Archive of Our Own ^beta

the ballad of hisirdoux casperan

ballad two

standing there like an angry god

(you’re fooling heaven's gates so you won't have to change)

Winter 1392, France, Paris

The snow fell down with a gentleness and grace that betrayed its true face.

Watching it by far, one would think it was soft at the touch, like those feathers that were always found by the lakes during the warm season. Velvety and silklike, cool and pleasing on the hands. After all, snow had a really good resemblance to wool, or to the clouds, so it was only fair that its texture reflected the kind exterior.

Douxie had found out, in the worst way possible, that snow held no mother-like instinct, no kindness at all.

It was cold fury and slow defeat. It was painful, boring destruction, lengthy detriment. It was a dragged out, languid seeping out of life. The creeping of death.

It was him being stuck in a snowed in cave with no exit at his hands, wearing no shoes and only a flimsy, wet cape to cover himself with and try not to die of hypothermia – if he didn’t die of blood loss first, of course. There was the very much plausible possibility that the gash on his abdomen would be the one to do the job, and Douxie almost wished that was the case.

It’s a very faster way of going out. And, at least, I’d leave this damned bloody freezing shitty place.

Of all the places – and days – Merlin wanted him to go to, a cavern had been his choice. A fucking cavern! And for what? A damned flower that bloomed only in winter, and far, far away from daylight, visible only during snowy days (of course, be it during a normal, dry winter. Those flowers really had all their necessities lined up, didn’t they).

The flower was, supposedly, blue with white streaks, a dark green stem and gem shaped petals. What that even meant, Douxie had no idea, but he wasn’t particularly keen on trying to find it out.

For what he cared, those flowers could have as well be made of gold. What he had cared for, was the location of his search, a hidden cave just beneath Paris, a huge empty place full of small rivers and frozen lakes. Or it should have been empty. When he and the others had arrived, it had looked so.

Then, an ice wyvern had appeared, shrieked, face planted on the lake they had been standing on – the only way to the other side – and shattered it, right beneath Douxie’s feet, sending him down in the icy water.

The last thing he remembered was Archie’s terrified scream and a green flash.  

It had all happened too fast. Next thing he knew, he had come to in another cave (just how many of these there were?), laying down with his legs still into the biting water. The place was half full of snow, and he had a nice piece of ice poking out of his stomach.

Where it still proudly sat, completely at its comfort, unlike the owner of said stomach.   

“Merde!” he swore, even though no one was there to hear him.

If only he was better at healing chants. But he wasn’t, and he didn’t really want to attempt one. “Merde!” he repeated, especially since no one was there to hear him, frustration growing into him as he struggled to move. He had earlier already made a pass at getting up, but it had been an especially wrong move, as his vision had blurred around the edges, his head pulsing violently, his legs protesting.  

Breathing was hard. He scratched his hands on the hard ground, felt them slip on the ice, finding leverage, pulling himself slightly up, pushing his legs back.

After the whole ordeal, he was drenched in sweat, his hair stuck on his forehead, and out of breath, but at least he was now fully sitting, his back almost straight.

If just moving was this tiring, what were his chances to make it to the surface?

His body hurt.

His legs were tingling and full of pins and needles, his stomach was burning up, his hands scraped and bloody. He had a headache growing behind his sore eyes and he knew that – if he had enough energies – he would be throwing out at the sight of the icicle piercing him.

It wasn’t particularly long, but it was thick, and even though his thoughts were muddy with pain and exhaustion, he remembered very well when he had been hit by a flying arrow and had almost bled out to death for having taken it out. Thankfully, Merlin had been there, and had been able to fix the hemorrhage. He still could taste the fear on his tongue, as he saw the hidden concern darkening his master’s eyes. Hours later, he was as good as new.

This time, though, he didn’t have Merlin. He was up somewhere, fighting a bloody ice wyvern.

He didn’t even have Archie. His familiar could have used his fire to keep him warm, at least.

The one he had managed to spark had long ago ceased to exist.

Douxie knew he didn’t have energies for another. Was I good at healing spells, I’m not sure I could use one at the moment. Not when he was so exhausted.

The silence felt oppressive. Words bubbled to the surface.

“Bloody Merlin and his teachings – or lack of them. More like ‘Hisirdoux, do this’ and ‘Hisirdoux, do that’. ‘But Master,’ I say, and he’s all ‘not ‘but Master’ me’. Does he even bother to listen to me? No, he doesn’t. He gives tasks and I do them and whenever I ask for anything, he starts to preach patience and how a wizard can’t do everything with magic. What am I supposed to do then? I’m a wizard! Wizards do magic!”

Venting felt good. Insulting Merlin more so. He was his alleged apprentice.

He may have been Merlin’s apprentice by name, but in truth he was very far from that.

He wanted to be home – or however one could call that shack made of wood and stones, with nothing more but some straw as bed and dust-tasting water. But he would have that masterpiece of a house over dying in a cave at any time.

I need to get up and find a way out.

He searched, again, but all his eyes met was a round room made of ice, snow covering the ground, the lake lapping the south side of the cave, fallen rocks blocking the north part. Even if he found the strength to get up and walk, where would he go? He couldn’t certainly swim. Nor he could move the rocks all on its own. It would take ages.

Let’s be honest, you wouldn’t last that long.

Douxie groaned. He slid his left hand to his abdomen. It was wet. He grimaced, forcing himself not to look down. He didn’t need to see to know it was bad. He put pressure on the skin around the gash.

No, no, no, no, wrong move, wrong move, wrong, wrong move.

He screamed.

It felt like acid. He was burning, he was burning, his stomach was burning. He was wasting away, his skin was melting, and his bones were turning to ashes, and all the small particles of his body were reforming themselves.

It felt like hot metal. It felt like fire.

He gasped, trying to catch his breath. Please, please. Someone.

But he was on his own. He was alone, for the first time ever in centuries, alone, dying alone, his stomach turning itself upside down, spilling out on the ground, lava filling all the holes. Please, but no amount of begging would help.

Something warm tickled his fingers and he looked down. Everything was red. Too much red. All over his clothes, on the icicle, on his arms and hands and under his nails. The shard was a few inches deeper than before.

He diverted his gaze, but to no use. The bile was already climbing up his throat. He turned his head and threw up. Or the closest thing he could do. He heaved, nothing coming out. He felt tears forming on his eyes.

Please.

He shut his eyes and focused on his breath. He had to put it under control. Breathe in. Breathe out.

He could do it. It wasn’t so hard. He was Hisirdoux Casperan, after all. Apprentice of a legend, subject of the once and future king. He had survived the Battle of Killahead Bridge. He had lived through hours and hours of interminable scolding by Merlin. He had lived through the Black Death, dammit.

He wasn’t going to die there. Not until he got his staff. Not until Merlin recognized his worth. He was a nobody, maybe, but he wasn’t going to be a nobody forever. But first, he had to survive this. And get out.

Finally feeling more under control, he took a deep breath, almost coughing in the process.

He was on his hands and knees, in a completely different position from before, but he didn’t try to move yet. He didn’t dare to upset his wounds any more.

I’m never going to do this again. Never.

All he had to do was find out an exit from the room. Then an exit from the cave. Then hope Archie and Merlin would find him in time. Easy. Except for the fact that it wasn’t.

I’m tired, he thought. His limbs were heavy and so his eyelids. He gritted his teeth. Stay alert, idiot.

Something fell down on his head. Then again. And again, soon after. He raised his head and his eyes adjusted. Snow. Not the still, watered kind down on the ground, but falling snow.

And if there was snow, there was an exit. He dragged himself forward, and moving was harder than before, his lower body too numb. It was like lead.

It took him minutes – hours? Days? How long had he been trapped there? – but eventually he reached the center of the room. From there, he could see everything. More or less. His vision was clouded, his head full of cotton. Focus.

The snow. He looked to the stack of rocks now in front of him. Nothing.

Then.

He blinked. A beat. There!

Beneath the rocks, there was a flash of light. Up high, on the top, there was an opening. Not big enough for a man, sure, but…

Douxie looked at his bracelet. Maybe, he could conjure a spell and widen the space, just the right size, for him to pass through.

Blasting the wall was impossible, but if it was only a small opening…

It’s now or never.

Calming himself down as much as possible, and with great care, he sat on his knees, despite the burst of pain.

He closed his eyes. Yellow points danced in front of him, but he ignored them. He had found a way. He could do it.

He started, for the second time that day – third, counting the flowers, but he had found none, and didn’t wish to waste his counted time for them – a search. He sounded out his core for his soul.

The darkness was comfortable.

Breathe in, breathe out.

He sank in.

His eyes opened and the world exploded in light.

*

“Douxie? Doux—!”

“Careful now, Archie. We need not to be—sty.”

“Hasty? He’s dying! He’s—oh, oh da—, for Arthur’s honor, Merlin, look at him!”

“I’m looking. That’s why I’m saying let’s not be—! Can your other f— carry hi—?”

“I’m not sure. He’s all skin and—, for sure, but I— good idea.”

“I’ll help you with— magic. Come— now. There’s— second to los—”

*

France was not having a good time. After all, Charles VI had lost his ‘Beloved’ title in favor of ‘The Mad’. Not a particular way one would want to be go down in history for, but nobody had taken their time and asked him how he wanted to be called, that’s for sure.

It was still a well-earned title. Killed four men of his in the woods, they said. Kept talking gibberish, they said. He was simply not the same anymore, and Philip the Bold was catching up again, they said. Queen Isabeau wanted to have a ball for her lady-in-waiting’s third marriage, they said.

They said a lot of things these days.

There was every kind of talk. Of craziness, of enchantments, of war. War within the country, war with the English. People were dying of hunger and the king was a foolish puppet who had lost the light of reason and wanted to kill his queen more often than not. The Church had sent exorcists but those had failed, and the king was worse than ever.

Douxie didn’t know a lot, but he knew that he didn’t want to be remembered as ‘The Mad’. The Brave, maybe. The Smart. The Good. There were a whole lot of good names out there, for him to choose. That was the thing, though. He couldn’t choose them. Others would do it for him, at due time.

All he wanted, was for Merlin to give him a good title, one only for him.

Recognition.

After all, Merlin had saved his life. He must have seen something worth of saving in him, all these years ago, when everything still made a resemblance of sense, or he wouldn’t have been there. He still didn’t know exactly what, and he was starting to fear his mentor was reconsidering his choice, but it was now too late for him to back down. So, what was left to do, was to make him proud.

Douxie the Worthy.

This way, he had set himself to find a cure for the king. It may not have been his king – his only king had always been and would forever be Arthur, even if the man was not the righteous king everyone may have wanted him to be. His home would always be Camelot, and Camelot would always be Arthur. The two concepts had been so intertwined that, fallen one, the other had closely followed – but, if it mean having his life meaning something more than just endless immortality, he would do it. Find a remedy for the king’s madness.

Exorcists had failed. Releasing the pressure on the brain by drilling holes in the skull – ew – had, oh so shockingly, not given the hoped results as well.

These people kept going on for hours to no end about God and ancient, far away saviors, never trying to fix issues with present and within reach tools.

Magic was one of those tools, and while they refused to even consider it, Douxie was not one for qualms. In the end, he was a part of magic, and magic ran through its veins.

He had begun researching. Spending hours and hours bended over the books, looking for something he didn’t even know of.

The day he would have training with Merlin – or finish the daily tasks the old wizard would give him, which were boring and uselessly long, and Douxie was starting to think the other just wanted him out of the way –, and the night he would sneak out and search the city, jumping from library to library, talking to anyone who would help him get some answers.

“You need to stop,” Archie said one morning. Douxie grunted, getting up from the pallet. His back cracked as it straightened. “I’m fine, Archie.”

Ugh, why was his head hurting so much? He peeked at the window. Luckily, there wasn’t too much light.

His mouth felt as if a changeling had made a nest in it. He passed a hand through his hair. Memories from last night were confused, but not entirely muddled. The important pieces were still there, anyway.

He checked out the room, but there was no sign of Merlin.

Archie stretched himself with a mewl. “He’s already out. Said he left a list on the table.”

“Oh, that’s great.”

Another list. Totally fantastic.

Yawning, he grabbed the paper, squinting his eyes to make some understanding of the words. Damn if he was tired. He had no idea of when he had come back home, but it probably hadn’t been earlier than daybreak, and by the brightness of the room it must not have been too much in the day now.

He was tired, yes, but this time his researches had not been a hole in the water. He was onto something, he knew it. A man he had talked to that night had told him something of great interest. I really hope I’m going somewhere with this, he thought, stifling another yawn.

He glanced at the list and groaned. “Seven items! Is this me or are these unholy… things getting longer day by day?”

Archie jumped onto his shoulder.

His knees buckled. Douxie hadn’t expected the impact to be so powerful. The world tilted and he lost balance.

“Ouch.”

“Douxie, are you okay?”

I think I just broke my nose. His face. It hurt. Shaking his head, he put himself in a more comfortable position.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, waving away his friend’s concern. He was fine. He had just been caught by surprise. And his head was throbbing. But he was fine.

“You know,” Archie started, his tone neutral, but he was moving slower than usual and was keeping himself a few feet away from him, “I’ve been hearing those two words a bit too much lately.”

He frowned. “Well, everything has been fine. What else do you want me to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Archie rolled his eyes, “maybe the truth?”

“That’s the truth!”

“You’ve been overworking yourself, Doux! That’s very far from fine. And tonight you didn’t even come home until the sun was up!”

“Come on, Archie. I feel good and there’s no need to worry.” To remark his words, he steadily got back on his feet, and gave his familiar a smile. “See? All good. You just surprised me, and I’ve just woke up. The only thing not fine here it’s Merlin’s unnecessarily infinite list. How does he even come up with these?”

The cat still seemed unconvinced, and Douxie knew another argument would arrive, sooner or later. Archie sniffed, passing through his legs and heading to the door. Sooner or later, for sure, but not today.

“I have no idea. Maybe he’s just got an incredible imagination.”

More like plenty of excuses to keep me away from him.

“Must be it.”

He’ll see. He’ll see.

I’ll make him see me.

He made his way out, hiding his shaky hands behind his back.

“Oh, it’s you again, boy!”

“Good evenings, Mr. L’Hernault. How are you faring this good evening?”

The old man washing glasses behind the counter laughed, his beard shaking with the strength of it. “Call me Piers, boy. There are no misters here. At least I’d hope so!” Another hearty laugh followed, and even in his fatigue Douxie found himself smiling. He strode to the seats and allowed himself to rest. There was no harm in talking with the old man, he decided. Only for a few minutes, though. Also, he had work to do.

“Looking busy,” he commented. The place looked half abandoned as usual, with its rusty tables and molded walls. The lights were dimmed, but there wasn’t anything to see anyway, except maybe some cobweb. Beside him, there were only other five people in total, all of them minding their business and sitting on their own. It wasn’t ideal, but in times like these, when your just out of a war and your king is searching for ghosts in the castle, one took whatever it was given without refusing.

Mr. L’Hernault – Piers – snorted. “That’s how it is. You’re too young to understand, and that’s great,” he shook his head, moving to clean another glass. I don’t think that rag could clean anything. Maybe dirt. “Innocence, I say, it’s a blessing. To be as you again – how old are you, Hisirdoux?”

“Old enough, Mr. L’Hernault – uh, Piers,” he corrected himself. “I wanted to ask you some questions, may I? You know I haven’t been around here for a while. Preoccupied in the south. Family business, eh?”

That was a lie, but, if Piers had smelled it out, he didn’t say anything. The old man just patted him on the shoulder and hummed his assent, raising a hand to ask him to wait while he went to serve another client.

When he came back, he leant his elbows on the counter and gave him a grin. Douxie noticed he was missing his front teeth.

“Ask to your heart content, boy. Who better than old Piers to resolve your doubts!” he chuckled. The sound reminded him of burning wood.

Douxie wetted his lower lip. “I was wondering…” He stopped.

Why was he hesitating? It’s not as if he’s never been asked these kinds of things before. He’s what, fifty? He must have seen a lot more, and heard, too.

“I was wondering if you had something about the king. I’ve heard The Beloved hasn’t been well, lately?”

Douxie startled as Piers let out a cry. He looked around, but nobody was paying them attention, as if used to the tavern owner’s antics. “The Beloved! Haven’t heard anyone calling him that in months, now. Gone crazy, the poor lad,” he hushed. “If someone ask, I ain’t told anything, but the king has lost it, completely. I’ve been told his – delusions have been growing worse.”

Nothing new here, but Douxie gasped in surprise. “No way!”

Piers shrugged. “You can believe me not, boy, but the rumors are rumors for a reason.”

“Worse how?” he asked, batting his eyes quickly. Piers smacked his lips, and a faint scar appeared, just over the upper lip, extending up until the nose. I wonder how he gained that. But few people didn’t have scars, these days. And who didn’t have scars, was as good as dead, if not worse.

“Talks of fairies, they say. Fairies and – what was that again? Trolls? Ah! Can you believe it? He told the queen he saw a troll in the woods, the other day, wearing a heavy armor. A troll in an armor! Who can believe it!”

Trolls? A shiver ran up his back and settled on his neck. Trolls in armor.

For Arthur’s honor.

Piers took his surprise for bewilderment and nodded in sympathy. “I know, that’s bollocks. Utter nonsense. The poor king. And poor us! Where are we going? What if the English attack now? How are we gonna defend our homes?”

Piers sighed and got up, grabbing the rag again, and he began to clean another cup.

“But that’s old men talk, my boy. You needn’t worry about that. Politics are devious, and I advise you to ignore their whispers. Nothing good comes from losing sleep over the progress of the State. There’s quite nothing both you and I can do about our king’s health, I fear.”

And that’s where you’re wrong, old man.

He couldn’t believe it himself. After all these months, a lead. A true lead. Trolls. In Paris. And not just any troll.

“I’ve bored you with my chatter enough, boy,” Piers said, “you’re young, you should be chatting with a nice girl, not me. How old are you said you were?”

He hadn’t said anything about his age, but this time he smiled and answered. “Nineteen, sir.”

“Ah!” Piers slammed the cup down. Douxie jumped a little again. Does he really have to do that every time?

Piers was shaking his head again. If he keeps going on, his eyes will fall, he mused. That’s a stupid thought. Another clang rang clear in the tavern. But it’d be fun, I have to admit.

“Nineteen,” Piers was muttering. “Why are you even here, wasting the night. Go talk like all the other lads about the latest husband of lady Catherine. I heard the queen is putting the ball together on her own.”

Oh, I’m enjoying myself quite already. He was beyond enjoying himself. Things had finally started to make sense.

“Balls are overrated. There’s nothing for me there,” he said. “But here,” and he smiled at the red-faced man, “I can at least enjoy some nice company.”

“You know how to talk with an old one, Hisirdoux, I gotta tell you,” he roared. His eyes were dark, black gems under the dirty lights of the place.

Piers took something from beneath the counter. It was a bottle. He poured it into the cup he had just finished to wash, and he thrusted it to him. Douxie must have looked as perplexed as he felt, because Piers blinked. “It’s on the house,” he winked at him, whispering with complicity. “For the nice company. Just don’t tell Marq.”

Douxie had no idea who the heck Marq was, but he promised, nonetheless.

The liquid was crystal clear, and some sort of smoke came from it. “What is it?” he asked, curious. Piers shrugged. “My specialty. You can try it.”

Not knowing what to do, he took a sip of it. It went down smoothly. Nothing. He glanced at the leftover drink. Was it supposed to do anything? He was disappointed. Perhaps it’s the magic. Maybe you need another sip.

He gulped the rest of the cup down. This time, he could taste the smoke. It was thicker than he thought and left a sort of familiar sweetness in his mouth. It swirled for a second in his mouth, before going down. His throat was now tingling pleasantly, and he licked his lips, gathering the last droplets of liquid. It was sweet, honeyed flavored, and light.

“Ah-a! I see you like the Piers’ specialty too, eh?”

He did.

“It’s not bad,” he said, and this time smiling came easier. His chest didn’t feel half as heavy as before. Whatever this is, it’s doing wonders.

“Not bad, he says!” Piers poured him another cup. “I cannot accept a ‘not bad’! It’s bad publicity, you know?”

Douxie laughed, and it was loud. He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed like that. He took a swing and the drink was gone, too soon for his liking. His head was buzzing in a blissful way. Douxie laughed again, and it was freeing, pushing all the thoughts aside, feeling a sense of victory taking over. The old man joined him, and everything was swallowed into an aery light, the edges mellowed, the shadows inconsistent.

Reality stopped and he didn’t want this to end.

Everything was perfectly fine.

*

“Be careful, you damn c—”

“I’m being— ful! And not a cat! Why he— waking up?”

“He lost— blood, and he’s freezing. We have to—”

“I could use my fire. Maybe that’ll—him.”

“No, no, that’s too dang—. We need warm—and dry clothes.”

“I’ll—the bath.”

“Hisird—can you—me?”

Warm hands were on him. Yes, yes, I can. Merlin, is that you? But his body wasn’t answering, and his tongue was too heavy on his mouth, and he was too tired to open his eyes. He tried to grunt, but he could already feel himself slipping away.

“Hold on, s—, hold on, we’ll make it better.”

Another voice joined, but it was all so messy, and he was drowning again.

*

I’m late, I’m late, oh I’m so late, Merlin will kill me!

Douxie hurried through the alleys, turning left. These stupid streets, all looking the same. A network of small, barely large enough paths, mixing with reeking canals and low, wrecked houses. The streetway was paved by beggars, dressing with tattered clothes, and Douxie had to pay extra attention not to step of them.

He was running so late. Merlin had told him to be at the Paris Waterway at sundown, but he had been so busy completing the last task of the day – putting a bucket of rainwater over the roof of a specific house, so that tonight’s full moon would shine its rays on it. “I’m in need of Moon Water,” Merlin had told him, and Douxie knew not to ask, just obey. – that he had totally forgotten about the meeting. He had remembered only at Piers’ tavern, while drinking his usual. A client who had just come in had mentioned a hooded man standing next the Seine, looking nerve-racking in the darkness. “I ask’d him if he needed somethin’, but just said he’s waitin’ for some lad. Honest, I don’t wanna be the hapless he’s goin’ to meet today,” he had explained with grand gestures. He had snickered and said “Some weird stuff is happenin’ lately, I swear. Really weird, I say.”

Piers had replied with conceited tones, but Douxie had stopped listening.

His blood had frozen in his veins. He had muttered some excuses and flew out of the tavern, the warmth and lightness of moments before completely vanished, replaced by the knowing feeling he had messed up again.

Bloody Moon Water and bloody list and bloody Merlin. And bloody him. He was never going to learn. He was never going to make things right.

Between his personal research and his daily jobs, he couldn’t catch a break, that was true. But he had let himself enjoy life a bit too much, relaxing when he had not gained the right to do so yet.  

The river was now visible. He huffed, out of breath, as he slowed the pace. The hooded figure was facing the water.

“I’m—I’m sorry Master, I- I forgot—”

Merlin interrupted him. “I thought I taught you that time is a wizard’s most prized possession. Or have you forgotten that as well?”

He cowered at the words. They felt like knives.

Oh, that’s bad, that is so bad, I’m in so much trouble.

“I’m sorry, Master, it won’t happen again, I promise, never again—”

“An apprentice’s words mean nothing if not followed by action,” his mentor cut him off again. Douxie gulped.

In his fearful state, he noticed something. “Where is Archie?”

Finally turning around to face him, Merlin’s eyes met his own, and Douxie did his best not to bow down and beg for forgiveness. The wizard was surrounded by a sharp green glow, crackling under the moonlight, reflecting into the river.

You’re only a little late, his behavior is excessive! It’s not as if he hadn’t given you too much to do today!

But Douxie knew that didn’t mean nothing. His master was still his master, no matter how unfair he acted, and his orders were to be made into reality. It was Douxie’s fault if he couldn’t keep up with it.

You’re just defending him.

“Archibald is not here, at the moment,” Merlin replied. “I’ve heard something, lately, Hisirdoux.”

“Yeah?” Douxie’s voice sounded feeble, and he hated it. Merlin nodded, holding a hand up. A few seconds later a green globe appeared in the thin air. Douxie realized it was a Recorder. And, in it, he could perfectly see himself.

It was a scene of some nights ago. He had gone to tavern again after having spent all evening in the forest where the king had had his first ‘attack’. Where he had lost his reason and killed four of his men, calling them all traitors, believing he was in dire danger.

In the Recorder, he was cheering for a man in his early thirties, who was drowning down his drink. Douxie himself had been tipsy, there, having already drank three cups of Piers’ special. He had been laughing, and in the Recorder, he threw his head up with a roar. “And we have a winner, my friends!” Piers’ voice echoed, but it was subdued. Soon the magical artifact stopped with a whir and the images faded.

Silence followed.

Merlin’s stare was heavy and judging. Douxie clenched his hands. How had he dared to follow him?

“So?” he blurted through gritted teeth.

His vision was clouded, but he didn’t need to see to know that his master was disappointed. Again. Rage fueled him. After all this time, after all these decades together, after having woken him up from the sleeping state he had fallen in when Camelot had fallen, after having taken care of him for years, after doing all the tasks he was given to – that’s how Merlin was going to repay him? By following him, recording him. Almost like he was a criminal. A thief! Untrustworthy Douxie, was this how Merlin saw him? A kid who couldn’t take care of himself?

He was shaking, and the edges of his view were blue.

“So?” he bellowed, fulminating him on his spot, “so, you say? I must have truly made a mistake with you, if you can’t even see how wrong all this is!”

“A mistake, you say?” he shouted. The sky was darkening, and he could feel the wind whipping him. “Weren’t you the one who said wizards don’t make mistakes, Master?”

“I have obviously done one, if I thought, even for a moment, you could be my apprentice! I now recognize you don’t have it in you. Maybe never did!”

The ground quaked. Fuck this all. Fuck him, fuck this bloody country, I hate all of this. I hate every one of them. Something crashed somewhere in the distance, and some drops of water hits his face.

“You want to waste yourself like this? Then go on, I won’t stop you! I have no use for a worthless tippler.”

Douxie couldn’t see anymore.

I must have truly made a mistake with you.

“I see,” he spat out. “I see.”

He had been right from the beginning. His master had given him all those lists only so he could keep him as far away from him. He was never going to get his respect, was he? Even if he revealed the truth about the king, even if he did everything he said to the letter, he was still going to fail. Because this wasn’t a game he could win. It was doomed from the start.

He was always going to fail, because Merlin would simply raise the bar.

The blue that had been so overwhelming dimmed.

Douxie felt like laughing. All of his hopes – those had been just dreams. Visions.  

Who was the true delusional – the king, or him? Maybe he should search a cure for himself.

“I see,” he whispered. Thinking the master had seen something in him. He felt himself smile. You’ve been so stupid, Hisirdoux. As if someone would want you. Even his own parents had made a mistake by bringing him to life. They had just realized it before Merlin had done.

It was so quiet, now.

“Hisirdoux—”

“No, Master,” he shut him off, “I understand now. There’s no need. I apologize, Master.”

“Oh—I meant, uh—”

“Have you any need of me?”

“Oh, I need to harvest some of this wind, but that’s not important now—”

“Of course, it is, Master. I’ll help you.”

“Uh, thank you, Hisirdoux.”

He kept his eyes low, fixed on the ground, all the time.

When he got back home, he curled up on the straw.

“Doux?”

It was Archie. “Sorry, go back to sleep. It’s late.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Never been better. Night.”

“Good night.”

*

Loud. Tiring.

Heavy.

His eyes were too heavy. His shoulders too weak.

Where was he again? Everything was dark, coated with a black blanket. He couldn’t see.

Yet, it didn’t feel so bad.

It didn’t feel bad at all.

He was floating in the darkness.

In the distance, someone was talking, but it was far away, too far away, and he couldn’t make out any words.

He wanted the voices to stop.

He was fine, couldn’t they leave him alone? He didn’t want anybody. He was okay by himself. He was okay in this black endless sea.

He was happy.

Why the voices didn’t want him to be happy?

He deserved it, didn’t it? He deserved to have the bliss of nothingness, to fade in and lose himself.

How could they not see it?

He just wanted some peace. He just wanted to rest.

The voices grew louder, but he ignored them, he pushed them away. The waves crushed over him and the sound was dulled out, muffled.

He was fine there.

He was happy.

Nothing hurt anymore.

*

The next few days had been, for a lack of a better word, insufferable.

He and Merlin hadn’t really talked again after that night, and that suited him well enough. I wouldn’t wish to ruin his day with my unnecessary present, no sir.

If Merlin thought he was waste of an apprentice, that be it. He didn’t care.

He didn’t care.

He had his magic, and Archie, and he’ll prove everyone he could make a perfect wizard. He just needed time.

Time to decide what to do next. It wasn’t as if he knew any other wizards. Maybe he could talk with the king, tell him what he saw was real, that trolls truly existed, that he wasn’t as crazy as others believed.

Yeah, and how do you intend to do that?

He couldn’t march into the royal palace just like he owned the place. And, even if he could, it wasn’t as if the king was going to listen to him. And what would happen then? He knew more that anybody how people reacted in front of the impossible.

He had seen Camelot, his home, burn, after all.

It was funny, how people preferred to think they were insane, instead of just accepting that some things were just out of their comprehension.

Whatever.

It felt weird, letting all his efforts go in vain.

But there wasn’t much he could do. His plan had been flawed in the beginning anyway. It wasn’t as if Merlin would recognize his researching skills and give him a staff. Staffs were achieved with fatigue and wise magic use. Douxie couldn’t say he had used a lot of magic. He had just been lucky to meet the right people. What if the Trollhunter was in France! What if a human had seen him! Nobody believed the king. Nobody in their right mind, leastways.

It was useless info. When he had begun his search, he had hoped for a real cure. But there was no cure, since there was no illness.

He sighed loudly, catching Archie’s attention. The familiar had been spending much more time with him these days. He hadn’t told him what had happened with his master, but Archie seemed to know something was wrong regardless his silence. He had been his shadows for three days, following him up close. For this very reason, he had avoided Piers’ tavern, missing the late nights he used to spend there, drinking and laughing. There was no way he would bring Archie there.

Merlin’s disappointment was hard enough to deal with.

“Doux?” Archie called him out.

“What?”

Douxie didn’t mean to snap at his friend, but he was getting frustrated at his insistence. It didn’t help the fact that it was freezing, and he shivered in his coat, which wasn’t doing a great job at keeping him warm.

Calm down, you fool. Archie doesn’t deserve any of this bullshit.

He cleared his throat and attempted a grin. “Sorry, Arch. Didn’t sleep well tonight. What do you need?”

Archie scrutinized him for a long moment. Then, satisfied with whatsoever he had seen in him, he arched his back. Out of instinct, Douxie bent down, boots creaking on the frosty ground, and petted his fur.

It was smooth.

The cat purred, brushing his head against his arm. He was cold, as well. Douxie’s throat constricted as he felt the sudden need to throw up.

With all the things that were going on, he had neglected Archie. Archie, who was his companion, his friend, his brother. Too taken from his selfishness, Douxie hadn’t bothered to spend time with him.

It’s a wonder he still can stand you.

“Douxie,” Archie began, and his voice tilted just the right way, making a knot out of his stomach, “you know I’ll always be here with you?”

Douxie nodded, incapable of taking his sight away his friend’s black mantle. Archie huffed and lowered himself, until they were face to face. Two yellow eyes stared right at him. They were shining and warm and old.

He felt naked.

“I mean it, Doux. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll stick with you. I’ll always choose you.”

It was too much. Too much too much too much too much – 

“Please, stop,” he managed to choke out, averting his gaze, locking his own on the dirty road they were on. They had delved into a forest just out of the city, searching for some moss. Merlin was putting together the ingredients for a new spell – so far, they had gathered Moon Water, pink salt and the eyes of a dead goblin. With the winter moss, they were up to four items. He wondered how much longer this would go on.

“Not until you tell me you know, leafling. That I’m not leaving you.”

Leafling. Archie hadn’t called him that in a lifetime.

“Okay, okay, I’m telling you,” he granted, grateful that the words had gotten out of his tight throat. The lump there didn’t mean to dissolve any time soon. “You won’t leave me. Happy now?”

His voice was shaky, but Archie fell back with a grin. He was quite literally glinting. Smug-ass, he thought. He brought his forehead to meet Archie’s.

“That’s better, if not slightly anticlimactic.”

They stood quiet, a heartbeat, then Douxie gave him a last scratch under his chin and got up.

His eyes were stinging.

We have a job to do.

“Now, the moss. If you were a super rare grey moss that only grew in winter once every five years, where would you be?”

“I don’t know where such a picky moss would be, but I know where I wish I was.” Archie frowned at the ground, like it had personally insulted him.

“That make two of us.” He couldn’t wait to go back to somewhere warmer.

Crack!

Douxie snapped his head up. Ouch. The abrupt movement made his neck crack.

“What was… that?”

“Maybe the wind?” Archie chuckled. Douxie glared at him. “The wind? Really?”

“It was just an option!” he exclaimed. “Probably some animal. A bear? Do bears live here in this time of the year? Or at all, actually.”

“Mmh.”

He stilled, his heart beating like a dong in his chest. It’s likely Archie’s right. But…

He glanced around. Nothing happened. He bit his lips, the skin breaking. The taste of blood in his mouth sobered him up completely.

The tension rolled out of him.

I’m too tense. It’s not so shocking Arch doesn’t believe I’m fine, if I get so worked up over some… twig breaking in a forest.

And yet, he couldn’t help but dwell on the thought that that hadn’t been the wind. Or a bear.

This was the famous forest, where the king had supposedly seen the Trollhunter in all his glory, after all. And where the Trollhunter was, trouble usually rested in wait.

“We should make it quick,” he resolved. Archie changed his form and spread his wings.

“You and I think very alike.”

“That I don’t have find hard believe.”

Archie jumped high and took off into the cold air. Behind him, the sky was gray and low, clouds threatened to fall down.

“And with this, we’ve got almost everything we need.”

“Oh, thank you.”  

Archie was curled up on the top of the fireplace, his wings still out to warm himself. Douxie envied him. Instead of standing next to the fire, he was in front of the door, at the furthest corner from Merlin.

After having picked up the moss – it was on the side of a freaking cliff! He had to climb all the way up the frozen rock. He had thought his fingers would fall off – they had returned to the house, where they had found Merlin mixing something in a pot. Archie had quickly taken his spot, sighing happily at the warmth. Douxie preferred so much more staying cold then having to breathe near Merlin a moment longer.

Perhaps he was being stupid.

Perhaps he should just talk with his master and try to find a compromise. Eternity was an extremely long time to be mad at someone. The world is extremely big, too.

He couldn’t look at Merlin. Every time he saw him, his cold eyes, constantly furrowed eyebrows, wrinkled forehead, he would hear those words once again.

And when he went to sleep, and rested his eyelids, his face would appear, a giant reminder of his failings.

I can do more, he screamed in his dreams, but he had no voice. Once he had tried to grab Merlin’s cape to stop him from leaving. When the other had turned around, his face wasn’t the same anymore, his chin was longer, and he was several decades younger.

He had different eyes, too. They were hazel.

Douxie had woken up with a silent scream, sweating profusely.

Those eyes had stared at him full of disgust.

Now, he didn’t stand looking at Merlin’s blue ones. He was scared to know what he could find in them.

“Now what?” Archie asked.

“Now we wait and gather the last ingredient.” Merlin grabbed a book from the stool and opened it at a bookmarked page. Douxie and Archie waited as the wizard mumbled to himself.

Enough crazy searches, please. Let this time be something we already have. Or we can buy. Why all the things we need can’t be bought with money? What am I supposed to do with this metal pieces?

“Mmh.”

Douxie faced Merlin once again. He flinched when he noticed the man was already looking at him. For a blink, they stood there, in front of each other. There was nothing Douxie could read out of the wizard. Hastily, he avoided his eyes, and fixed them on the leathered book.

“Found something, sir?” he muttered, shifting anxiously on his feet. I want to sleep. If the right chance came, though, he would like to go to Piers’. He missed the old man. When this is over, I’ll find an excuse and go.

Whatever ‘this’ was.

Weeks ago, he had asked Merlin what they were trying to do. His master had only barked that an apprentice shouldn’t ask questions, especially when said apprentice wasn’t ready for the answers. “But Master—” he had tried, but the other had dismissed him. “Don’t ‘but Master’ me. And go. Time is slipping away and—” “Yes, yes, time is a wizard’s most prized possession.”

He had asked again, later, but this time he had been ignored altogether. Just like that, he had given up on knowing his master’s plans.

If he had gotten irritated back then, now he was simply done.

“We need just one more thing,” Merlin explained. He had breathed out those words as if they were boulders hard to move around.

Douxie dared to glance at his master. He looked worn down.

Bitterness swelled inside his chest, like infected blisters ready to burst at any time.

I’m sorry I can’t be what you want, Master. You’d probably do a better job without me in the way.

“And that is…?” Archie yawned.

Douxie felt sorry his familiar had to spend so much time out in the piercing air. Dragons – and cats – weren’t made for winters, for all he knew about them. They enjoyed warm caves, and fire lakes, or hot springs. Archie had told him about his great-great-great uncle one night, years ago: he had liked to go to the beach sometimes, lie under the sun and take long naps. Of course, he had been one day killed by a dragon hunter, but that wasn’t the real deal. Things were, Archie’s family were made for warm, dry weather.

Everything that Paris in December wasn’t.

“A flower. It’s a rare kind.”

Such a surprise. Rare moss, rare flowers. Never the good, old, everyday stuff. Magic forbid!

Merlin went on, as he thumbed the pages. “It has blue petals gem shaped, with ivory streaks. It grows only in winter, at the very heart of some caves, far from any source of light. Oh,” he exhaled, changing the page. “It appears it can be seen exclusively in presence of snow.”

He turned the book around. On the left page there was a stylized sketch of the flower. ‘Snow Flower’, was written in the ancient language. Douxie rolled his eyes. How original.

The drawing was pretty simplistic. There were no ‘gem shaped’ petals, and the white strikes were almost nonexistent. Whoever had drawn it, they didn’t have good artistic skills. Or have never seen the flower.

“Are we really sure this flower exists?” he voiced his doubts. Merlin shut the book, and a bang resonated in the small room.

“Of course it exists, Hisirdoux. Or do you question me?” Merlin exclaimed sharply.

The room felt a few degrees colder.

“No, sir,” Douxie whispered.

“Leave the boy be, old man,” Archie rumbled. He was already getting up, stretching himself out. “Where do we find this cave?”

Merlin at least had the decency to look embarrassed at his outburst.

It doesn’t matter, I don’t care.

I don’t care.

Finish the job, then he’ll think what to do.

It was that easy.

“Meet me in the forest tomorrow, at first light. We must be quick.”

Said this, the wizard turned on his heels, covered the pot with the ingredients and walked out, brushing next to him as he did so.

As soon as he was out of sight, Douxie let out a sigh. He dragged his feet to the table and sat himself down.

Archie was in beats on his lap.

“He doesn’t mean what he says, Doux,” Archie comforted him. Douxie chuckled. If only you knew. “He didn’t say anything, though.”

“Ugh, you know what I mean, leafling. He just has… issues.”

Douxie closed his eyes, his head falling back. “Issues. Right.”

That was true, though. Since his master had awoken from his deep sleep, he had been… different. Colder, distant. He kept pushing him away, keeping him on the dark side of things, not bothering to actually teach him, or simply staying with him. It had been two full decades since they had last enjoyed themselves.

Merlin had issues; he could admit it.

“But it doesn’t excuse his behavior.”

Archie stayed silent for a while.

When he spoke next, he only said, “you’re right.”

The day ended, just like that.

Just like that.

*

He was four, and all he knew was that his parents hated him.

They belittled him. They called him names. Demon child. Breathless son. Useless bastard. Waste of food.

And since he was one, he didn’t get to eat.

He curled on himself. The screams were so loud.

Whore’s son.

Why did they give me life, if they don’t want me?

Why was he here?

He didn’t understand. What did he ever do wrong, to upset his caregivers so much?

“Stop crying, you parasite. Children like you aren’t allowed to cry!”

But he couldn’t, he couldn’t, tears always found a way by themselves. He didn’t know how to stop them from falling down his cheeks.

“I said stop crying!”

A yell choked him up, and he pressed his hands on his ears.

Please stop, please stop. I did nothing wrong; I did nothing wrong.

Everything was swirling.

He wanted to rest, he wanted to rest, he couldn’t do this anymore.

He felt something touch his head. It was tender. He raised his gaze. There was no one there, but he still sensed a presence.

“Let go, my child.”

His eyes filled with tears once again.

He let go.

So long, Hisirdoux.

Douxie shot up, gasping.

*

Where… where am I?

He was on a bed. Merlin’s bed, his mind supplied.

It was dark outside, but Douxie didn’t feel, for once, cold. The fire was lit, and a blanket covered him full. He took a hem in his fingers.

It was soft.

“Doux!”

Douxie coughed as something heavy fell on him. A wet, rough tongue lapped at his face.

“Easy, easy, Archibald, he needs to recover.”

Merlin was at the door, inscrutable as always.

Douxie blinked. No, that was wrong.

Merlin was at the door, and his skin was sickly pale, and shone with sweat at the light of the flames. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes heavy, with black, almost violet circles under. His lips were stretched in a white scar. He looked wearier than Douxie had ever seen him.

“You’re awake,” Merlin stated. Douxie didn’t know what to say. He lowered his gaze. Archie hadn’t left his place yet. He was studying him.

Douxie forced himself to bring to his mind what had happened.

He remembered a cave. They had gone there to retrieve a relic of some sort. An ingredient for a spell? And there was a frozen lake, which had seemed strong enough to take them to the other side of the cave, where the entry for the deep part of the caver was. But the ice hadn’t been as solid as they had thought, and he had fallen in.

With a shudder, he brought his hand to his chest.

He couldn’t feel any bandage there.

“I had to heal you with magic,” a voice said next to him, “there wasn’t enough time.” Merlin was now at his side. He hesitated, then put his right hand on his shoulder. Douxie tensed.

“How are you feeling?” Like death warmed over me.

“Tired, sir.”

Merlin shoulders fell. “I see,” he said, taking his hand away. Douxie missed the touch.

“You scared me, leafling.” Archie rubbed his front on his chest. “I’m sorry, Arch.”

He gave him a smile. Archie, in response, started purring.

“Don’t do that ever again, understood?”

Despite his weakness, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Understood.”

“Mmh, then we’re good.”

Douxie hugged his familiar tighter. The other didn’t complain.

“How did you find me?” he asked. From what he recalled he had fainted in a chamber of the cave. Nausea swelled in his stomach. Don’t think about that.

“What do you remember?”

“I was trying to find an exit. I thought I had found a way, and I needed to use my magic, but… I passed out before I could,” he admitted, fighting a surge of embarrassment. He had failed at saving himself. How was he supposed to save others? He couldn’t even exit a bloody cavern!

Everyone has always been right about you, Hisirdoux. You’re a waste.

There was no use. He had wanted to prove himself, but it all had been a shitshow. A wizard that couldn’t find a way out of a hole in the ground didn’t deserve that title.

Douxie the Worthy? What’s worthy here?

He was a bag of flesh and bones.

‘Weren’t you the one who said wizards don’t make mistakes, Master?’ he had asked Merlin barely a week ago. The wizard had snickered. What was he had said?

‘I have obviously done one, if I thought, even for a moment, you could be my apprentice! I now recognize you don’t have it in you. Maybe never did!’

A mistake. That was what his whole life had been.

The Merlin – hazel eyed, long chin, black hair Merlin (when was that he had rewritten so much of his master? When was that the two figures that tormented his memories had overlapped themselves? Who was who, in this haze labyrinth? When had things soured so badly, grown spoiled, rotten?) in his mind flickered and dissolved as the present one began to speak.

“You fainted, yes. But you got it wrong.”

Uh?

What did that mean?

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

Merlin shook his head, but for once he didn’t look angered. “You used your last energies to break the wall. Actually, you wrecked the whole chamber. There has been an earthquake. We followed the magic lines and we found the epicenter. You were half delirious. Me and Archie took you here, gave you a warm bath and hoped for the best.”

“We thought you were gone,” Archie’s words were muffled by his chest, but Douxie heard them anyway. Merlin smiled sadly. The expression looked weird on him.

Weird is not bad, a small part of him said, and he disregarded it.

“It was touch and go for a while. Luckily, you’re young and you made it.”

Douxie arched an eyebrow. “Young? I don’t mean to sound ungrateful for my looks, but I’m almost three hundred years old!”

“Time flows different for us, Hisirdoux. Our plane is not the same as theirs,” and he pointed out of the window. “Our hearts beat slower, our blood runs steadier. We are made of flesh and magic, and nothing is as regular as magic. That’s why I always tell you magic isn’t a shortcut.”

Douxie’s head was starting to hurt. Merlin must have noticed his discomfort, because he quickly drew away. “You need rest. Our blood may run steadier than humans, but this only means it takes longer to replace it. And replacing magic is a whole other deal.”

He nodded, bringing himself down to the mattress.

He closed his eyes.

“Is he going to be okay?” he heard Archie ask, as Douxie fell deeper and deeper. He was almost asleep when he caught his master words.

“He’s strong. If someone can do it, it’s him.” There was something wrong in Merlin’s voice, but he was too far gone, he had left the waking world and had entered another one.

Douxie dreamt of a castle wrapped in pink light, and a young boy with black hair in a bun running through the corridors. Someone was chasing him, but the boy wasn’t scared; he was laughing, as he hid behind an armor. Then, he gasped, as a green glow englobed him, and soon he was levitating in the air. When he was dropped, a shadow was casted over him. The boy raised his head. An old man was looking at him, a scorn on his face. Yet his eyes had wrinkles, and there was the memory of a smile there, and a warmth lived in them.

“I have found a stray, I see.”

The boy in his dream smiled, all teeth.

Then the image faded, and the rest of the night was quiet.

*

“Look at who’s here! My favorite boy!”

Douxie smiled sheepishly as he entered the tavern. “Hello, Piers. It’s been a while.”

The old man was the same as before. Well built, with squared shoulder. His round face was red and blotched, and his grey beard covered most of it. When he smiled, he showed his missing front teeth.

From the first time he had met him – some months ago, while completing another of Merlin’s devilish lists – he had felt comfortable talking with him. And, later, the tavern had become a place where he could let go of his responsibilities, where he could take off his back some of that luggage he carried on and forget about them for the time of a night.

Piers’ tavern was warm and had provided him a refuge when he most needed one.

“It’s been a while indeed, Hisirdoux! What were you up to? Family business?” Piers winked, and, not for the first time, Douxie found himself asking if the old man knew more than he let others on.

“You could say so,” he said, sliding in his usual seat. Before he was even sat, a cup was already waiting for him. “Thank you.”

He would have visited before, but the recovery had lasted longer than he had expected. The first days he had spent all his hours caught in a state between sleep and wakefulness, not fully understanding his surroundings. Archie had later told him that he had screamed for a whole minute when Merlin had tried to hold him up so he could have some water in him.

 The wizard had been careful to keep his distance after that. Douxie didn’t know what to do with that piece of information.

The others had also filled the blanks for him. Apparently, the potion they had been making was for a certain client who needed it to slay a particularly deadly creature – unfortunately for them, that creature was the wyvern that had attacked them in the cave. Merlin hadn’t said the name of the client, but he had told him he knew about the Trollhunter’s presence in the city too, so that made them even.

Douxie grabbed the mug and clung onto it. He didn’t drink yet. “What is the news, here?”

“Well,” Piers started, “lady Catherine’s marriage is on the road. The Bal des Sauvages, they’re calling it. Rumors say it’s gonna be a charivari.”

“A charivari?” Well, wouldn’t that be funny. “Things won’t be boring, at least.”

Piers cried out. “Ah, boring! We wouldn’t know boring if it danced in our faces dressed as a primate. No, dear boy, things won’t be boring at all. I think,” the man mused, lowering his voice, “that lots of changes are going to be made.”

Douxie sipped his drink. The flowery flavor was a nice welcome back. “Change how?” he asked once he had put down on the counter the cup.

Piers shrugged. “There’s just something in the air, my boy. I fear time is slipping away from our hands,” he said, while pouring a drink for himself too. Uh, that is new. In all the time he had known piers – admittedly not so long – he had never seen the other drink as well.

The old man smirked at him and raised his cup. “It’s a special occasion tonight, after all.”

“Special occasion?”

“Well, if you’re leaving, we should as well celebrate your departure.”

“How do you know—”

“An old man has lot of ways, dear boy.”

Douxie was frozen in the spot. He had told nobody about his decision to leave. How did the man know about that?

“Who—” he stopped himself before he could finish the thought.

‘Who are you’ was on the edge of his tongue, pressing against his lips, threatening to fall down.

Douxie relaxed his arms on the table again and took the cup one more time.

Some things were better left unanswered, he decided. He didn’t want this moment as well to become rust.

Piers just smiled. It lightened up the whole room. “Very wise, Hisirdoux.” Then, he looked outside. “Well, I say we can have a nice time for some more, what would you say?”

“I say,” Douxie grinned, and it felt natural, “that I have some extra time in my sleeve, saved for this occasion.”

“Oh, boy,” Piers laughed, “I saved some, too. I guess you can only save so much, before you gotta use it, uh?”

Time is a wizard’s most prized possession, uh. Guess that is a true as it can be.

The Piers’ special tasted like honey, but better.

It tasted just like home.

*

It was dark when he finished packing up. He was travelling light. Two change of clothes, a poach full of money, bread and cheese and the blanket he had awoken with. It was blue, the colored faded, and there were some holes on it, but it was warm, and he would need it.

He glanced around the room. It had always seemed small to him, but now, it looked big enough to be lived in. The living room, with his master’s bed, the fireplace, a little table with a chair, some shelves on the walls and a pot on the floor, beside Merlin’s personal chest; his bedroom, where he slept on the pallet, with a stool and a window.

He would miss it, after all.

He quietly opened the door, making sure his master was still asleep. He had, for caution, spiked the other’s drink, but he didn’t want to make too much noise anyway, least of it he would awake before the time was right.

Douxie sighed. It was time, then.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

In surprise, Douxie let his bundle fall. It tumbled on the ground, and the thud resonated in all the house.

He held his stood.

Sounds of snoring came to him.

Oh, fuzzbuckets. I have lost ten years of my life.

Douxie bent down and picked up his supplies. “What are you doing?” he whispered, turning around. In front of the door was Archie. His yellow eyes sparkled in the dark, and Douxie shivered at the hardness he saw in them. “What am I doing?” the cat retorted but keeping his voice low this time. “What are you doing, Douxie! What—how—I don’t understand how you could do something like that.”

Douxie bit his inner cheek.

He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. His friend sounded broken, and it was his fault. “I—I’m sorry, Arch, but I have to go.” He steeled himself and opened his eyes. “I don’t think I can stay here a moment longer. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, I don’t know where I am standing in the world. I’ll never become something better than… this,” he grimaced, gesturing at himself with his free hand, “if I don’t go. I need to find my own way, and I can’t do that with Merlin.”

A numbness came over him. Saying all this had left him weary and strained.

Archie didn’t reply.

He felt empty.

Douxie nodded. That’s okay. I don’t care. “I’m going.”

He went out of the house, the cold hitting him all at once, and the door shut with a click behind him.

He shuddered. The new moon was up. Stars were twinkling in the sky. They seemed to dance before his eyes.

“Lots of changes,” he muttered.

And some are already afoot. Piers was standing next to a tree, his hand on it. When he saw him, he winked. He mouthed some words, then turned around.

Before he knew, he had disappeared.

Douxie stepped in the road.

He was almost at the exit of the city, when he heard someone calling him out. What is it now? This city doesn’t want to let me go on my merry way.

“Douxie, Douxie!”

It was Archie. The cat was flying down the main street, his wings batting quickly. Horror crept over him.

“What—are you crazy, Arch? What if someone sees you!” he scolded, as soon as the familiar was at hearing range. Archie was huffing and panting.

“It doesn’t matter, since I’m coming with you.”

“What?! No way!”

Archie raised his head and locked his eyes with his own. “I made a promise to you, didn’t I?”

Douxie was dumbfounded.

“I told you, Doux. I’ll always choose you. I’m choosing you. You’re my familiar. We are meant to be together. So, no matter what you say, because I’m coming, like it or not!”

That wasn’t fair. After all they’ve been through, Archie deserved a nice home, somewhere secure without worrying if he was going to starve or die eaten by something bigger than him.

Archie deserved someone better than him.

But Archie looked determined. It was not so difficult to believe he was a dragon, now.

I can’t change his mind, can I?

“Alright then,” he said, and his voice was rough, and his eyes misty, yet Archie didn’t seem to care, and if Archie didn’t, then why should he.

“Are you sure you don’t need that?”

Douxie glanced at his naked arm, where he could still see the marks of where the amulet used to be. His scar flashed like a malicious smile.

“I’m good. Let’s go.”

“Yeah. Let’s go, leafling.”

It was time.