4.
They camped in a small dell at the foot of a large hill, sheltered from the wind and the road. There was evidence of a previous camp but Arthur could not tell how old it was. Celimdol had called the hill Weathertop and the elf had pointed towards the few stones at the top when they first came across the sight.
“There lies what is left of Amon Sul, the watch-tower of the lost kingdom of Arnor that once held a palantir. Late last year, Gandalph fought off Ringwraiths and Cynan said…” His voice had trailed off then and the camp they made that evening was done in silence.
That morning, Arthur and Celimdol decided to hunt for more food and also find water to fill the skin that the elf kept in his satchel.
“Don’t you dare move!” Arthur had growled at Merlin, pointing a finger at him. “You’re hidden from the road while you’re here, so keep it that way.”
Merlin scowled but said nothing as the two left, and hoped that they found something other than rabbit. He was bad tempered, he was tired, he was cold and it had started to drizzle again. “Bugger this!” he said to himself and stood, looking up at the summit of Weathertop. Noticing a narrow trail that curled upwards around the hill, he decided to move. “I’ll be quick and it’s raining and it’s…my sort of dream, dammit!”
He reckoned in his head that it took him about twenty minutes to climb the hill and he sat on a fallen, grass covered stone to catch his breath when he reached the summit. He noticed a small cairn of stones in the middle of the flattened ground and, wrapping the cloak tightly about him for protection against the wind, he shuffled over to it. As Merlin predicted, he saw a flat stone on the top and he picked it up with one hand. On it was scratched a runic G with three parallel lines next to it. “Oh Gandalph, I wish you were here. I bet you could tell me how to use this power I’m supposed to have. Great, now I’m talking to myself!”
Merlin sighed, feeling sorry for himself, and gently put the stone back. He walked back to the edge and looked eastwards along the road towards Rivendell. “I hope you can cure me, Elrond, so if I get back and live with my Arthur and survive that kid with the…” He groaned as he realised that life back in his own world was slowly fading like a dream. He looked westwards where he hoped Cynan was rushing to meet them and he thought of the bits of him that he had left behind. The parka in the Brewers Mansion with the rip in the belly that matched the one in his polo neck (what had caused that?); the mobile that was hopefully still there with the picture of a sleeping Arthur in the bed of his penthouse flat; his favourite red trainers somewhere on a gentle mare.
He sighed again and was about to climb down when he noticed movement on the road, so far away that the figures appeared as ants. He hoped they were not the Southrons, but he had to make sure. Straining his eyesight, he tried to make out any detail. Merlin thumped the stone in frustration and pushed his hood down as he looked again. Then it happened.
It started with a low thrumming in his head and a flash of golden light in his vision. Then it was as if he was looking through a telescope and he saw them clearly. They numbered about thirty and they stooped slightly, but would stand about six feet in height if they straightened their backs. They wore boiled leather armour studded with iron that covered their grey and blotchy skin. They were broad and muscular with teeth and tusks much like a pigs. They had yellow, cat-like eyes. They were…
“Fucking orcs!” shouted Merlin and the telescopic vision disappeared. He scrambled down the hill side and it took him much less than twenty minutes. Celimdol and a relieved Arthur were there and he ran straight into the blonde’s arms to stop himself from falling over.
“I did magic!” he said happily.
Arthur bit his lower lip. “Okay, I’m sure we can keep it a secret from my father.”
“Whatever, man. I saw orcs, my first orcs. Shit, they’re coming here!”
“How far away my lord?” asked Celimdol urgently.
Merlin frowned. “You use leagues right? And a league is about three miles…so…er…I dunno.”
The elf wasted no time and scrambled up the hill. Within minutes he was down again and was not even breathing fast. Merlin was jealous.
“Thirty and they will arrive within the hour. I will hold them off as long as I can, but you must start running. ‘Tis another twelve days of hard travelling before we reach the border of Rivendell, the Ford of Bruinen.”
“No more heroics,” said Arthur and they both turned to him. “I will not let anyone else die for me. We run.”
Celimdol hesitated for but a moment. “As you wish, my lord prince,” he said, bowing his head.
“Run? You mean twelve fucking days of running? Are you mad?”
Arthur grinned at Merlin and shrugged his shoulders. “It’ll be fun.”
They started running along the road, Merlin cursing loudly all the time between laboured breaths until Arthur hit him on the back of the head. “Save your energy, idiot.”
“Arse-wipe,” Merlin muttered as he tried to keep up with the other two.
* * *
They camped off the road on the night of the fifth day and Merlin’s legs felt as if they on fire and he knew his whole body was burning up. Did he have a fever? His breath was forced and Arthur cradled his head in his lap. Celimdol had made a small smokeless fire, hidden from the sight of travellers, and started to roast two hedgehogs. Merlin wished for rabbits.
“I can’t run anymore. I just can’t.”
Arthur stroked his hair while Merlin’s head was in his lap but he looked at Celimdol. “We need to keep off the road. Can you guide us to this Rivendell through the wilderness?”
The elf ran a hand though his hair, much like his brother to Merlin’s eyes, and looked sheepish. “Alas my lord prince, I confess that I have not travelled through these lands. However, we must push on! If our pursuers reach the Last Bridge before us then we are lost. There is not another crossing over the River Mitheithel for many leagues north or south. They can hunt us down at their leisure if they reach the bridge first.”
Arthur chewed his lower lip in thought then looked down in Merlin’s face. “Eat, rest, and sleep. But half way through the night we must carry on.”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me! Look, this is a dream, sort of, and when I wake up I’ll be in the snow and I’ll have a knife in my belly, though I don’t know who put it there, and I’ll be dying or dead. So just leave me. It’s just a dream. I just want to sleep, forever.”
Arthur shook him and then kissed him chastely. He then shook him again. “Don’t you dare give up on me. Don’t you fucking dare!” Tears glinted in his eyes. “This is not a dream to me, Merlin, and I won’t let you die. You told me days ago that Myfanwy said each world had reflections and there must be thousands of you around. I won’t let any of them die. Not one. So don’t you fucking dare! Just…don’t. Please.”
Merlin hooked a hand around the back of his lover’s neck dragged his head down and kissed him. “I’m sorry,” he said over and over again. “I’m so sorry.”
Celimdol looked away, but Merlin knew he cried silent tears as well, but for a different reason.
“Come, let’s talk while we wait for our feast,” began Arthur, breaking the spell that had fallen over them. “Let’s pass the time. I’ll tell you of my life in Camelot.” And he did; of his demanding father, the beauty of Camelot, the honour that his knights held, the peace and prosperity of the people, his love for his manservant, whether he had magic or not, and of his uncertainty of whether he was ready to be king.
Then Merlin spoke quietly in the lap of this Arthur. Of his coming to the bright lights of London, of his wanton foolishness that had stricken him so, of finding his Arthur at a drunken party that celebrated the night before the New Year had started, of his love of drawing, of his sense of contentment and completeness when he thought of another loving and needing him. He knew there was not another anywhere to be found for that love, in any world.
Then the mood turned dark as the elf spoke.
“My life has been, so far, as short as yours,” he started. “I remember my mother hugging me so tight when news of my father’s death came to us. I remember being presented to the court of Thranduil when I was ten and my brother and mother were so proud. I remember travelling through the trees of northern Greenward the Great, for my mother had decided to take to the white ships and she wanted to visit the glades of her youth before she departed. That day, when the creature called Gollum was being rescued, a troop of orcs had fallen upon us and they made me watch while she was eaten alive. I remember being carried far south to be sold as a pleasure slave. I remember betraying my brother but a few weeks ago. I remember, I remember.” The elf wailed in despair then hugged himself, rocking back and forth.
Merlin and Arthur scrambled to their feet, the former wrapping his arms around the young elf, while the latter squeezed his shoulder in comfort.
“Shush now,” murmured Merlin. “My heart tells me that Cynan rushes to us even while we speak. Your uncle, Thranduil, waits for you in his court. Legolas, your cousin, travels south, even now, to Rohan and eventually to Gondor and will survive this War of the Ring to reach the Uttermost West with a dwarven friend as his companion. I see the two kingdoms reunited under Aragon and a time of peace comes to the land. But do you know what I see right now? Two brothers before you that love you so very much. I’ve known you a short time, but a more worthy elf I could not have wished for.” Merlin kissed his cheeks and brought a wan smile to the elf’s lips.
“Merlin,” stated Arthur, “you are a wonder.”
“I tell you truly when I say this; we three are the wonder. Do you know what I also see? A young but valuable elf who has proved his worth over and over again; a prince who is noble of heart, who inspires all around him, and who will one day have subjects who love him as the greatest of all the kings that have ruled over and in Albion; a scrawny black haired lore master who has yet to find his power, but when he does. Oh, my lords, you will be amazed. For I tell you truly, while I live and breathe, the Dark Lord and his minions will not best us. We will reach Rivendell, we will reach our goals and this elf, this elf before us, will find comfort and a home.”
Merlin shut his mouth then. Had he uttered those words? Arthur looked at him with love shining in his eyes. Celimdol smiled shyly between them, hope in his face. However, Merlin doubted himself. Am I speaking here? he thought. Am I part of this world and my other self back in this London I’ve been speaking about is just a reflection, a dream?
Arthur kissed him, chasing away his doubts. “Have I said I love you so very much?”
“Not recently.”
Their quiet chuckling was cut short when they heard a loud snuffling sound come from the road. Celimdol picked up his brother’s bow and notched an arrow while Arthur drew out his sword as quietly as he could. Merlin kept behind his blonde lover, wondering why they had not trusted him with a blade.
Arthur gave a few hand signals to Celimdol that Merlin thought looked stupid. The elf nodded once and scrambled up a tree with an unearthly silence. The prince then pushed Merlin back into a seating position before creeping towards the sound. Merlin snorted silently and followed.
Through low lying branches they saw an orc sniffing at the ground on all fours. It was slowly turning towards their camp site. Arthur turned his head to give Merlin an exasperated look and then turned back, his body tense like a coiled spring. At the first surprised and dying cry of an orc, the blonde sprang forward, cutting down the tracker. Merlin followed.
He saw another four in front of the prince, their hooked swords of iron already naked. A handful further down the road had short bows drawn and were aiming for a clear shot.
“Dammit Merlin. Run!”
Merlin hesitated, not wanting Arthur alone fighting against the creatures. Then it hit him and a fire of pain blossomed in his shoulder. He dully looked at the short shafted black arrow and collapsed backwards, hitting the broken flag stones lined with tufts of coarse grass.
“No!” Arthur shouted, and, although he could not see what happened next, he heard the clashing of swords, the cries of the dying and, eventually, arms holding him in a half sitting position. Through blurred vision he saw Arthur’s stricken face.
“It’s okay,” Merlin croaked, his throat dry. “It’s okay.”
“Don’t you fucking dare. Please,” and Arthur shuddered, holding back tears.
They camped in a small dell at the foot of a large hill, sheltered from the wind and the road. There was evidence of a previous camp but Arthur could not tell how old it was. Celimdol had called the hill Weathertop and the elf had pointed towards the few stones at the top when they first came across the sight.
“There lies what is left of Amon Sul, the watch-tower of the lost kingdom of Arnor that once held a palantir. Late last year, Gandalph fought off Ringwraiths and Cynan said…” His voice had trailed off then and the camp they made that evening was done in silence.
That morning, Arthur and Celimdol decided to hunt for more food and also find water to fill the skin that the elf kept in his satchel.
“Don’t you dare move!” Arthur had growled at Merlin, pointing a finger at him. “You’re hidden from the road while you’re here, so keep it that way.”
Merlin scowled but said nothing as the two left, and hoped that they found something other than rabbit. He was bad tempered, he was tired, he was cold and it had started to drizzle again. “Bugger this!” he said to himself and stood, looking up at the summit of Weathertop. Noticing a narrow trail that curled upwards around the hill, he decided to move. “I’ll be quick and it’s raining and it’s…my sort of dream, dammit!”
He reckoned in his head that it took him about twenty minutes to climb the hill and he sat on a fallen, grass covered stone to catch his breath when he reached the summit. He noticed a small cairn of stones in the middle of the flattened ground and, wrapping the cloak tightly about him for protection against the wind, he shuffled over to it. As Merlin predicted, he saw a flat stone on the top and he picked it up with one hand. On it was scratched a runic G with three parallel lines next to it. “Oh Gandalph, I wish you were here. I bet you could tell me how to use this power I’m supposed to have. Great, now I’m talking to myself!”
Merlin sighed, feeling sorry for himself, and gently put the stone back. He walked back to the edge and looked eastwards along the road towards Rivendell. “I hope you can cure me, Elrond, so if I get back and live with my Arthur and survive that kid with the…” He groaned as he realised that life back in his own world was slowly fading like a dream. He looked westwards where he hoped Cynan was rushing to meet them and he thought of the bits of him that he had left behind. The parka in the Brewers Mansion with the rip in the belly that matched the one in his polo neck (what had caused that?); the mobile that was hopefully still there with the picture of a sleeping Arthur in the bed of his penthouse flat; his favourite red trainers somewhere on a gentle mare.
He sighed again and was about to climb down when he noticed movement on the road, so far away that the figures appeared as ants. He hoped they were not the Southrons, but he had to make sure. Straining his eyesight, he tried to make out any detail. Merlin thumped the stone in frustration and pushed his hood down as he looked again. Then it happened.
It started with a low thrumming in his head and a flash of golden light in his vision. Then it was as if he was looking through a telescope and he saw them clearly. They numbered about thirty and they stooped slightly, but would stand about six feet in height if they straightened their backs. They wore boiled leather armour studded with iron that covered their grey and blotchy skin. They were broad and muscular with teeth and tusks much like a pigs. They had yellow, cat-like eyes. They were…
“Fucking orcs!” shouted Merlin and the telescopic vision disappeared. He scrambled down the hill side and it took him much less than twenty minutes. Celimdol and a relieved Arthur were there and he ran straight into the blonde’s arms to stop himself from falling over.
“I did magic!” he said happily.
Arthur bit his lower lip. “Okay, I’m sure we can keep it a secret from my father.”
“Whatever, man. I saw orcs, my first orcs. Shit, they’re coming here!”
“How far away my lord?” asked Celimdol urgently.
Merlin frowned. “You use leagues right? And a league is about three miles…so…er…I dunno.”
The elf wasted no time and scrambled up the hill. Within minutes he was down again and was not even breathing fast. Merlin was jealous.
“Thirty and they will arrive within the hour. I will hold them off as long as I can, but you must start running. ‘Tis another twelve days of hard travelling before we reach the border of Rivendell, the Ford of Bruinen.”
“No more heroics,” said Arthur and they both turned to him. “I will not let anyone else die for me. We run.”
Celimdol hesitated for but a moment. “As you wish, my lord prince,” he said, bowing his head.
“Run? You mean twelve fucking days of running? Are you mad?”
Arthur grinned at Merlin and shrugged his shoulders. “It’ll be fun.”
They started running along the road, Merlin cursing loudly all the time between laboured breaths until Arthur hit him on the back of the head. “Save your energy, idiot.”
“Arse-wipe,” Merlin muttered as he tried to keep up with the other two.
* * *
They camped off the road on the night of the fifth day and Merlin’s legs felt as if they on fire and he knew his whole body was burning up. Did he have a fever? His breath was forced and Arthur cradled his head in his lap. Celimdol had made a small smokeless fire, hidden from the sight of travellers, and started to roast two hedgehogs. Merlin wished for rabbits.
“I can’t run anymore. I just can’t.”
Arthur stroked his hair while Merlin’s head was in his lap but he looked at Celimdol. “We need to keep off the road. Can you guide us to this Rivendell through the wilderness?”
The elf ran a hand though his hair, much like his brother to Merlin’s eyes, and looked sheepish. “Alas my lord prince, I confess that I have not travelled through these lands. However, we must push on! If our pursuers reach the Last Bridge before us then we are lost. There is not another crossing over the River Mitheithel for many leagues north or south. They can hunt us down at their leisure if they reach the bridge first.”
Arthur chewed his lower lip in thought then looked down in Merlin’s face. “Eat, rest, and sleep. But half way through the night we must carry on.”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me! Look, this is a dream, sort of, and when I wake up I’ll be in the snow and I’ll have a knife in my belly, though I don’t know who put it there, and I’ll be dying or dead. So just leave me. It’s just a dream. I just want to sleep, forever.”
Arthur shook him and then kissed him chastely. He then shook him again. “Don’t you dare give up on me. Don’t you fucking dare!” Tears glinted in his eyes. “This is not a dream to me, Merlin, and I won’t let you die. You told me days ago that Myfanwy said each world had reflections and there must be thousands of you around. I won’t let any of them die. Not one. So don’t you fucking dare! Just…don’t. Please.”
Merlin hooked a hand around the back of his lover’s neck dragged his head down and kissed him. “I’m sorry,” he said over and over again. “I’m so sorry.”
Celimdol looked away, but Merlin knew he cried silent tears as well, but for a different reason.
“Come, let’s talk while we wait for our feast,” began Arthur, breaking the spell that had fallen over them. “Let’s pass the time. I’ll tell you of my life in Camelot.” And he did; of his demanding father, the beauty of Camelot, the honour that his knights held, the peace and prosperity of the people, his love for his manservant, whether he had magic or not, and of his uncertainty of whether he was ready to be king.
Then Merlin spoke quietly in the lap of this Arthur. Of his coming to the bright lights of London, of his wanton foolishness that had stricken him so, of finding his Arthur at a drunken party that celebrated the night before the New Year had started, of his love of drawing, of his sense of contentment and completeness when he thought of another loving and needing him. He knew there was not another anywhere to be found for that love, in any world.
Then the mood turned dark as the elf spoke.
“My life has been, so far, as short as yours,” he started. “I remember my mother hugging me so tight when news of my father’s death came to us. I remember being presented to the court of Thranduil when I was ten and my brother and mother were so proud. I remember travelling through the trees of northern Greenward the Great, for my mother had decided to take to the white ships and she wanted to visit the glades of her youth before she departed. That day, when the creature called Gollum was being rescued, a troop of orcs had fallen upon us and they made me watch while she was eaten alive. I remember being carried far south to be sold as a pleasure slave. I remember betraying my brother but a few weeks ago. I remember, I remember.” The elf wailed in despair then hugged himself, rocking back and forth.
Merlin and Arthur scrambled to their feet, the former wrapping his arms around the young elf, while the latter squeezed his shoulder in comfort.
“Shush now,” murmured Merlin. “My heart tells me that Cynan rushes to us even while we speak. Your uncle, Thranduil, waits for you in his court. Legolas, your cousin, travels south, even now, to Rohan and eventually to Gondor and will survive this War of the Ring to reach the Uttermost West with a dwarven friend as his companion. I see the two kingdoms reunited under Aragon and a time of peace comes to the land. But do you know what I see right now? Two brothers before you that love you so very much. I’ve known you a short time, but a more worthy elf I could not have wished for.” Merlin kissed his cheeks and brought a wan smile to the elf’s lips.
“Merlin,” stated Arthur, “you are a wonder.”
“I tell you truly when I say this; we three are the wonder. Do you know what I also see? A young but valuable elf who has proved his worth over and over again; a prince who is noble of heart, who inspires all around him, and who will one day have subjects who love him as the greatest of all the kings that have ruled over and in Albion; a scrawny black haired lore master who has yet to find his power, but when he does. Oh, my lords, you will be amazed. For I tell you truly, while I live and breathe, the Dark Lord and his minions will not best us. We will reach Rivendell, we will reach our goals and this elf, this elf before us, will find comfort and a home.”
Merlin shut his mouth then. Had he uttered those words? Arthur looked at him with love shining in his eyes. Celimdol smiled shyly between them, hope in his face. However, Merlin doubted himself. Am I speaking here? he thought. Am I part of this world and my other self back in this London I’ve been speaking about is just a reflection, a dream?
Arthur kissed him, chasing away his doubts. “Have I said I love you so very much?”
“Not recently.”
Their quiet chuckling was cut short when they heard a loud snuffling sound come from the road. Celimdol picked up his brother’s bow and notched an arrow while Arthur drew out his sword as quietly as he could. Merlin kept behind his blonde lover, wondering why they had not trusted him with a blade.
Arthur gave a few hand signals to Celimdol that Merlin thought looked stupid. The elf nodded once and scrambled up a tree with an unearthly silence. The prince then pushed Merlin back into a seating position before creeping towards the sound. Merlin snorted silently and followed.
Through low lying branches they saw an orc sniffing at the ground on all fours. It was slowly turning towards their camp site. Arthur turned his head to give Merlin an exasperated look and then turned back, his body tense like a coiled spring. At the first surprised and dying cry of an orc, the blonde sprang forward, cutting down the tracker. Merlin followed.
He saw another four in front of the prince, their hooked swords of iron already naked. A handful further down the road had short bows drawn and were aiming for a clear shot.
“Dammit Merlin. Run!”
Merlin hesitated, not wanting Arthur alone fighting against the creatures. Then it hit him and a fire of pain blossomed in his shoulder. He dully looked at the short shafted black arrow and collapsed backwards, hitting the broken flag stones lined with tufts of coarse grass.
“No!” Arthur shouted, and, although he could not see what happened next, he heard the clashing of swords, the cries of the dying and, eventually, arms holding him in a half sitting position. Through blurred vision he saw Arthur’s stricken face.
“It’s okay,” Merlin croaked, his throat dry. “It’s okay.”
“Don’t you fucking dare. Please,” and Arthur shuddered, holding back tears.