat a fairytale monster. Of course, how obvious.” He shook his head. “Maybe we can just skip that part. I mean, now that we know you can do magic, you’ll be able to free the queen and that will be that.”
“Maybe.” Merlin picked up the spell book. “I should probably start looking for the spell that will break the enchantment.”
Arthur remained sitting by the fire for a while, but finally he moved to the base of a tree where some leaves had drifted and lay down, curling into a ball. Merlin’s own eyes were feeling heavy, the effects of the entire day catching up to him. He yawned and closed the book, then tried to find a comfortable spot of his own.
“Arthur?” he said after a few minutes. “Are you asleep?”
“No.” He heard Arthur shifting around. “I’m too fucking cold.”
Merlin hesitated. “We could, um, sleep together. Not together, I mean, but, well—”
“Shut up and get over here,” Arthur said.
There were a few awkward moments with elbows and legs and hands, but they finally ended up with Arthur pressed against Merlin’s back. Arthur put a wary arm around him, and Merlin moved a little closer. “We can switch during the night,” he murmured.
“All right.” Arthur’s breath tickled his ear. In other circumstances, Merlin would have been nervous, on edge, and completely turned on, but right now he was so tired that all he could manage was to tuck Arthur’s hand into his jacket before falling asleep.
**
Merlin woke slowly. A tree root was poking him in the ribs and his back was freezing. But his face was pressed against something warm and soft. Opening his eyes, he realized it was Arthur’s hair. He had one leg thrown across Arthur’s, and his arms tight around Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur was pressed against him, his face buried in Merlin’s neck.
He pulled back just a little—enough to see Arthur’s face. Arthur was still asleep, his mouth open, and he’d drooled on Merlin’s jacket. Smiling, Merlin brushed his fingers across Arthur’s cheek. “Hey,” he said softly. “Time to wake up, Arthur.”
Arthur made an unhappy noise and snuggled closer.
“Not a morning person, are you?” He shook Arthur’s shoulder. “Come on. Rise and shine.”
Arthur groaned and opened his eyes. He blinked in a puzzled manner, frowning as he stared at Merlin’s face. “Merlin? What’s going on?” He shifted, and Merlin reluctantly pulled his arms away.
Arthur sat up, running a hand through his hair, dislodging a few sticks. The puzzled look faded, and Arthur’s shoulders slumped. “We’re still here then,” he said dully. “I’d hoped it really had been a dream.”
Merlin forced a laugh. “I’m afraid you’ll have to suffer through my company for another day.”
“I don’t mind that,” Arthur said quietly, not looking at him. “I didn’t mean what I said yesterday.”
“I know.” Merlin struggled to his feet. The sun was just touching the tops of the trees, but a mist still lay over the ground. He offered his hand to Arthur. “Ready?”
Arthur looked up and managed a small smile. He took Merlin’s hand and clambered to his feet. He didn’t let go immediately, and Merlin glanced down at their joined hands. Arthur flushed and pulled away. “I think there’s a stream over there,” he said. “I’m going to wash my face at least.”
Merlin followed him and they crouched on the bank, sputtering as the cold water splashed against their skin. They took long drinks, too, and Merlin hunted among the bushes, finally coming up with a handful of berries.
“Do you think they’re safe?” Arthur asked doubtfully.
“They could almost be raspberries,” Merlin said. “Except for the color.”
“Blue.” Arthur sighed. “Why does everything have to be blue?”
Merlin popped one of the berries in his mouth. “I like blue.”
“You would.” Arthur ate one as well.
Nothing happened, so they polished off the small handful Merlin had collected, and then headed back to the path.
**
As they walked on, the ground grew rockier and more open. The tall trees of the forest disappeared, replaced by stunted and twisted ones with shriveled leaves. The remains of flowers and bushes could be seen along the path, but they were all dead and wilted. Instead, strange plants grew in their place. Their leaves were an odd, dark purple color, and slimy tendrils curled along the stems.
“What are these?” Arthur said, looking at them in disgust.
“Slithy toves, perhaps?” Merlin answered. “I’m serious!” he added when Arthur rolled his eyes. “And look at the sky—that weird, yellow color—‘brillig’ seems like an apt description for it.”
“About the poem,” Arthur paused and then said quickly, “the Jabberwock isn’t the only monster.”
“I know.” Merlin sighed. “The witch mentioned something about other monsters. The Jubjub bird and frumious Bandersnatch I suppose.”
Arthur stopped and grabbed Merlin’s arm. “And just when were you going to share that piece of information with me?” he demanded.
“I didn’t want to upset you,” Merlin began, reaching out a placating hand, but Arthur stepped away.
“Upset me? We’re stuck in this—this mad world. There’s a monster roaming around that could make mincemeat out of us, and you were worried about upsetting me?”
“I’m sorry!” Merlin reached out again, but Arthur just stared at his hand coldly before stalking past and continuing down the path. Sighing, Merlin plodded after him.
“I really am sorry,” he tried again awhile later as they clambered down a steep slope, slipping on loose rocks and pebbles.
“What else aren’t you telling me?” Arthur demanded, ignoring the steadying hand Merlin offered him.
“The witch called you a king. I don’t know why.” Merlin gave Arthur a hopeful smile. “No more secrets, I promise.”
“My name might be Arthur—that doesn’t mean I’m actually a king!” Arthur scowled. “I don’t know how to wield a sword or fight monsters or any of it!”
“I know, but—”
“No, you don’t. You have magic. You’re as much a freak as the rest of this place.”
Merlin flinched and gave Arthur a reproachful look. For a second Arthur looked guilty, but then his face hardened. “Come on,” he said, “the quicker we find this sword, the faster this nightmare will be over.”
“Fine,” Merlin bit out, and he pushed past Arthur, walking swiftly ahead.
He was so busy thinking up choice insults to hurl at Arthur that he never even heard trouble approaching. Suddenly a shrill squawk sounded, and Arthur was yelling, “Merlin, look out!”
Merlin looked up in time to see a massive bird diving down at him. In shape, it resembled a vulture, but Merlin had never heard of a vulture this large. Its feet bore sharp claws, aimed straight for his eyes.
The next second, Arthur barreled into him, bringing them both crashing to the ground. The bird swept over them, its wings kicking up a flurry of dust, and Arthur cried out.
“What is it?” Merlin struggled to sit up, looking around frantically for the bird.
“Its talons—got me in the back,” Arthur said, trying to rise. He bit back another cry and slumped back down in the dirt.
“Don’t try to move,” Merlin told him, getting warily to his feet. He scanned the sky, shielding his eyes against the sun.
A black blur came hurtling down at him. Gathering his breath, Merlin reached for his magic. This time, it came easily, as did the words of the spell. He shouted them, and fire streaked from his hands, engulfing the bird. With a wailing croak, it plummeted to the earth and lay still, smoke rising from its blackened feathers.
Wrinkling his nose at the smell, Merlin crouched down next to Arthur. “I think that was a Jubjub bird,” he said shakily. The back of Arthur’s jacket was in tatters, and blood was seeping through the cloth. Swallowing hard, Merlin started removing it. “Let me see how badly you’re hurt.”
“That evil wizard—” Arthur gasped as he bent his arms, letting Merlin slip of the jacket, “that evil wizard is taking a fucking lot of artistic license. Nowhere in the poem does it say a Jubjub bird has a ten-foot wingspan or inch-long talons. Nowhere!”
“Let’s just hope there’s only one of them.” Merlin laid Arthur’s jacket aside and slowly eased up his t-shirt. Four ragged gashes stretched across Arthur’s back from just above his right hip to his left shoulder. They were bleeding heavily and already looked inflamed.
“How bad is it?” Arthur asked in a low voice.
“Not bad,” Merlin replied quickly.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” Merlin said, knowing it didn’t sound at all convincing. He looked around. There was nothing except rocks and dirt. They had no medical supplies to speak of—he didn’t know much about treating injuries, but these looked like they would require stitches, not to mention some kind of antiseptic.
“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice trembled a little.
Merlin moved around until he was facing him. “I’ll tear up your shirt—make some bandages. You’ll be fine.” He managed a smile. “Really. I promise.”
Arthur held his eyes for a moment and then nodded slowly. Carefully, Merlin ripped off the tattered remains of Arthur’s t-shirt. Arthur held still while he tied the makeshift bandages around his back and chest, although Merlin could tell it hurt. He took off his own jacket and put it around Arthur’s shoulders, then helped him to his feet.
Merlin quickly realized that Arthur wasn’t going to be able to make it far—not like this. Every step caused him pain and soon the back of Merlin’s jacket was damp with blood. Arthur’s face was pale, and he staggered often, leaning heavily on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin tried to help, fingers growing numb from the cold, but Arthur’s pace grew slower and slower. Swallowing back his fear and panic, Merlin mumbled encouragement, telling Arthur that he would be fine. That they would find someone or something that could help. But the land stretched before them, empty and barren. Finally, Arthur’s legs gave way, and he sank to the ground.
“I just have to rest. Just for a minute,” he gasped.
They were in a small hollow. A stand of tall bushes grew off to one side, and a stream wound its way through the rocks.
“We’ll stop here for the night,” Merlin said, trying to make it sound like it was due to the fading sunlight and not Arthur’s growing weakness. He half-carried Arthur off the path and under the bushes. Balling up Arthur’s ruined jacket into a pillow, he helped Arthur lie on his stomach. Arthur moaned. Sweat coated his forehead, and he was shivering. Merlin gathered wood and started a fire, then went to the stream and soaked his handkerchief in the water. He sat down next to Arthur, sponging the sweat off his forehead.
“What possessed you to leap in front of me?” he murmured. “Thank you for that, by the way.”
“Merlin,” Arthur muttered, but he didn’t open his eyes. “Hurts. Merlin, it hurts.”
“I know.” Arthur’s cheeks were flushed with fever. Merlin soaked the cloth again and laid it against Arthur’s brow.
“Have to—have to send the sword back,” Arthur gasped. “Merlin—Merlin where are you?”
“I’m here. Right here.” He found Arthur’s hand and gripped it. “And we have to find the sword, Arthur.”
“No,” Arthur moaned. “The lake—long time ago. But now—can’t let anyone else wield it. I—I won’t need it anymore.”
“We still have to find it,” Merlin repeated. “Try and get some sleep, Arthur.”
But Arthur thrashed around, his hand tightening around Merlin’s. “Needed you,” he whispered. “Mordred—I couldn’t. I couldn’t.”
Merlin shivered. Mordred. What if Arthur really was the famous king? What if he was starting to remember things, just like Merlin had remembered the spells?
“It’s all so dark,” Arthur said. His eyes had snapped open, but he was staring out unseeing. Whatever he beheld, it was a place and time that had long ago passed into myth.
“You’ll be all right,” Merlin told him, blinking back the tears that had sprung into his eyes. “I’m with you this time, Arthur. You’re not going to die.” He smoothed back Arthur’s tangled hair.
“Merlin,” Arthur whispered again, and then his eyes slid shut, and his breathing slowed as he fell asleep.
Merlin drew his jacket more closely about Arthur, and then picked up the spell book, hunching over the fire. There had to be a spell in here that would save Arthur. There had to be.
**
The night dragged on. Arthur slept fitfully, now and then crying out strange names and mumbling incoherently. Merlin found spells—many spells. Spells to heal poisoning and arrow wounds and bites and sword thrusts. He tried them all—and nothing worked.
Morning found him kneeling by Arthur’s side. Arthur’s face looked grey and drawn, his breathing shallow. “You can’t die,” Merlin said, scrubbing away the tears that spilled down his face. “Arthur, please. Please don’t die.” He took Arthur’s hand in his again, threading their fingers together.
“I can help him!” a small voice said, and Merlin leaped up, startled, looking around wildly.
“Who’s there?” he demanded, his hand straying towards a piece of wood.
“Me!” the voice said unhelpfully.
“Where are you?”
“Right here!” the voice said, sounding petulant, and Merlin felt something tugging on the leg of his trousers. He looked down, and his mouth dropped open. A fairy was staring up at him.
Gulping, Merlin got back on his knees. The fairy had iridescent wings, shimmering in the growing sunlight. She wore a tattered dress of leaves sewn together, and her hair looked unkempt. She couldn’t have been more than five inches tall.
“You said you know how to help my friend?” he asked, and she nodded.
“The Jubjub bird’s claws are filled with poison,” she said in her thin little voice. “Only a certain potion can cure it.”
“And you have some?”
She nodded again.
“Please get it—or tell me where it is! He’s dying!”
She tilted her head and fluttered her wings, rising into the air until she was hovering right in front of his face. “I want one of those first!” she demanded and pointed imperiously at one of the shiny buttons on Merlin’s jacket, draped over Arthur’s back.
“All right.” He tugged one off, tucking the jacket back around Arthur when he was done. He held it out to her, but then closed his hand before she could touch it. “First get me the potion.”
She pouted. “I’m not going to cheat you,” she said in a sulky tone, but she motioned for Merlin to follow her.
With an agonized glance at Arthur, Merlin did, ducking through the bushes. They hadn’t gone far, though, before the fairy stopped at an old hollow log. She crawled in, and Merlin peered into the opening. It was filled with a strange mixture of things—some moss piled into a bed in a corner, an owl’s feather, some dried mushrooms, a glass bead, and a small bottle filled with clear liquid.
“Is that it?” Merlin demanded, and she nodded. He quickly set the button down and grabbed the bottle, dashing back towards Arthur. The fairy followed him, flying next to his ear.
Ignoring her, Merlin knelt next to Arthur and hauled him into a sitting position. Arthur’s head lolled back against his shoulder, and Merlin opened his mouth, poured the potion in, and then stroked his throat, making him swallow it.
“Is that it?” Merlin asked the fairy. “When will he get better?”
“Soon.” She landed on Arthur’s knee and peered up at him. “I can show you where some herbs grow, and you can make a poultice for his wounds.”
Merlin accepted her help gratefully. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“I’m not going to tell you my name!” she said, sounding shocked.
“Well, I have to call you something,” he said, smiling. “My name is Merlin. And this is Arthur.”
She hovered doubtfully in the air. Merlin held out his hand. Warily, she landed on it, crouching down, her little wings quivering. “I don’t know any human names,” she said.
“How about ‘Buttercup’? It’s a lovely yellow flower where I come from.”
“I like flowers.” She smiled. “That is a good name, Merlin!” She left his hand and fluttered onto his shoulder. “Are you magic?”
“I can do magic, yes.”
Buttercup nodded thoughtfully and pointed him in the direction of some light purple ferns that she assured him had wonderful healing properties.
Merlin followed her directions and soon had a thick paste that he applied to Arthur’s injuries. Already Arthur seemed better—the fever was gone, and he was sleeping peacefully. Buttercup disappeared for a moment, and when she reappeared, she carried a small pouch. She sprinkled the contents onto Arthur’s back. It looked like sparkling dust motes, caught in the sun, but she refused to say what it was.
“I suppose you wouldn’t know where I might be able to find something to eat?” Merlin asked, and heaved a sigh of relief when Buttercup nodded vigorously. They spent the morning seeking out berries and mushrooms. Buttercup was fascinated with Merlin’s watch and kept poking at it, asking him to explain ‘batteries.’ Merlin tried his best.
When they returned to the hollow, and Merlin checked Arthur’s wounds, he gasped. They were practically healed—four tender scars were all that was left. “You’re amazing, Buttercup!” he exclaimed, and she preened.
“Arthur. Wake up, Arthur.” Merlin shook Arthur’s shoulder, and his eyes slowly opened. Merlin held his breath—would Arthur remember any of the dreams and visions?
Arthur looked confused for a moment, but then his expression cleared, and he sat up. Immediately he reached around to touch his back, and his eyes widened. “Did you do this?” he asked Merlin.
Merlin shook his head. “No. That was Buttercup.”
“Buttercup?”
“Yes.” Merlin grinned and looked towards the stone that Buttercup had fled behind when Arthur sat up. “You can come out now,” he told her.
Slowly, Buttercup emerged.
“A fairy?” Arthur moved towards her, and Buttercup shrieked, flying up to Merlin’s shoulder and clinging to his hair.
“You frightened her,” he said to Arthur. “Buttercup, it’s all right, he won’t hurt you.”
Buttercup tightened her grip, and Merlin winced. Arthur rolled his eyes and sat back, sighing. “The last thing I remember is you dragging me here.” He stared around the hollow, rubbing his face wearily, and then plucked at the sleeve of Merlin’s jacket. “I suppose I’ll have to wear this?”
So Arthur didn’t recall any of the visions. Merlin was glad—no one should have to remember their death in some other life. Although the way Arthur had said his name…it had sounded as though he had, well, loved Merlin’s other self. Clearing his throat, Merlin pushed those thoughts away. “It’s the jacket or going without,” he confirmed.
Arthur grimaced and did up the buttons. The jacket was too small for him and pulled tight against his shoulders. Merlin handed him some of the berries and mushrooms he had gathered, and Arthur ate them hungrily. Catching himself staring at the way Arthur’s tongue licked out to clean his fingers, Merlin turned his attention to Buttercup.
“Do you know anything about a vorpal sword?” he asked, gently tugging his hair away from her grasp.
Buttercup gasped and flitted about excitedly. “Are you going to kill the Jabberwock, Merlin?”
“Maybe,” Merlin hedged, seeing Arthur tense out of the corner of his eye.
“It murdered my family,” Buttercup whispered, and two tiny tears slid down her cheeks. “I used to live in a lovely city on a hilltop. And one day—one day the Jabberwock came. I was the only one who escaped,” she finished sadly, her wings crumpling around her shoulders. “I’ve been wandering in the wilderness ever since.”
Merlin tried to think of words that would comfort her, but it was Arthur who spoke. “I’m going to kill the Jabberwock,” he said firmly.
“Really?” Buttercup brightened, and her wings shimmered again.
“Really.” Arthur raised his chin, a determined light in his eyes.
Merlin fumbled with his watch. “I want you to have this, Buttercup. As a thank you for all your help.”
Buttercup stared at the watch and then looked at Merlin, her eyes wide. “I want to come with you!”
“It will be dangerous,” Merlin began, but Buttercup’s eyes filled with tears. “All right,” he said hastily. “All right.”
Buttercup clapped her hands and flew around his head. Arthur gave him a look.
“She was crying,” Merlin protested, and Arthur sighed.
“You’re a pushover, Merlin,” he said, but there was a certain fondness in his voice, and when Merlin gave him a tentative smile, he smiled back.
**
Merlin quickly discovered that Buttercup was incapable of staying still for any length of time. She flitted ahead of them or darted off to investigate shiny things that caught her eye, occasionally coming back to rest on Merlin’s shoulder. She was still skittish of getting close to Arthur, who seemed a little offended.
“I don’t usually have such a problem with girls,” he told her, holding out his hand. Buttercup flew back to Merlin. “Not that it does them any good,” Arthur added, letting his hand drop.
“Why not?” Buttercup asked, peeking over the top of Merlin’s head.
“I’m attracted to men, not women,” Arthur explained, flushing a little and avoiding looking at Merlin.
Merlin cleared his throat. “I’m afraid you won’t get a kiss from either of us,” he said, and Arthur quickly glanced at him. Merlin’s face felt hot, but he determinedly kept his eyes on Arthur’s—until he stumbled over a rock.
“Watch where you’re going, Merlin,” Arthur said, smirking. Merlin righted himself and gave Arthur a glare.
“Ouch!” Arthur exclaimed a second later, putting a hand to his head. Buttercup had flown up behind Arthur and pulled out a few strands of his hair. She darted back to the safety of Merlin’s shoulder. “What was that for?” Arthur demanded.
Merlin shrugged. “She likes shiny things,” he said with a grin.
Arthur rubbed his scalp. “I won’t hurt you,” he said to Buttercup in a coaxing tone. “It can’t be comfortable perched on Merlin’s bony shoulder.”
“Hey!” Merlin protested.
“I’ll sing you a song,” Arthur told her. “It’s all about a girl named Buttercup.”
“Really?” Buttercup flitted closer to him. “Is she as lovely as I am?”
Arthur pretended to consider this. “No, definitely not,” he said at last, shaking his head.
Buttercup smiled and fluffed her hair before alighting on Arthur’s hand. “Sing me the song!” she demanded.
“Why do you build me up, build me up, Buttercup, baby, just to let me down,” Arthur began, and Merlin laughed. “What?” Arthur asked, stopping.
“You have a horrible voice,” Merlin replied.
“I never said I could sing well,” Arthur pointed out.
“Keep singing!” Buttercup told him. “I want to hear my song!”
So Arthur sang all the verses, while Merlin pretended to stop up his ears.
**
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Date: 2012-01-11 02:04 am (UTC)