"There is no way Merlin is screwing the Prince of Camelot." ↴
Little did he know, Gawain had never been more wrong.
♖ ♔ ♖
In which Merlin learns love, lust and loss through the wicked hand of his enemies, and Arthur realises that his most corrupt si...
An arrow whistled past Merlin's head - the breeze tousling his raven hair as it flew precariously close to his ear - and landed with a dangerous thud at his feet, just narrowly missing Arthur. The Prince shuffled backwards hastily, gawking at the fletched arrow protruding from the ground.
"Ambush!" Lancelot's strained warning echoed through the narrow passage from the end of the line - almost instantly followed by a definite clash of sword-upon-sword, the sound quivering in the air like an admonition.
Another arrow hissed past, this time finding a worthy target. Flint tore through skin, the lethal head embedding itself deep within the exposed flank of Leon's horse. Whinnying agonisingly, - a sound that turned Merlin's blood cold - the colt bucked and reared, throwing his rider off. The knight landed with a heavy thud; a sickening crunch announcing undeniable trauma as he sprawled, winded and motionless on the path.
Panic bristled in the air; suddenly there were men everywhere. Appearing from nowhere - thundering down the path towards them, filling the cramped passage with their crashing might - to block the way forwards. Filling the passage from behind too - though hindered by the knights, who had turned to fight the challengers valiantly. The woods were alive with barbaric shouts, bloody cries and harsh rebounds of metal as the intruders clashed with the noblemen.
Both Merlin and Arthur raised their heads simultaneously. Almost directly above them - glowering menacingly from the elevated banks - loomed a dozen thugs; each armed with a loaded crossbow, trained upon the defenceless pair below. Perhaps it hadn't been the billowing leaves that the knights had heard after all, but the stealthy, slinking footsteps of bowmen.
However, not a single arrow was fired, and not a single bandit moved. There should be no fear that one might miss - each archer had a clean, precise shot. So why weren't they shooting?
Instead the attackers stood - wordless and still - watching the Prince and his manservant at their mercy. Trapped. Defenceless against the onslaught of arrows that yearned to be released as fingers caressed triggers - but bound by a promise: not to kill them.
Arthur's head reeled as he struggled to think straight. A deafening clamour rioted in his ears, and he stared in stunned dismay. A tense moment lingered, before he finally snapped from his trance, scrambling to his feet and unsheathing a sword with furious, flourishing vengeance.
"Get out of here!" He commanded Leon - clutching his stomach, face contorted with pain from the fall - who was devotedly struggling to his Prince's side. "Gather the others and get out!"
The wounded knight evidently hesitated, his chest heaving as he took a hobbling step closer. Every part of Leon was loyal, and true. There was no way Arthur would be able to handle this attack on his own; but the fire in the Prince's eyes smoldered with the order. After an enduring second Leon reluctantly turned, stumbling away to re-join Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan at the rear.
The Prince grimaced - relief and gratitude only a fleeting feeling - and looked around. However, any harbored optimism was promptly washed away; for during the mere seconds that Arthur had agonized over Leon, the pair had become surrounded.
There was no way out - marooned like two men on an inhospitable island, surrounded by choppy, unpredictable waters of razor swords and glinting crimson - Arthur and Merlin were stranded, desperately floundering for an escape.
Swords raised in wary boldness, the bandits advanced - though none provoked contact, perhaps fearing the enraged, gallant Prince of Camelot - as they closed the space between. Anticipating their merciless brutality, Merlin winced and pressed himself to the sodden mud wall, expecting only to feel the cold, sharp squeeze of metal piercing his skin - slicing through his stomach, spilling rosy droplets to the floor - but no such feeling occurred.
Arthur hefted his sword and stood firm, adrenaline coursing through his body as he shifted belligerently. His narrowed eyes and sharp frown carved his handsome features into a visage of tense suspicion, regarding the hesitant attackers. They stood just mere paces away - as though they were waiting for something; a word or command of some sort, an order to surge forward and attack.
Silence throbbed between the watchful couple and the staring, emotionless men; the only sound the clash of swords and shouts of pain as the five knights fought courageously. They struggled to push away from their Prince - back down the path they had traversed so peacefully before.
Leon, Gawain, Elyan, Lancelot and Percival could flee to Camelot - to freedom.
However, - though Arthur didn't dare dwell on it - an ominous, imposing thought pestered his mind relentlessly. In the time it would take the knights to reach Camelot - three days at best, without horses to carry them - Arthur and Merlin would be long-dead; slain and cold, rotting in some unceremonious ditch. It was futile; the Prince and his servant were outnumbered massively.
Merlin's chest heaved, his wide, terrified eyes flickering between the seemingly expectant men. What were they waiting for?
In a moment of sheer, longing panic he stumbled to Arthur's side, wanting nothing more than to bury his face in his lovers' chest and cowardly await death. Merlin didn't want it to end like this - he wanted to be with Arthur forever, or at least be able to feel the warmth of his skin one last time. He wished to clutch the Prince's hand and breathe in his smell, to run a hand through his hair and melt under his faithful, benevolent gaze.
In fact, Merlin was so distracted by his own shaken yearning, that he didn't notice the crossbow shudder with release - nor even the colorfully fletched arrow dart through the air, right before his unseeing eyes.
It was so sudden - the unerring thud of impact, the audible gasp of jarring agony, the stumbling step backwards and the arched back, head turned to the heavens, paling face twisted with undisguised pain.
The arrow that protruded grotesquely from the Prince's shoulder.
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a/n - I'm trying to make my chapters slightly shorter... Also, thank you all for over 500 reads! That's insane!! ;0 I hope everyone's enjoying! <3
