#pirates!merlin

[procrastinatorrex]

Part 2

“Léoht flānþracu!”  Merlin pointed one glowing hand at the tentacle wrapped around the main mast of the ship. A beam of golden light, like a ray from the sun, shot out and struck the tentacle. 

The ship bucked as the creature wrapped around it writhed. A strangely distant scream, an inhuman sound that made Arthur’s skin break out in gooseflesh, echoed up from the churning water. 

The tentacle ripped away from the ship so quickly it made the Lady’s Maid bob on the water like a cork in a storm.  The wounded tentacle, still glowing faintly gold, hit the waves with a thwack that made the ship roll in the opposite direction. The smell of burning and the oddly out-of-place aroma of cooked fish billowed across the deck on the cloud of steam that rose from the waves. 

The madly bucking ship sent the men flying like they weighed nothing at all— only Arthur’s grip on the lifeline kept him from rolling down the deck. Bits of timber and God knows what went flying along with the bodies, making Arthur duck his head in defense. 

Slack, sudden and unexpected, nearly made him drop the line in shock. He stared at the suddenly loose rope for a moment before reality struck. Seized by a frenzy, Arthur hauled out the line like a man possessed. It moved. Gods above, it moved. Praying it wasn’t just because the line had snapped or the poor bastard on the end hard been devoured by the unknown creature, Arthur hauled on the line like it was his own soul on the other end. 

Merlin was firing the golden beams more quickly now, he seemed to no longer need to actually say the incantation; the brilliant energy limned his hands in gold and made his eyes so bright his face was almost totally obscured. Arthur kept his eyes on the water and tried not to think about the wounds he’d wrapped with his own hands only hours ago. How much energy can he expend? Surely this is too much.

There! A dark shape was rising through the water, brought to the surface by Arthur’s manic pulling and the natural buoyancy of a man. It looked large enough to be a whole man. God let him be whole and alive. Please God. 

It was Lancelot. He’d known it would be before he saw the mass of dark curls plastered to the man’s forehead but hadn’t wanted to admit it, even to himself. 

[procrastinatorrex]

They had been battling the creature since midday, and they’d yet to actually see the damn thing. The moon was full, Arthur thanked God for that much at least, the slick black tentacles would have been impossible to see on a really dark night. As it was they were only visible where the white light of the moon glinted on the creature’s scales. It was like slashing at a ghost— except this ghost packed a wallop. 

“Man overboard!” The cry came from the crows nest. Arthur had no clue at all how Owaine stayed up there, much less saw anything— the small man was a barely visible shadow clinging to the mast from below— but he didn’t waste time doubting the lookout’s claim. 

Squinting made Owaine’s shadowy arm just visible; he was pointing to the starboard railing. A taunt lifeline was just visible through the dark. Arthur flung himself at the rope, seizing it with both hands— it was taunt, thank God— and braced one foot on the railing. He hauled as hard as he could on the rope. Nothing.

Sweat beaded on his brow as he adjusted his grip and tried again and again, ordering himself not to think of the poor bastard on the other end of the rope, praying he wasn’t wedged somewhere in those tentacles, which were twice as wide as a man and more than strong enough to drown a sailor no matter how hard or long Arthur pulled. 

Time lost meaning in the dark, as the ship bucked and Arthur pulled, praying, swearing, muttering apologies to the poor bstanrd who must be damn near ripped in half by now, it he wasn’t ebing crushed to death or eaten. Around him the men were shadows, their faces were lost in the darkness as they screamed and slashed and tried desperately to free the Lady’s Maid. They were badly outmatched, but the sailors fought like the dying men they were going to be if they lost this battle. Arthur was fiercely proud of them, though they weren’t his, not really. 

Gwen had been below seeing to Merlin when this all began– Arthur shoved that thought away with all the strength he had left. Nothing he could do now. Nothing. No point in feeling anything. No point in looking at the broken widows of the captiant’s cabin, like screaming mouths with no teeth. 

It was dark inside. Seawater dripped from the shattered window frames. 

Arthur let the battle fade into the background as he put all his energy into saving the nameless crew member who had fallen overboard. He couldn’t stomach the idea of the man dying in the crushing blackness of the sea, crushed by the faceless leviathan, like it was crushing the ship. Like it had crushed– no. No. Let him go, you bastard. Let them all go!

Suddenly the king realized that the darkness was lighter than it had been. A dim golden glow was spilling over the deck of the ship, illuminating the black tentacles and turning the faceless sailors back into men Arthur recognized. Gawain, Percival, Valiant— where is Lancelot? 

The light was so bright Arthur had to squint against it; he didn’t dare to lift a hand. Could it already be sunrise—? Then he saw the lone figure standing, bent like an old man beside the wheel, and realized what was happening. It was Merlin, impossible Merlin, not dead at all, not crushed in the blackness of the sea, not bleeding out from magical wounds. 

Merlin who stood a little straighter as he looked down on the battle, his eyes and hands glowing like stars, reaching out towards the tentacles of the creature.

[procrastinatorrex]

Gwen was a good as her word. 

Chess was a game of kings, and as such— naturally— ill suited for women generally. Arthur told the pirate captain so, but she hardly seemed to hear him. Immediately after their conversation about hte chess board Arthur found himself being escorted each night after dinner to the captains quarters where Merlin watched, with only the occasional quip, as he taught the pirate captain to play chess. 

He was able to maintain his kingly superiority for the first three games, beating Gwen handily as he taught her about the pieces, the board, and general chess strategy through experience. He even managed to keep his aloof confidence up for the next two games, which he won, but rather more narrowly. 

By the sixth night things were starting to get out of hand. They were set up in the captain's quarters, as usual. The maps had been pushed aside so that the chessboard could be laid out on her scarred wooden table. They were moored for the moment in a well-protected anchorage, and the night was calm; even Arthur could barely feel the Lady’s Maid moving on the glassy black water. 

The first warning sign was that the game was taking rather longer than the pervious ones had. Gwen played sitting forward, studying the board with keen dark eyes as Merlin watched. The skinny sorcerer lay on the the captains bed, where he totally ignored propriety and pretended to read from a thick leather bound book as the King and the Captian played. Arthur felt obliged to work rather more than he cared to admit to keep his kingly composure as the evening wore on.

Then, suddenly, “Check.” Gwen announced as she made her move. “Your turn.” 

Arthur scanned to board, trying to understand where he’d gone wrong. There was only one thing to do. Magnanimous, the king gestured to the section of pale yellow moon visible through the partly open window. “Ah, my lady, it is of course getting far too late for—“ 

The small knife was at his throat before he could blink. The pirate captain grinned at him, wolfish, “I said your turn, pretty boy.” 

Well, one couldn’t refuse a lady, after all. He’d behaved rather unchivalriously in the past, really, beating her at a game she didn’t fully understand. Being that he was a knight of the realm, and having taken an oath of chivalry, that sixth night Arthur decided to let her win.