~ I had to split this chapter in half because it was so long, oops :') ~

~ tw: gore, dead things? ~

"Listen," Merlin whispered sombrely, straining his ears to catch any sign of life as they trotted through the forest, dappled shadows crowding the path before them, "it's so... quiet. I don't hear the birds." He muttered, throwing an anxious glance over his shoulder.

"Ooh, spooky." Gwaine jeered loudly, looking around at the other knights in playful, mocking concern. "Is it because we're travelling through the Valley of the Fallen Kings?" He pushed, earning a crude snicker from Percival. "Are you scared, Merlin? Do you want me to make some bird noises? Would that relax you?" Grinning a stupid half-grin, Gwaine peered around Elyan to whistle at Merlin.

"No." Merlin retorted coldly, irritated that no one would take him seriously. Something wasn't right... It was too quiet, almost silent - whereas the forest should have been filled with chattering birds and scurrying animals. Trickling unease crawled up his spine, making his heart skitter and his muscles tense.

Something was desperately wrong, but Merlin couldn't tell what.

They had left camp that morning, as soon as it was light. The weather had been fine and they'd made grand progress, riding without falter until midday - stopping to rest - before continuing on, towards the Valley of the Fallen Kings. All had been pleasant, and bright - until an impending cloud had covered the sun, plunging the forest into a frigid gloom that darkened the shadows and twisted the trees into arching, tangled traps above their heads.

Ever since they had passed the imposing, colossal statues that marked the Valley's entrance, Merlin had felt unexplainable uneasy. Restless and paranoid, every noise made him start. Gwaine had unhelpfully informed him that it was just the 'magical ghosts' troubling him, which somehow Merlin didn't believe.

"Come on Merlin, stop being such a forest-fairy and loosen up." Arthur sighed, though not unkindly. Feeling a sharp twinge of sadness, Merlin realised that Arthur probably didn't mean to belittle his servant so much; it was simply what the knights expected from him. Nonetheless bothered, Merlin firmly held his tongue - not wishing to rile the knights further, or give them something else to harass him for.

Perhaps Merlin was imagining it - and yet, he found it unbearable hard to dismiss the creeping feeling that something terrible was about to occur.

As the group of men focused on leading their horses down the steeply-sloping terrain, a heavy silence settled in the air. Advancing further through the valley, high dirt embankments began to tower above them on both sides, forcing the horses to stumble arduously single-file - Arthur in the lead, following by Merlin and the knights. The air grew colder and the canopy overhead thickened, throwing the path into a dim, dusky shade. Mud and rock pressed in on them from both sides, forcing the convoy relentlessly forward through the narrow, tunnelling corridor. Only with tremendous difficulty could they attempt to turn the horses around in the confined passage.

Everything was humid and heavy; the air, the walls, the waterlogged, winding path they trod. Sweat shone in the sickly half-light, glistening on the knight's skin as they became suddenly aware of the crushing walls that ceased to fluctuate - standing tall and threatening as ever, looming high above their heads.

No one spoke a word, but it surely passed everyone's mind - should something happen, there would be no easy way to escape.

Merlin peered ahead - leaning sideways to look past Arthur, his hair brushing against the rock-wall as he did so - but the path continued undisturbed, before turning a corner and disappearing from view. Snaking vines hung from the bank above, tediously suspended, limp and unmoving as ferns drooped miserably, smeared with mud and heavy with unspoken sadness. Tilting his head back and gazing up, the towering walls consumed Merlin's vision. A strip of canopy - letting in only a meagre amount of light - was all that proved they were still above the ground, and not trudging through some gloomy tunnel or cave underground.

The horse's hooves trekked heavily along the saturated mud path - occasionally a wrong-foot would be placed, ensuing frantic, panicked stumbling - and stirrups jangled in the still air. But these sounds were alone; nothing else - except the faint, eerie rustling of the trees high-above and the leaves shifting in the wind - could be heard.

Merlin felt his hands growing hot and clammy as his chest tightened. Lips pursed together, his breath came out short and fast. Tension hung in the air like a heavy mist, rolling down from the bank above, cascading and filling the path like some deadly gas that choked the men unforgivingly. Fear and anxiety crowded the warlock's senses - but it seemed he was alone, for the knights smiled with ease and looked around without any hint of concern.

Opening his mouth to call Arthur's attention, Merlin suddenly gagged. A thick, sticky smell filled his throat and clogged his nose; so sharp and potent, all he could do was hold a hand over his mouth and look around for the source, eyes watering uncontrollably.

It appeared that Merlin wasn't the only one to notice the stench; Gwaine made an exaggerated noise of disgust and Leon grimaced. The putrid, sickly aroma hung in the air like a cloud, becoming only more intense as the group continued down the narrow passage.

"What died down here?" Percival groaned, his hand wafting the air in disgust.

No one responded; the lack of an answer paired with a fear of opening their mouths left the men in repulsed silence. Merlin quietly glanced at Arthur - and was alarmed to see the Prince's jaw clenched and his knuckles white as they gripped the horse's reins tightly.

He could sense it too - something wasn't right.

As the convoy rounded the corner - before Merlin had a chance to console Arthur - the Prince abruptly threw up his hand and pulled on the reins harshly. "Halt." The single word emerged a sharp command which the knights obeyed without question, candidly peering around one another to glimpse the problem ahead.

The cause of the standstill - and undoubtedly the source of the smell - lay before them as the lifeless carcass of a horse, sprawled in the mud. There was no way around; her body just filled the path, nose and tail pressed against the dank walls.

"Oh my God." Leon breathed as he caught sight of the mutilated body. Flies buzzed insistently around the gaping wound that had been carved in the beast's neck, already beginning to decay with rot. The horse's flank was pitted with burrowing insects, and matted with dried, crimson blood. Merlin turned away as his stomach heaved, nostrils filling with the sweet, pungent smell of rotting meat that clung to his skin like a thousand gnawing mites.

"So that's what died." Gwaine muttered solemnly, his eyes wide, glistening with terrified awe.

An unearthly, strangled sob from Elyan brought Arthur to his senses. Dismounting his horse swiftly, he whipped around to face the knights.

"Don't move." He ordered in a low voice - but how could they? Each horse was nose to tail; they couldn't proceed past the carcass or even move to the side.

All but one were transfixed by the ominous corpse before them - so much so, that no one heard Elyan's strained, choking whisper.

"T-That... that's my horse."

Warily kneeling at the corpse's side, Arthur's nose wrinkled in obvious repugnance. "She's been dead for no more than three days... her neck - someone killed her." He reported bluntly, his eyes narrowing as he studied the mangled carcass for any other wounds. A blanket of dried, clumped mud coated the lower half of the mare's body - as though she had previously waded through a muddy lake.

"That's her..." Elyan repeated shakily, his eyes wide and petrified as he raised a finger towards the corpse, seemingly oblivious to the nauseating stink.

At last, the knight's words fell upon heedful ears. Merlin slowly turned in his saddle and stared, horrified, at the knight directly behind him. "What did you say?" Merlin asked stiffly, dreading what he had heard, praying that Elyan would not make sense.

"She's been thrown down here." Arthur called suddenly, hand indicating to the askew legs - before looking up at the bank, metres above them. "Who would...?" Trailing off, Arthur found his eyes unwillingly drawn to something recognisable, half-hidden beneath the horse's limp neck.

With a trembling hand he reached out and snagged the red fabric, crusted and smeared with dried blood. Proudly emblazed upon the red was a majestic gold dragon, snarling and fierce. The same dragon that adorned the knight's cloaks - the crest of Camelot.

"That's her! Th-that's my horse... we lost her in the bog when returning from our journey, five days ago. That's her, I know it is." Elyan choked out finally, his voice thin and wavering in the still air, his face pale and sallow. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the bloodied remains of his once-noble steed, now lying broken and discarded in the mud.

Merlin's stomach flipped and his head spun; the sight, the smell, the suspense... it all made him want to vomit. It didn't make any sense - Elyan's horse had gotten separated in the marshes of Eldawore - the swampy lands many, many miles from the Valley of the Fallen Kings.

Meaning that someone had sought out and led the knight's horse here - to the Valley - before murdering her and casting the body over the bank.

But why? Who would do such a thing, and for what reason?

Arthur stared at the crumpled fabric in his hand, dumbfounded. His mind scrambled to process the information and what it could mean. Precious seconds trickled away as the knights exchanged appalled glances. Merlin listened hard - but all he could hear were the sifting leaves on the bank high above, kicked up and blown around by the gentle breeze.

And suddenly - as though the wind itself whispered the answer in Merlin's ear - it made sense. It was no accident that Prince Arthur and his men stumbled upon this such horse.

It was a warning. Something terrible was going to happen, and now it was too late to prevent it.

Merlin's eyes widened in dismay. Dismounting his horse in one swift movement, he stumbled to Arthur's side, grabbing the Prince's shoulder to pull him away from the carcass that lay in the path - so out of place and unnatural, Merlin cursed himself for not seeing it sooner.

"It's a trap!" He blurted - but it was too late. Even as Arthur turned his head to look at Merlin - horrified realisation dawning in his eyes-

-it was too late.

a/n - om,, thank you for over 300 reads and all the votes!!! It means so much to me that people are reading and enjoying this <3

This chapter was quite long?? Get prepared some real action next update! ;00