Pairing/s: none
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Warnings: none
Author's Notes: I was recently in France and I learned that when olive trees die, they leave a center that is bare and a circle of trees around the spot where they used to grow. They looked like they were dancing.
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; It and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.

Merlin could swear there was music nearby. The green leaves rustling on high, the way the branches swayed in the evening sky, the creak and snap of wood against itself in the cool breeze, the whispers of welcome inviting him in.

He could see, too, just beyond the trees, the herbs Gaius might need. It was growing late and he almost turned back, thinking to leave the gathering of them for another day. But he knew Gaius would berate him if he did. Better to give in and collect what he could before calling it a day.

As he stumbled forward, though, the music grew more tantalizing, drawing him closer, drawing him in.

There was a gentle rise leading him into a perfect circle of trees, the middle bare of anything but soft grass. Turning, turning, he could see tree limbs reaching for the darkening sky, branches interlocked in leafy embrace. It was beautiful there, serene yet filled with earth's magic. A sacred place.

Eager to know more, ignoring the growing unease in the back of his mind, instead, wanting to feel the cool grass beneath his feet and the wind on his skin, he took off his boots, wiggled out of socks and tunic and everything else, discarding them without thought.

Digging his toes into the soft carpet, feeling the life below reaching up to entwine with his magic, a kind of growing ecstasy, he began to dance.

He lost himself in the music. It was a mindless merging of earth and sky and magic, bright sparks and dark longings, past and present and future. There was nothing more than a joyous frenzy of being himself, of not worrying about destiny or despair, of finally being open and honest and himself at last.

Merlin never wanted to stop. It was a freedom such as he'd never known and he'd be damned if he'd give it up.

So he danced, danced with bleeding feet and exhaustion and shivering limbs and it didn't matter. The trees were dancing with him and it was a whirling euphoric frenzy and he was crying out in the wonder of it all.

Around him, the world seemed to blink dark and light again and again, the trees singing, the cool earth slippery with his life's blood, but he couldn't stop, wouldn't stop because this was everything he could ever desire. Free at last, and wanted. By the earth and the sky and the trees dancing with him.

As he sang joyously to the sky, a never-ending breathless wonder, there was a sudden crack.

Agony filled his world, splintering into a million shards of broken dreams and pain. The tree nearest him came crashing down, its trunk bleeding, its leaves wailing. And beyond, fiends in chainmail and crimson cloaks, cutting down another tree as one of them, golden-haired and shouting, ran toward him.

Merlin wanted to obliterate them all for the sacrilege, the desecration, but he was too exhausted, his magic entangled somehow with the dying trees, and he couldn't reach past the barriers to fight off the invaders. Instead, helpless, as another tree toppled, he toppled with it.

The monster, roaring his name, rushed up, capturing Merlin as he fell.

Trying to scramble away, Merlin fought as much as he could with teeth and fists and anger, but it wasn't enough. He was held fast.

The man was calling his name over and over. Hands brushing his face, gentle against his skin, unable to fight, Merlin couldn't help but fall back into the cage of the man's arms.

With each tree gone, violation in the splintering of wood, the wail of desperation in every broken branch, Merlin grew more exhausted, more confused. The music was almost unbearable in its agony, shrieking at him to fight them, that the knights of Camelot deserved to be destroyed as they were destroying the grove.

Crying out, begging them to stop before it was too late, but it was not enough. Never enough.

With a final crack, the last tree came down, and the music died and Merlin felt as if he'd died with it.

Unable to move, he could only lie there, trapped in arms that would not let him go, and listen to Arthur's voice begging him to stay.

Staring up at blue eyes wet with tears and worry, Merlin knew he should have been grateful that Arthur cared enough to come for him. And he knew he would forgive Arthur eventually for it, be thankful that he'd been rescued from a magical trap, now made obvious once he had time to think.

But just now, at that moment, all he could remember was the music and the acceptance and the final agony of having that ripped from him. And try not to weep with the loss.