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Chapter Text

The first snowflake of winter landed on Apple’s mane. On the road, far from Camelot. Merlin looked up at the dark gray of heavy clouds, watching as more and more snowflakes glittered in their slow fall. Apple took no notice and just continued following the horse in front. Their small group rode south, from the west coast to Camelot, a vast mountain range in their way.

“Snow. Just what we needed.” Lord Laodur said.

“If Lord Karak hadn’t dragged on for so long we would have been home by now. In front of a warm hearth.” Lord Modd said, looking at the gathering clouds, “Instead it seems we’ll be stuck in a snowstorm.”   

“The snow may have started early but true winter is still a while off. There is still time to get back to Camelot without setbacks.” Arthur said. 

“My Lord, the winters in this area are more unpredictable and sudden than in other parts of the kingdom.” young Sir Gareth said, just newly acquiring his knights shield and sword, “I grew up here, and usually when the winds bring in the snow, there is no stopping. We would do well to hurry back.”

He readies to say more but another of the knights puts a hand on his shoulder to halt him. Gareth blushes and looks away realizing he had spoken out of turn.

“Thank you Sir Gareth. In a few hours we’ll stop for the night. Then we will regroup and discuss our next step.” Arthur said, turning away his gaze and back to the road in front. Effectively halting further discussion.

The two lords, part of the entourage, continue to grumble. Sir Robin, the oldest knight Merlin has met, grumbles right with them.

Behind Merlin, the other servants – meaning the cart with all their belongings and provisions – and the lords and knights in the front, start talking amongst themselves. 

He looks to his right; the first hills of the White Mountains visible as they ride next to them. And in the distance the already snow covered mountain tops. The setting sun usually bathing the peaks a soft pink now looks an ominous orange.

They make camp in the same clearing they used on the way to the coast, where Lord Karak had required their help dealing with merchants from the land of Eire.

The camp is set up in record time by the servants. A hearty stew bubbling on the fire. Merlin is just adding a handful of herbs to the stew when Arthur strides up to him – when he usually would have just called over the distance, “Is supper ready yet?”

“Almost.” Merlin said, shuffling to the side on the low stone so that Arthur could sit besides as he usually would. But Arthur doesn’t sit down, only looks at Merlin pointedly, and Merlin wants to hit his head at having again forgotten their current circumstances. A master and a servant cannot seem friendly in front of high Lords and noble Knights. It would be unseemly and Merlin wants to snort at that for what feels like the hundredth time just that week.

Nobles and their hangups.

“How is everyone holding up in the back? The provisions Lord Karak sent us off with still hold?”

“Yes. It’s all going as it should.”

“Good.”

They descend into awkward silence, both wanting it to be a different setting. In the end Arthur turns around and goes back to the logs around them, sitting by the Knights and Lords, making their next plans.

“Is the food ready yet, Sire? The travel has been long on my old bones.” Lord Modd grumbled.

“It will be done soon, then we will eat.”

“It’s taking forever at this point. We’ve been waiting for more than an hour.”

The servants around them shuffled, almost imperceptible. If Merlin wasn’t one of them he would not have noticed. The lords and knights in question, having lifted not a finger while the servants have taken care of the horses, the provisions, the tents and now the food, take no notice.

“Hmm.” At least Arthur had gotten better in his treatment of servants - making just a noise, neither agreeing or disagreeing… a bit anyway, it was still a work in progress. Merlin gives him extra points for trying to divert everyone's attention with: “While we wait we should speak of the next part of our journey. If we do not wish to be stuck in the middle of the mountains nor to go the long way around by the coast, we will need to consult the maps for a more direct route.”

“Yes, Sire. You boy, give me the map from my bag. Not that one!” Lord Laodur said, making his servant shuffle to and fro to finally find the maps required.

It takes a while as the servants put up a few long standing torches so the light comes from above and the lords and knights can stretch a faded piece of parchment over one of the crates carrying their supplies.

“It seems the best course of action would be to take the most direct route through the White pass.” Lord Laodur concluded, nodding to himself arms crossed like the conclusion was a done deal just for him having said it.

“The pass is known for the snow that blocks it however.” Arthur said.

“Perhaps.-” one of the younger knights ventured but was ignored.

“Indeed when the snow falls the pass is unpassable. Most of them are in the White Mountains. But the snow is still off enough that we should be alright to pass there, even though we might be a bit more cold.” Lord Modd said.

“It’s a risk however. With the current winds. The snow is already starting.” Arthur tried to counter.

“To not go there means losing precious time and trying for the east pass, which will definitely be blocked from snow by the time we arrive.” Lord Laodur said.

“…”

“And doing so would mean we would have to go the long way around. We do not have the resources for it -” the Lord continued.

“We can always stop at the towns and villages and ask our people for accommodations and resources.” Arthur said.

“The King would not be happy for us to be so late. The quest is already overextended.” Lord Modd said.

And there was nothing more that could be said.

“We will make our way to the snow pass.” Arthur concluded into the expectant silence that followed.

And they all look over to the mountain peaks, glowing cold white and blue in the light of the moon.

By the middle of the next day they were on the meandering path going uphill towards the pass. A small slit between the highest peaks. The highest tip standing like the giant that the legends say lived atop, his cloak covering the mountain in gray stone and white snow. 

They camp that night beneath tall, ancient pines and make their way over rocky terrain the day after. The trees and then the shrubs fall away slowly as they climb up until, all of a sudden, they’re all gone. Even the grass seams do not grow past the line they were about to cross, giving way to pure stone and dirt. 

The horses huff and puff, one knight’s horse rearing for no noticeable reason, but the knight gets it under control and they continue. But when Merlin steps over the line between grass and stone, it feels like a punch to the gut. Air leaves his lungs as he is left looking into the empty distance. 

This felt wrong.

Too exposed, too baren, nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. Merlin felt hunted, as if an unseen hunter was there, just waiting to shoot the killing shot. The wind picked up speed, their coaks flowing behind them, now that they were protected by the trees. A thrill runs up his spine, filling him with cold dread. 

“Merlin!” Arthur yelled, almost right in his ear, and Merlin jerked back, pulling the horse under his right along and it took a few steps back.

“What is wrong with you? Just standing there and keeping everyone waiting-”

“We need to go back.”

“What-”

“There’s something seriously wrong here.”

Arthur groans, “Not another one of your feelings.”

“Arthur-”

“No, this is the only way we can get back home in a reasonable amount of time-”

“Not if we’re dead-”

“We will be fine-”

“We could go around, like you suggested-”

“It would take too long. No, we are going this way-”

“Arthu-”

“That is final, servant!”

And that just striked Merlin short.

“Do you understand?” Arthur said, stressing the words.

And Merlin was seriously tempted to turn right around and go back the way he came, around the mountains, pass the forests and out the other side to Ealdor. His mum would by now be readying for the winter months and making the last preserves from the remains of the summer harvest. He could join her in it and forget there ever was a Prat Prince and his Pratish Destiny.

But then the anger faded enough  from his eyes for him to see Arthur – clearly just as unhappy with what had happened. Jaw clenched, the leather crackling in stress as he gripped the reins even tighter. Eyes bright in anger, in frustration, in a plea to please see that this was not what he truly wanted either but, here and now, with Uther’s lords and knights at their backs, they couldn’t do differently.

“... Yes” he said at length. And he could almost see the relief flooding Arthur’s eyes with warmth, even though his posture and words remained strong and sharp. 

“Good.” He said, turning his horse around to go back upfront. A knight called something over to him and he snapped something back, clearly un-willing to partake in jokes now.

Merlin took in a deep breath. He looked around, but couldn’t see anything suspicious. He glanced at the others, then lowered his head and hid his gaze, making sure that none of the others were looking at him as he flared his magic in waves around him into the distance. He felt the dry land, the empty slopes, the suffocating snow at the tops of the peaks. But he couldn’t find anything that would give him an idea of what was causing the haunting feeling in him. Finally he urged the  just as unhappy Apple forward. Every step felt like they were plunging deeper into the abyss.

The road they were traveling on turned into a path, just wide enough for two horses to ride aside. And as the slopes climbed even higher and the flat land turned into steep ledges on one side, and hard rock walls on the other, the path turned into nothing more than a goat trail, just leaving enough space for one horse to walk unsteadily over the uneven terrain.

They pass a waterfall, the brook below it just shallow enough for them to cross, but the water is cold and the stones slippery, one of the lord’s horses almost slipping and falling. Which just made everyone more annoyed with the dreary weather, the howling wind across exposed rock and the endless climb.

The pass bent until they finally reached the top of the first slope, only to be greeted by a small valley, and a village in the distance, nestled at the foot of the final slope.

“Ah, good. We can spend the night in good beds and continue on tomorrow.”

The village at a distance seems like a ghost town, but as they get closer they see life, and people come out to greet them. The head of the community takes them to the inn. Which they’re all surprised to see there in the middle of nowhere but take to it with gusto.

The beds are sparse and the servants need to sleep on the floors. But the rooms are warm and dry. The bath water is clear. And once they come down to the tavern of the inn to eat their evening meal, the atmosphere is lively and the drink easy flowing; it felt as though every villager had made their way into the tavern.

The servants sit on the edge of the table with their masters, but far enough so the propriety is intact. Merlin sips his drink, despondent. When the lords bid good night and the knights had all either gone to sleep or were drinking with the villagers, Arthur walked over to sit down next to him and elbows him to get his attention.

“Is this still about your ‘funny feeling’? Come now Merlin, it will be fine! What’s the worst that could happen?”

“We get snowed in with whatever's in the pass and die?”

“Such a worrywart –”

“You’re going to the pass? Oh you might want to reconsider that.” a new voice said, and both turned to see a man standing behind them. He’s old and weathered, skin almost as leather, head gray and white. He’s holding a tankard, and then takes a seat beside Arthur, unprompted and sloshes good half his drink onto the table and Arthur's shirt. Merlin had to hold back a smirk as Arthur twitched at the feel of the drink on his clothes. He could visibly see his jaw twitching and him schooling his features to address the man.

“And why is that?” Arthur asked, and Merlin saw Sir Robin – the only one still near enough – turn half around to listen to their conversation. 

“Well, because of the Lord of the Hunt, of course.” the man said. As if it explains everything.

“And who is that?” 

“The Lord living in the woods in the mountains, the pass cuts right into his territory. He does not do well with people being in his territory. They say he hunts trespassers like sport! Ha.” And the man laughed like he had said a marvelous joke.

“Impossible. There is no Lord in these mountains. No land was given to one.”

“Oh, he is there, don’t you worry. He has been here for eons.”

“...I see.”

“Hahaha! Don’t believe me if you don’t want to. Not that anyone will bother to warn you here. All puppets to the Lord we are. Well then, I’ll be off. Enjoy your night! It’ll probably be the last one ~”

And off he goes. Arthur and Merlin looked at each other. Off in his corner, Sir Robin turned around to stare out the window, sipping his drink.

Back in their room, Merlin was adding wood to the fire and getting a blanket ready to find a good spot on the floor, when Arthur called him over to the bed. 

“Don’t be that daft. It’s cold, I would rather not wake an icicle.” Arthur said, ignoring as the fire belied his words.

They end up lying toe to shoulder on the narrow but comfortable enough bed, sharing warmth.

“What was with that guy earlier? Lord of the Hunt. Like that makes any sense.” Arthur huffed into the dark. 

“What if he was telling the truth?”

“There is no Lord in these mountains. The land is too baren to be of any use to anyone. Father would not give it to someone, it would be insane.”

“Does the place… not seem creepy to you?”

Arthru took a long moment to answer. Merlin looked over and only saw  his outline in the glow of the fire, “No.”

”You’re lying.”

“I’m a Prince of Camelot, I do not lie”

“Why can’t you just admit it’s freaking creepy here.”

“Because it does not matter. We must pass here. And something being creepy does not automatically mean there is danger.”

“…”

A Sigh. Then:“Just stick with me, you’ll be fine.”

“...”

“I promise.”

“... You can’t promise that.”

“I just did. Now sleep. We have a long path ahead of us tomorrow.”

By the time the winter sun rose, and they were readying the horses, the lords and knights came out of the rooms. The inn owner came out with them, talking to them and pointing ahead at a man who was walking towards them, staff in hand along with the reins for a sturdy cow pulling an empty cart.

“This man can show you to the pass. It can be tricky from here since the roads are so narrow.” The inn owner said.

“The road up to here was no more than a footpath in places, how do you trade with nearby villages? Are the roads not maintained?” Arthur asked.

“We have no need to trade all that much with the western villages. It’s easier to trade with the villages on the other side of the pass and the Lord is here to provide for the rest.”

“... The Lord?”

“Yes.” The man nodded, as if it made sense for there to be a lord that none of them have ever heard of.

“Wh-?”

“Sire, are we going?” the man with the cow and cart interjected, “only I need to hurry if I am to get to the stone quarry and back before nightfall.”

“Yes, very well. We leave.”

“Are we not gonna ask who the lord is?” Merlin hissed at Arthur when the other came close enough to take the reins of his horse from Merlin.

“No. Because it does not matter. If it’s a lord of the land then they are part of Camelot, therefore they owe us fealty.”

“But you said yourself that there aren't any lords here .”

“... We will see.”

And Arthur urged the horse forward before Merlin could get another word out.

They made their way out of the village and down to the valley, turning towards the pass, hugging the rocky cliffs as they passed on the road, now big enough for two carts to pass each other.

Up the slope and till they reached a fork in the road, the road continuing off over the lip of the hill and the other smaller path cutting off towards the quarry.

“You need to continue that way, one day travel by horse, two if you encounter deep snow.” the man said, pointing up the craggy slope.

“Thank you.” Arthur said.

“This is your last chance to turn away, you know.” The man said, in one last attempt.

“Thank you for your consideration.” Arthur said briskly, though not unkind, and moved on without looking back.

And off they trot. Merlin turned back to look at the farmer when it was his turn to pass him. The farmer looked back with a serious expression and followed his gaze until Merlin needed to turn around so as to not fall off.

They stop at the top of the hill, to find the pass opening up before their eyes, and they see the full extent of their journey before them for the first time. The valley on the plateau between is massive, stretching into the horizon, a forest of evergreen covering a good half of it, a river flowing through the middle and widens into a giant lake, following the curves of the mountains hugging the valley.

“There. The other side of the pass is over there, between those two peaks,” Lord Modd said, pointing to the far off horizon. The pale moon was already rising in the early afternoon between the two pale peaks in the distance.

Merlin sighed, then took a look over the valley, the woods, the lake, the slopes of the surrounding mountains. He could find no settlements, no castles… and hopefully no enigmatic lords.

He looked over to Arthur, who flicked a glance his way and then back at the valley. Then forced his horse ahead. “We best make it to the edge of the forest before nightfall. The abandoned roman castellum the innkeep told us off should be there. Even if small, the walls of the tower will give us protection for the night. Let’s go.”

They reached the edge of the forest, the wind blessedly calming down in their shade, and followed the lake to a small hill and there they found the ruins of the old roman defense tower, and made camp. There, closer to the forest, they saw light snow dusted over the earth.

The fire was built, the food cooked. As the servants were making their pellets for sleep, the howls of the wolves started in the distance.

They stopped for a moment, but then continued with their tasks. 

“Alright, everyone knows the guard rotation?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Good.”

Arthur had the first round and watched as the others got ready to go to sleep. But no way would he be arsed to do it alone, so he dragged Merlin to sit with him on the top of the ledge where the steps meet the tower floor.

They sat in silence for a long time, listening and waiting until the last of the people in the tower walls finally fell asleep. Both huddling into their sleeping blankets.

Finally it was silent; even the wolves in the distance had finished their hunt and fallen asleep for the night. Their breaths misted in front of them. 

“See. We’re going good so far.” Arthur whispered finally.

And Merlin was ready to throw a retort back at him but in that moment the clouds that had darkened the sky above them moved, and the shine of the full moon covered the world in silver light. The path they had come up from, now covered in a thin layer of snow, shone white and blue. The mist made its way across the mouth of the pass, gliding down into the valley like a stream of northern lights.

Merlin had never seen anything quite like it. It took his breath away. Arthur, quiet besides him, hitched his breath.

It was beautiful. 

Right up until the moon came low enough to the ground and became a blood moon. Throwing the valley into a dark and sticky red glow, the mist turned a fire red. The magic thumped. The wave coming from across the lake at their backs, in a place Merlin couldn’t see. It pushed his breath away, goosebumps crawling up his spine. A fresh feeling of horror seized him and he couldn’t breathe.

In the distance the wolves howled again. It chilled him to the bone.

The horses felt it too and started thrashing and whining. Arthur got up with a shout, and soon the others were awake and trying to calm the horses down.

The feeling of being stalked was back at full force.

This would not end well for them.

Chapter Text

They woke to a sky of dark gray. The snow fell slowly. People woke up from their sleep, shaking off the dusting of snow that had covered them overnight. In a hurry, and wishing to be on the other side of the valley and off the mountains as soon as possible, they readied the horses – and with a cold breakfast of bread and cheese – were off.

They tried to follow the path closest to the lake, but soon it wandered off through the dark forest. Thick trunks crowded the path and the high, dark canopy let only the barest traces of light through, even during the high morning. 

By the time they passed the next clearing, the snow had started falling in earnest, making it a struggle to move forward. A branch bent under the weight of the snow, which fell just as Sir Robin passed beneath it. The gathered weight fell onto the knight, the force of it sending him to the ground. His horse, frightened, ran past all before him. The commotion caused more horses to rear and throw off their riders or to start running blindly after it. Merlin managed to catch Apple before she and the ones behind him could follow. The mule – old and docile Marry – carrying their provisions did not react besides huffing. The lords and knights weren’t so lucky. 

“Merlin!” Arthur called from the front, raining in Hengroen. “Ride ahead and see if you can get those horses back!”

Merlin wasted no time and took off down the line, passing Arthur who climbed down, seeing to the fallen lords, knights, and servants. The indigent shouts of the nobles at a servant doing such an important task faded in the distance as the darkness of the forest swallowed them behind him.

He found Willow just off the second bend, agitated, going back and forth. He caught her and threw the reins across the nearest branch – knowing the well trained horse would not move from there – before taking off again. He looked back and, seeing none of the others anymore, gathered his magic and let it flare free. A warmth filled his chest that he let out in a burst of power, feeling out the forest around him. He blinked and could feel his eyes fill with the same power. With the next blink, he was far and wide in the forest, trusting Apple to carry him sure and true. Looking past the winding road, through the forest and over the lake water, all the way to the other side of the valley.

The horses had scattered, and he could reasonably reach only one. The others had run over the valley or gotten off the path, jumping over bushes and into the thicket far out of reach. 

He pulled back and added his magic to Apple's trot, and soon they almost flew over the ground, gaining on Pomers. He caught him and tied the rains again to the nearby tree. 

But just that was not enough; they would be seriously hampered if they only had four horses and a mule. Every setback meant a longer time spent in this valley. 

No. He could not let that happen.

He was off again, pushing his magic forward through Apple. He zeroed in on the closest horse, one of the lords’, which had slowed down some way up ahead. He might just catch it.

A few minutes later, he gained on it — just four more bends in the road and —

A pack of giant, black shadows crashed into the horse up ahead from the side. They took it down in less then a heartbeat and gathered around it, hiding it from view.

Beyond them, he felt a dark power skid along the tendrils of his own magic that was spread out. Even that second of contact felt like bramble thorns scratching over him, or falling into a nettle field — sharp, electric, and dark.

He slammed down on his magic and skidded to a stop as fast as possible. 

Both Apple and he were breathing fast. 

Merlin did not dare use his magic to look again, hoping the thing – whatever it was – had not noticed him. Turning around, he made his way back as fast as possible.

He did not slow down until he got close to the group.

It was not often that Arthur doubted his father’s wisdom. He did not think him infallible by any means; but Uther had won a kingdom, built it up from ruins, and ruled over it to become one of the strongest kingdoms of the region. Bringing so much to fruition tends to speak for itself.

But not this time. These lords and most of the knights had no place outside of the castle walls. He might not have control over the lords, but he had weeks of training planned for the knights under his command.

This sort of poor control of their mounts and mediocre awareness of their surroundings would not do for Camelot’s protectors.

A sprain was the worst injury, and he could only think of how lucky that was. Not so lucky on the horses.

He heard Merlin coming back before he saw him, the agitation of the day making his voice sharper then needed. “Finally! What took you so long—”

He stopped once he finally saw the look on Merlins’ face. 

“What happened?” Arthur asked, striding forward towards Merlin. The others took no notice as they shuffled about. 

Merlin got down from his horse – Apple, Arthur remembered the name was now, which Merlin had reminded him of on multiple occasions — and fiddled with all three reins he held. Apple bumped him in the shoulder, and it seemed to calm him enough to look up by the time Arthur stepped closer. 

“There are giant wolves a few clearings ahead. They got one of the horses…” Merlin said, and no sooner had he spoken, the wind rose and brought with it the chilling howls of the creatures.

Merlin swallowed forcefully, then continued, “I couldn’t find the other horses.”

They held each other's gaze for a long moment. Arthur looked back strong as he waited for Merlin’s breathing to steady. Finally Merlin seemed to have found his balance and swallowed once more and stood straighter. 

Good.

For all that Arthur would call him an idiot to all and sundry, he knew the other was not stupid.

The situation had been less than ideal since they had left Lord Karak back on his island… if not from all the way back in Camelot — with them leaving just as the first cold treads of winter slithered through the castle. But this was not good.

But there was nothing for it. The only way from there was forward.

“We’ll deal with it if we come across them, as we always do. Thank you. See to the others. We leave as soon as possible.” Arthur said, putting as much assurance as he could in his voice.

The lords and injured knights took over all the remaining horses — the pout Merlin had sent him when he handed over Apple to Sir Robin, who had a sprained ankle, Arthur expertly ignored. The rest walked besides them, swords drawn in case of an attack.

Arthur was in the lead, Merlin right behind him guiding Hengroen by the reins as Lord Modd above held his sprained arm, claiming it hindered him from guiding the horse himself.

By the time they were finally on the move again, the clouds had seemingly opened – sending all the snow they held down – and an icy wind was blowing. They had to slow down, for the ground was soon covered in ankle deep snow, the wind blinding them at every turn.

The wolves came, silent and sudden. They jumped first on the mule carrying their provisions. The last knight in line drew his sword but was felled the next moment by another giant black wolf jumping on him from the other side. But was saved by another of the knights, just as the wolf went for his throat. 

Chaos reigned. 

“On me!” Arthur yelled, and even through the heavy snow, his voice carried.

The others gathered as close as they could, forming a circle as best as possible with few knights and injured parties. It was just barely enough to fight off the next attack. Slowly, the wolves circled and growled at them, gathering on one side of the path. Lord Modd, still on his horse, saw what looked like an opportunity and propelled his horse to a run, knocking the knight guarding their backs down to the floor. 

“What are you doing!” Arthur yelled.

But it was too late. A few of the wolves ran past at the speed of wind and caught up to him. Felling the horse in one fell swoop. The lord followed; he fell and rolled onto the floor, turning around to see a wolf stalking towards him.

A hunting horn sounded on the wind. 

The wolves froze where they stood, their heads shooting up and ears perked towards the sound.

It sounded again, long and drawn, and coming closer. 

Hounds could be heard barking up a storm, exploding around the bend and flooding the path in gray, brown, and white. 

They toppled over the nearest wolves, spreading like a river around the party. 

“What the…?”

The dogs that had come to the front faced the remaining wolves. 

Arthur felt Merlin moving closer to his back, almost touching. Merlin never did that, knowing that a warrior needed freedom of movement to fight. Arthur looked back to see what had prompted Merlin to move and saw a white horse emerging from around the bend, pace leisurely, and atop a lord sat in a fine fur coat, crossbow in hand, seemingly out on a hunt.

They were saved.

Merlin moved again, catching Arthur’s attention. He came to stand almost half a step behind Arthur, putting the wolves at his own unprotected back; half hiding behind Arthur from the new arrival. The only times he did that, ever, was when there was a noble he deeply distrusted. 

Arthur suppressed a sigh. One day, Merlin’s ‘gut feelings’ would turn out to be nothing, a false alarm. But it had yet to happen.

He caught Merlin’s eyes for a split second, and found the unease he saw there almost palpable.

The lord rode up to them.

“It seems you all are in need of some help.” The lord said as he came to a standstill in front of Arthur. He did not get off his horse to properly greet the Prince of the Kingdom but leisurely swung his crossbow over one shoulder and swept his gaze across the remaining people and his hounds circling them.

“Indeed, it would seem so.” Arthur said, and the lord's gaze finally returned back to him, “I thank you for coming to our aid.” 

The Lord just nods at him regally.

Not for the first time Arthur found himself agreeing with most gripes Merlin had uttered against The Nobility and “their ways” over the years. But, as the voice of his tutors reminded him, a Prince could not bristle at every show of discourteous behavior.

“What brings you to this part of Camelot, lord…?”

Just then, the Lord blinked – as if naming the kingdom had reminded him of something – and his demeanor switched from commanding, to what one might almost consider bashful, were he not a giant still sitting atop of his horse.

“Ah, my apologies. I would be Gwyllion. Lord of these very lands.” And then belatedly added, “Sire.” as if having forgotten for a moment how one attended court.

Fleetingly, Arthur thought that this Lord and Merlin would make terrific friends. But he felt Merlin bristle at his back and Arthur scowled, remembering that these lands could not have a lord ruling them. 

Another howl vibrated through the air, cutting off any questions Arthur might have risen.

They all turn towards the sound. Arthur felt the tension rise all around him, the hounds and the horses shuffling in unease.

“The wolves in these woods do tend to be relentless,” Lord Gwyllion said, then added “And the snow is falling harder than expected. There is a storm coming for sure. I offer you my residence, Your Royal Highness.”

Arthur looked at the lord, measuring him up. Lord Gwyllion stares calmly back. But before he could answer Lord Laodur shoved his way to the front, accepting the offer in his place. Lord Modd followed suit, not to be left behind. He could not see them but could almost feel the knights at his back let out a relieved sigh.

Arthur felt Merlin go stone stiff behind him, the Lords in front of him already hanging on every word of Lord Gwyllion, and he suppressed a sigh. 

It was going to be a long day.

“See to the wounded.” Arthur told Merlin. He repeated the command when Merlin did not move. “Merlin. Wounded. Now.” 

Merlin finally went, but not without another bristle, and suspicious glare aimed at the new lord.

The hounds milled about them all, curious and inquisitive, almost forming a sea as they traveled after Lord Gwyllion. But when Arthur tried to come closer to one of them, they shied away, untrusting or well-trained, he could not tell. Merlin — who Arthur had despaired over multiple times for spoiling all of Arthur's hunting hounds and could not pass by the kernels without petting every dog there — did not even attempt to come close to the dogs. Arthur could not tell if that was more of his funny feelings or just the mistrust of the Lord reflecting on the hounds.

The lords of his father's court were riding with Lord Gwyllion and they were talking up a storm, leaving the rest to slowly make their way on foot after them. They rounded the corner in the woods, and the castle became visible. Between them was a wide stretch of open field, now covered in a deep layer of snow. The great gray clouds behind it made it look eerie. There was no movement on the towers except for what seemed to be black birds jumping and flying about. It seemed like there was no one to be found within the walls of the castle.

Merlin seemed to shiver at the scene but followed without a word.

A bird flew out from the forest behind them and landed on the snow. It hopped as they moved and tweeted at them as if yelling. Arthur could hear Merlin take in a cutoff gasp. But before anything else could happen, one of the birds flew down from the towers and aimed for the brown one. The smaller brown bird flew out of the way at the last moment, and the two danced and flew and jumped around each other, tweeting and graying, before the black one finally chased the brown one away.

Arthur stopped when Merlin had, his gaze following the bird the whole way back towards the forest. It landed in the middle of the path, tweeted one more time at them, then flew away. Arthur gave him a moment longer, but when Merlin seemed to not react at all beyond continuing to stare at the forest, he sighed to himself, “ Mer lin. Come on.”

It was a good thing that they had fallen a bit behind the others because as soon as Merlin came up to him, he started up again. “I’m guessing if I were to say we shouldn’t go there, you’ll ignore me?”

“Merlin. If you took a moment to consider the situation, you might find that we have little choice in the matter.”

Merlin took a deep breath, and Arthur readied to continue the fight, but in the end Merlin sighed and just muttered “For the record, I think this is a bad idea and we’re better off in the woods.”

“Duly noted.”  

The dark castle loomed over them against the even darker overcast sky as they got closer. The black birds cried out the closer they got. Behind them, the snow, now falling in earnest, slowly covered the path.

Within the day, Merlin and the remaining servants were put to the task of keeping the castle livable, Lord Gwyllion having explained that he had sent all of his own servants and people back to their homes so as to not remain stuck in the castle for the winter, as he himself was able enough to see to his own needs over the for the duration. Merlin might have believed it if the wood storage had not been empty, and they hadn’t needed to catch the only non-stormy moment in the day to go outside and cut down trees to feed the fires. Had the ladders not been only filled with fresh kill from a recent hunt. Had there not been a layer of dust upon seemingly every surface. 

But the castle was soon warmed by the fires. The food was plentiful, and the Lords and Knights seemingly took no notice of any of it. 

They are given only a few rooms in the heart of the castle at their disposal. The rest were declared off-limits to avoid making more work to keep it warm and to prevent a mess for the servants when they returned in the spring

Every step echoed as Merlin made his way from the food ladders in the basement up the steps. The hallways were dark and dreary. He entered the great entry hall, where the trophies of countless hunts hung on every available surface of the walls. Great antlers adorned every door. Tusks were on the backs of every chair. Swords, spears, and bows were up on display. Were it any other place, any other time, Merlin would have just rolled his eyes at the amount of time Lord Gwyllion could talk about the sport of the hunt, pulling the knights, lords, and Arthur into his stories of great hunts.

A slight ‘clunk’ sounded in one of the off-limit hallways, past great wooden doors. Merlin stopped and listened, but no sound came except the empty echo of the old stone and his heartbeat. Were it another time and place, he would have reached with his magic to see beyond the walls, to feel at the magic in everything that surrounds him.

But he did not dare let his magic pass his skin. The very air felt predatory. They had willingly wandered from the mouth of the wolves into the lions’ den, and the insistent storms outside made any escape attempt impossible.

A sudden gust of cold air rushed past him, a door on the other end clattered open; the hallway behind it dark and empty, just as haunted.

“ Mer lin!” Arthur yelled, just a few steps up from him on the stairway, and Merlin startled so hard the plates and cups in his hand clattered all over the tray, falling over and almost falling to the floor.

“I swear, the worst manservant! What are you dawdling here for anyway. And stop banging doors behind you—”

“Me?! I was right here when that door banged open! How is it my fault?!”

“I am more than certain it is your fault, regardless of where you were standing.”

“Why—”

Another bang of a door opening was heard down the same hallway, and both fell silent. After a moment, another door cracked open.

“ Mer ln!”

“What! I’m right here! You can’t blame me for that!”

“Well go and close them! They’re not supposed to be open!”

“That part of the castle is off limits! You said so yourself. I’m not just going to go traipse around a creepy castle more than I need to!”

“Oh for the—! Fine! Let’s go.” Arthur exclaimed, and made his way down the stairs, past Merlin, grabbing Merlin by the sleeve to pull him along, dislodging more of the plates and cups until Merlin was forced to leave the tray on the nearby cobweb-covered, fox skull-adorned table.

The stone of the castle was cold and unforgiving. Even just a few steps outside of the carefully warmed heart of the castle felt like they had stepped into the open. Merlin huddled, trying to keep warm, having worn only his everyday clothes and he shuffled to and fro all day. Every breath came out as small puffs of mist. ‘Dragon’s breath’ the kids in Ealdor had called it, and for a moment, Merlin wondered if one day he could actually achieve true dragon's breath and spit fire right back at Killgarah the next time the dragon felt like being stubborn, for a laugh if nothing else.

Arthur was up ahead, striding with purpose and they passed a doorway into an hallway surrounding an inner garden. Arches on one side, walls covered in benches and statues on the other. There was actual, weak sunlight coming from outside, shining on the knee-deep snow. It reflected and hit the arches. Flickering light fell on Arthur, turning him silver-gold, his hair and winter wear glittering. 

A gust of wind blew past them and the door ahead swung back and forth, almost as if in invitation. But any thoughts that he might have had were swept away like the clouds sweeping away the sun, and just as they reached the door, the snow started up again. If the snow here was any indication, they would not be going anywhere anytime soon. 

The hallway they entered was covered in windows colored in all the colors of the world, a sheer face of colors shining and glittering upon the flagstones beneath their feet. Beyond the glass, just visible, was the steep cliff face the castle stood on and, at the bottom, a half-frozen river and the snow-topped forest beyond.

Merlin couldn’t help but stop and stare, “What are those?” he asked.

“It’s called stained glass. Glass shards in different colors used to form mosaics. A costly endeavor.” Arthur answered him. Merlin turned to find him having stopped just a few steps ahead and was looking back at Merlin with a peculiar fond expression — his ‘the new puppy in the kernels is exploring the world around him for the first time and it is cute’ kinda way. “I’ve heard that my mother had half the castle covered in them, but father replaced them over the years.” He trailed off after that, and both looked back at the sight. The great face of the wall was covered in nature and hunt scenes, and what must have been scenes from tales of old, for there were princesses and feys, and magical creatures in abundance.

A shimmer of movement caught Merlin's eye, and just as he finds the white gliding form among the shards of color he hears Arthur take a sharp breath. Upon the glass wall, is a scene of hunting dogs sniffing around bushes, and within the bushes, a white stoat blinked and shimmered, the form coming to life as Merlin felt Arthur come closer and grab him by the arm, ready to push or pull him away. The stoat shivered and shook out its tingling, glass bell-like fur. It blinked at them, and suddenly darted over the mosaics towards the far end of the hallway. 

Arthur, having never backed down from danger, yelled out “Sorcery!” — expecting that the knights half a castle away would hear him — or what Merlin did not comprehend — and dragged Merlin right behind him as they followed. 

The stoat stopped every few panels to make sure they were following it, then darted forward and sometimes even changed form — a swallow, a rabbit.

A crystalline white mouse jumped right off the window wall and skittered past the half open door. They followed, and in their haste, the door flew wide open with a bang.

Up ahead, the mouse’s tail just disappeared into a side door, open just a creek.

They ran in and found themselves in a wide-open library. The mouse was nowhere in sight.

The covered windows on the far side let in just enough light to barely see their way around. Every surface was covered in layers of dust, the floor creaked at every step. Just to the right, a part of the floor had seemingly fallen away, leaving a gaping hole that swallowed half the bookcase. The ancient-looking books and scrolls lay fallen and scattered across the floor, their pages yellowed and the words faded. Sheets of linen covered different furniture against the walls.

Merlin took slow steps, taking care that the floor he stepped on did not fall away under him. The bookcases were a labyrinth. The spines were so faded that he needed to come very close before he could even attempt to read any of them in the faint light.

He heard Arthur call to him, “Merlin!”, then hurried footsteps going to the other side of the room and behind a corner.

Merlin was about to follow but a big hand landed on his shoulder. A chill like lightning ran down his spine, rooting him in place. The feeling of being small and insignificant pray came back full force. The Lord Gwyllion spoke behind him, deep and low, quiet enough that no one but Merlin could possibly hear him. A blast of magic, dark and sticky, drowned Merlin in it, and he knew that even were he to yell, no sound could reach beyond a hand’s length.

“Now what is this?” The Lord almost purred. “I’m sure I told you all that these halls are off-limits. Tell me, young sorcerer, are you so incapable of keeping your pet prince in check?” 

Merlin gasped, no thought coming beyond the white cold horror of their *host* possessing a magic that crawled like ants across his skin. Lord Gwyllion *knew* of Merlin's magic and spoke about Arthur as one would about a pest of no significance, assured in himself and mocking.

“W—What?”

Gwyllion tsked at him. “It is such a shame that Utehr’s edict has killed off most of the worthy magic users and left us just with those like you — weak in mind and magic. There’s scarcely any magic to be felt in you!” He chuckled darkly at his own joke, and the words just made Merlin clamp down even harder on the trails of his magic that wanted to get free, that wanted to retaliate in his fright. He pushed it down deeper than ever before, the lack leaving him feeling even colder, tingling in his fingertips and hollow in his heart. 

This was so different from any magical creature or sorcerer he had ever encountered until now. Even Killgarah, with all his pure magic had not called forth this feeling. This feels primordial, ancient, evil . All the things that Uther hissed and screamed about magic being. 

“I will not bother to mince words. I’ve seen enough of you to know that you would be fun enough to have around for a decade or two. I have not seen another magic user in a long time. Join me,” Lord Gwyllion stopped for emphasis, his eyes flashing blood red instead of the usual gold as he let out another burst of dark, dark, skin-crawling magic “Or perish.”

He felt the air stuck in his lungs, his heart beating too fast in his ears, but the ground was steady beneath his feet. The magic of the earth reached up towards him just as he reached down, down, deep past the poison of the Lord. 

Warm and grounding. He heard a swish of something, a cloth pulled off something in the distance, and could only think: Arthur .

“No.” Merlin said, choked and trembling but resolute. 

He knew he had just given the last call for tragedy upon them all, but no other answer could ever be possible.

Arthur saw Merlin wander off between the bookshelves and turned to look around the room. The castle was old, abandoned, and felt like a crypt. All the flimsy explanations from “The Lord Gwyllion” could not explain the abandoned state of the place. He knows, just as Merlin did, that something was wrong. And just as Merlin had come to realize, they had little choice – with no supplies, injured party members, waist-deep snow, and daily storms – but to stay.

The place raised his hackles, and he kept grinding his teeth, which usually would have Merlin mother-henning at him to relax his jaw. But Merlin, just as high-strung, did not seem to notice, fumbling around as if even less of his usual faculties were at his disposal. 

Arthur breathed in deeply and sighed at length. This place was driving all of them up the wall. Even with the plethora of moments to speak to the lord, he could not figure him out. Why did he claim this abandoned castle as his? Where did he come from? Surely no commoner could have such fine clothes or be able to keep such high-bred hounds and horses.

A tinkle of glass made him whirl around to see the glass mouse, now a kaleidoscope of glass in the form of a cat, dart behind a wall to the side of the room. He went after it, yelling “Merlin!” to get him to follow. He rounded the corner just in time to see the cat jump onto a cloth-covered rectangular shape, sitting on one of the corners and pawing at the cloth. He unsheathed his sword, not taking his eyes off it, but before he could even get within reach, the cat jumped toward the nearby window and disappeared, merging into the light of the glass with a tinkle of small bells.

Arthur stared after it. A gust of wind made goosebumps rise all over his arms, but he heard nothing of consequence behind him. He looked back to the cloth covered object in front of him. He grabbed the cloth and pulled with one hand, the other gripping his sword even tighter in preparation for something else to jump at him. But nothing jumps out; there was no movement, not even a spider to be found scattering away.

In front of him is a painting of what seemed to be a royal court. The King, old and wizened, on the throne in the middle, surrounded by men and women of the court. Silk, expensive furs, and golden jewelry on them all. It looked old, the edges frayed, one corner pulling away from the frame. Even with all his history knowledge, he does not recognize the king nor the people. 

There was a man in robes that had once belonged to court magicians. The few images he had been able to see of the courts and their sorcerers of old, before his father had burned even those historical texts, bore the same emblem and style of robes. 

And there to the side, the face just a dower, maybe but a few years younger, stands Lord Gwyllion.

It took him a long minute before he could look away from the painting. It took him a second longer to remember having called from Merlin.

Heart in his throat, he straightened, posture high and stiff, strong and regal. No danger can touch him. The court would look at him and whisper, and compare him to his father in these moments. 

He made his way around the corner and saw Merlin standing with his back to him, and there was Lord Gwyllion, hand on Merlin’s shoulder. He just heard Merlin utter a tremulous “no” to something the Lord must have asked before. The Lord looked over Merlin's shoulder at him, and Arthur could see Merlin stiffen even more, in fright or protectiveness of Arthur or both, as was his way, Arthur cannot tell. 

“Very well,” Lord Gwyllion said, stepping away and around Merlin toward Arthur. His expression changed as he started laughing, telling Arthur that he had just been looking for them since they had disappeared with the cured ham Merlin was originally sent for; the others were getting hungry, you see. He came close to put a hand on Arthur's shoulder—too close for a mere lord toward the Crown Prince—and began to steer him away. He told some story about how and why this room was in such a state of disarray, but Arthur heard only a fraction of it.

He looked to Merlin as they passed him and caught his gaze, trying to convey strength and imploring Merlin to trust him. He had this in hand.

Despite what Merlin might think often, Arthur understood the danger they were in.

He knew they were in the lions’ den.

He needed to find out what kind of lion it was, and fast.