Merlyn's Last Dream

The Eye of the Phoenix P2

It didn't take long for Merlyn to find who she'd been looking for. A quick search of the taverns revealed a bar fight, one centering around a certain drunken brunette, his accent distinguishable above the grunts of the other thugs.

Ducking the tankard thrown in her direction, she closed the door behind her just in time to watch Gwaine being thrown across the table, various pitchers and plates clattering onto the floor.

"Hello Gwaine." she grinned, glad to see that her friend was, well, alive at least. Quite frankly, that was better than she'd been expecting.

"Ah, Merlyn." He looked up from his position on the table, managing to smoothly dismount without scattering any more pottery. "How are you?"

Merlyn opened her mouth to reply, but before she could say anything cheery, a bald, angry man stepped forward, glaring at Gwaine menacingly.

"Give me my money." he ordered, lifting his heavy axe from a nearby table. Behind him, a number of men advanced stoically, evidently ready for some sort of fight. Gwaine and Merlyn shared a look, neither of them particularly in the mood to kill nor maim anybody, before looking back at the group of men. Bravely, they bolted, running out into the court yard, apologising to those that stumbled into their way.

Running between market stalls, Merlyn could only shake her head as Gwaine knocked an array of tables over in an effort to slow their pursuers. She didn't particularly agree with using peoples' livelihoods as barriers, but as the pair ducked behind a stall covered in blankets and bread, she couldn't bring herself to reprimand him.

Unfortunately, as she peered from their hiding place, she locked eyes with the bald thug, who apparently wasn't quite as dim-witted as the bandits she and Arthur usually faced.

"Gwaine, run!" she pulled him to his feet, heading for a hole in the wall reaching to the outside of the city. Clambering the steps onto the battlements, she looked below to the market, trying to spot their hunters amongst the townspeople.

"Remind me again what you're doing here." Gwaine nudged her, slightly out of breath from their climb.

Distracted by the question, Merlyn turned towards him, forgetting for a moment about their imminent doom. "Arthur's in trouble. I need your help."

"What kind of trouble?" the drunk asked, but, once again, before she could reply, there was a shout from one of the tavern dwellers.

"There!" the bald man roared, causing a number of men to race towards the steps. Merlyn certainly didn't need to be told to follow Gwaine, sprinting as far away from the thugs as humanly possible.

"He's gone to the Perilous Lands." she gasped, barely able to see through the mass of hair billowing in her face.

Merlyn couldn't see Gwaine's expression, but his tone gave away everything he was thinking. "Are you serious?"

"Unfortunately."

It was at that moment the drunk stopped abruptly, realising that they'd reached the end of the wall. There was no way down and, as they looked behind them, there certainly didn't seem to be any clear escape. The brutes had made it onto the wall, weapons in hand.

"Just now it sounds pretty attractive." Gwaine murmured, eying a convenient pile of hay with far too much interest for Merlyn's liking. "All right, go for the horses."

"You have got to be joking." she hissed, narrowing her eyes at the drunkard. Clearly he'd had a few too many if he thought this was going to go well.

Gwaine just shrugged, pushing her from the wall, sending her face first into the forage. She barely had time to spit the dry straw from her mouth before her prick of a friend appeared beside her, landing annoyingly far more elegantly.