Rating: T

Warnings: Violence, PTSD

Summary: A potential threat making its way to Camelot brings Arthur to Ealdor, but will what happened in the past stand in the way of Merlin and Arthur defeating this new danger? Sequel to Waiting in the Dark.

A/N: *Peers around corner nervously* Well, here it is, the promised sequel to Waiting in the Dark, and I really hope it pleases. I know quite a few people are hoping for much Merlin anger and much Arthur groveling. Which I'm pretty sure this story has, except your idea of anger and groveling might be different from my idea so... *shrugs*. Either way, I can promise that this story is no quick fix, but also keep in mind that it is a reconciliation fic, because no way could I leave the poor boys hanging like that.

Also, some things to mention that I had forgotten to mention in Waiting in the Dark - This story takes place between seasons three and four, so Lancelot is still alive.

Finally, the idea for this story was inspired by The Real Arthur and Merlin (which can be found on Youtube), in which Colin and Bradley travel around learning about Arthurian legend. In it Bradley talks about one story in particular in which Arthur fights a giant, and I thought "dang it, we need that story in the Merlin verse." So here it is :D

Posts will be every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

Finding the Light

by

Stealth Dragon

~oOo~

Prologue

There was only darkness at first, thick as mud and just as cold, suffocating and heavy, pressing against skin and bone.

Then there was a light. Except it wasn't a light. It was a rat so white it seemed to glow, standing out against the darkness with a contrast that was nearly blinding. It was sniffing at the air, looking for something, wandering in the dark that had no end. But the dark pressed in on that rat, gathering around it like a cloud until the rat faded, faded…

Until the rat was gone. Devoured by the dark.

~oOo~

Merlin woke with a gasp, thrashing and tangling himself mercilessly in coarse material. He kicked and flailed until whatever was trying to trap his legs was flung away. He clawed at gritty soil – soil, not stone – until he was upright and his brain finally realized that he wasn't surrounded by the dark.

On the contrary, he was out in the open, in the woods sleeping by a tiny brook gently babbling over smooth rocks, and light filtering through the trees in soft shafts of gold. There were birds twittering, a breeze rustling through the leaves and the smell of soil and wood.

Merlin flopped back onto the bottom half of his bed roll, stared up through the trees to a golden morning sky, and breathed.

I'm not in the dark. I'm free of the dark, he thought, over and over as he often did these days when waking up from another nightmare. He turned his head, taking in the trees and the undergrowth, then tilted his head back toward the tiny cottage he and his mother had repaired. It was more like a shack, really; a hunting lodge long since abandoned, big enough for only a cot, a small table, a few crates of supplies and an equally small fireplace put there more for warmth than cooking. Merlin did all his cooking outside. He did most things outside these days – unable to stand the confined space for very long, but needing it should it rain. Even then, he always left the door and shutters open.

Merlin levered himself upright feeling tired despite having given in to an early night. He leaned forward with his arms wrapped around his legs and his chin resting on his knees.

He was looking better, his mother often said when he went to the village to spend time with her. He wasn't as horribly thin as he had been when he first arrived, she liked to say, although it seemed more for her benefit than for his. He was still disconcertingly thin according to the uneasy once-overs she would give him, the way she would watch him eat as though every bite he took was a god-send, the way she would always press a loaf of bread or cheese or some vegetable into his hand before he left, even though he wasn't going that far.

She worried even as she mentioned, again and again, the progress Merlin was making.

Merlin dropped his gaze to his thin hands clasped round his bony arms. He lifted his right hand, palm up. He took a breath to speak.

The breath caught in his throat as if trying to dive back into his lungs. He choked on it, coughed, and took another breath to try again.

He nearly gagged just as the words reached his tongue. The gag morphed into a quiet sob.

Merlin clenched his hand into a fist that shook.

TBC...