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Chapter Text

PROLOGUE: THE BLACK RIVER

"Be brave, little one," the prince told him, kneeling down on the stones so they were eye to eye. "You can be brave for me, can't you?"

He nodded, not blinking. "Yes, my lord."

"And I won't let anything happen to you, you know that, right?"

He nodded again, and wiped a hand across his running nose. The cold night air nipped at his nearly bare arms, and he started to shake. "I'm cold."

The prince smiled, and beckoned to one of his servants. The man pulled off his brown jacket and handed it over. The prince took it between two fingers, flashing a quick look of disgust before hiding it behind the smile. Shaking it out, he draped the jacket over the boy's shoulders.

"Better?" he asked, and the boy nodded, tugging the jacket around him for warmth.

"Yes, my lord."

"Good." The smile faded. "But now I need you to be brave and do what I asked. You remember what your mother said."

The boy sniffed. Mummy. He wanted to go home, to go back to his mummy. But he couldn't. The prince had said something to her, and his mum had made him promise to do whatever the prince asked. Even though he didn't want to. He was sure it was important, but he really didn't want to. It was scary.

"She made me promise to do what you say, my lord."

"That's right," the prince said, still smiling, his eyes bright in the moonlight, like stars. "And I need you to go down and fetch me some water from the river." He looked pointedly at the cup in the boy's hand, which he was gripping so tightly it hurt his fingers.

Reluctantly, the boy turned and looked down the steep bank, the grass shimmering like silver in the moonlight. Rushes swayed and bowed in the cool wind, leaving only a small, grass and rock filled path directly to the water, while the river itself moved not at all, as still as the bathwater in his baby sister's tub. A lilypad floated on the surface, nearly white against the blackness around it.

He flinched when something jumped into the water.

"Just a frog," the prince promised. "You like frogs, don't you?"

He didn't answer, just continued to stare at the water and tried to ignore the tears running down his face.

"You need to go now, Galeshin," the prince said. "I need my water."

The boy swallowed, and nodded. Shaking more now, despite the heavy coat on his shoulders, he carefully started to make his way down the bank. The grass was slippery, like ice, and the black rocks between were slick with algae. A couple of times, he fell to his knees, and the second time he almost lost the cup. Scrambling for it, he suddenly found himself at the very edge of the earthen bank, his worn, patched boots struggling to find purchase on the wet earth.

He turned and looked up the hill, and saw the prince smiling down at him, nodding encouragement.

"Almost there," the prince said. "Do as your mother said. Fetch me the water and then you can go home."

Galeshin worried his bottom lip, and though he couldn't stop crying, he nodded again. He would do as his mummy said.

Carefully, he got down on his knees in the mud and, cup in hand, reached a shaking hand out towards the stagnant black water. The jacket slipped off his shoulders as he stretched his arm further, fingers started to lose their grip on the metal cup. Terrified beyond thought, he touched the edge of the metal rim to the surface and started to fill the cup.

"Peg!" the prince shouted and Galeshin almost dropped the cup. "Take your sacrifice!"

A green, slime covered hand shot out of the water and snatched his wrist, and Galeshin screamed and screamed and screamed until he couldn’t scream anymore.
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CHAPTER ONE: THE ROAD TO MERCIA

Gwaine kicked his horse forward, away from Percival and Elyan, both of whom were getting that glassy-eyed look his friends always seemed to get after talking to him for too long, and up to where Merlin was riding just behind Arthur. His friend had been fairly quiet this ride, quieter than normal, and it was beginning to worry Gwaine a bit.

Merlin smiled lightly at seeing Gwaine, but the smile faded as he turned his head away, returning his gaze to the grain fields around them.

"Something the matter?" Gwaine asked, nudging his horse close enough to Merlin's that the two beasts knocked hindquarters. Merlin frowned slightly, pulling his horse's head a bit to the right before Gwaine's younger horse could nip at the servant's older mare.

"Don't do that," Merlin admonished. "I just got her calmed down."

"Calmed down?" Gwaine repeated. "Was she anxious?"

"Arthur's horse kicked at her."

Gwaine wasn't surprised. Arthur's horse was always the most high-strung of all the mounts.

"I never know who is more of an ass, Arthur or his horse," he whispered to Merlin, smirking a bit. His friend smirked back, but, as with his first smile, it faded quickly. Merlin not having an ever-present smile was definitely worrying. Gwaine tilted his head.

"Come on. You're bothered by something. What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing," Gwaine repeated. "Merlin, we have at least two more full days in the saddle before we reach Bayard's castle in Mercia. The men are going to be grumpy and saddle sore, and if you're not around to help me keep them cheered up, we're going to be the most ill-mannered knightly contingent ever to grace Mercia's halls. You need to tell me what's wrong so I can fix it, so we can go back to keeping the rest of these men in good spirits."

Merlin gave him a wry look. "Are you saying that we are the company's jesters?"

"Of course we are! Didn’t you know? Although, it may be more that I'm the jester and you're the good luck charm, but, yes. In a sense."

Merlin's eyebrows raised. "And now I'm a rabbit's foot? Thank you. My mother will be so proud."

Gwaine's eyes narrowed, his smile crooked. "You're changing the subject."

"I am." Merlin smiled again, and turned his head away.

Gwaine studied him a moment, pursing his lips in thought. If he couldn't get Merlin to talk to him by simply asking, then he'd have to try something else. And, since words were overrated…. Smiling brightly, he reached out and smacked Merlin's arm hard. Merlin yelped, and gave him a hurt look, rubbing at his arm.

"What was that for?" he griped.

In front of them, Arthur had glanced over his shoulder at them at the yelp, and Gwaine flashed him a grin to let him know he needn't worry. Arthur grimaced, but returned his attention to the road.

Gwaine looked at Merlin, who was still rubbing his arm, and answered, "I wanted to get your attention."

"You didn't have to hit me," Merlin muttered.

"You were ignoring me. It seemed the best way to make you stop."

"I wasn't ignoring you."

Gwaine arched an eyebrow.

"Alright, fine," Merlin snapped. "I was. Well, more like ignoring your question; ignoring you is an impossibility."

"So, answer the question."

"I don't want to talk about what is bothering me. Can't you just leave it at that?"

Gwaine shook his head. "No. You've been as moody as an old woman since Arthur informed the court we were travelling to Mercia to renew Uther’s treaty with King Bayard. I thought you liked seeing new places."

Merlin twisted his lips slightly, and shook his head. "I do. Just—"

"Just?"

"He doesn't want to go to Mercia," supplied a new voice directly to his left, causing Gwaine to jump slightly. He hadn't noticed Arthur drop back.

"Sire," he said, sitting up a little straighter in the saddle. Arthur didn't notice, looking over the head of Gwaine’s mount to Merlin.

"You really need to stop sulking like a girl," he said.

Merlin lifted his chin. "You said, because we were taking twenty knights and two lords, that you'd bring extra servants."

"I did!"

"Besides me, there are only three others from Camelot, and one of them is a cook!"

"This is about work?" Gwaine said, trying to understand. Merlin wasn’t usually one to complain about that. Perhaps Merlin was unhappy having to serve so many knights? But he hadn't seen Merlin doing any more than he normally did. The knights were fairly self-sufficient, and the two noblemen riding with them had brought their own manservants.

"No, it’s not the work. He wanted more servants along so he could hide behind them," Arthur said, shaking his head at Merlin.

"With good reason!" Merlin said. "I only agreed to come because you promised me—"

"You mean you had a choice about coming?" Arthur interrupted. He looked at Gwaine, and touched a hand to his chest. "Funny thing that. I always thought it was the king who made the decisions about who attended him. And, oh yes, I'm the king."

Gwaine opened his mouth to reply, but Merlin was faster.

"You are such a stubborn—" He stopped, looking almost like he was biting his tongue, and shook his head. “This was a bad idea, Arthur."

"For god's sakes, stop whining. It'll be fine!" Arthur shook his head. "Trust me, he's not even going to remember you. My father barely knew who you were for most of that first year you were with me."

"I didn't accuse your father of trying to poison you and nearly started a war!"

Gwaine's eyebrow shot straight up at that. "You did what?"

"True," Arthur replied, shrugging. "But even after you drank that poison for me, nearly dying in the process and saving my life for the second time in so many months, my father still didn't quite know who you were. He kept calling you, that ‘annoying black haired boy.’"

"You drank poison for Arthur?" Gwaine said, frowning slightly at how incredibly unsurprising that was.

Merlin ignored him. "Yes, but—"

"Besides," continued Arthur, "you know that Bayard's been to visit several times since then, and he has never brought it up. And he's certainly never said anything about you in particular. I doubt he knows you're even alive."

"That's because I hide behind others when he's there! And there're pillars and curtains and doorways to sneak into!"

"Why am I not surprised that you spend most of your time hiding from people who scare you?" Arthur asked cheekily, earning a grin from Gwaine.

"Oh, come on!" Merlin said, pouting slightly. "All I'm asking is, where am I going to hide when you present us all to the court?"

"Well," Arthur frowned, "I won't exactly be presenting you, Merlin. I wasn't really planning on presenting anyone except Lords Exestan and Corin as they are, as you know, nobility. Of course, if you'd like me to, I can completely ignore hundreds of years of court etiquette to make my servant the most prominent member of my entire company. Tell me, how would you like that to go? 'Your majesty, before I introduce anyone else, including myself, may I introduce Merlin, my manservant? Look, you can see he's special.'"

Merlin snarled. "You won't be laughing when he sees me and accuses you of bringing a miscreant and blackguard into his house."

Arthur snorted. "Never going to happen. He's not even going to remember your face. You’re probably just a servant shaped blur in his memory.”

"How can you be so certain? You keep saying that, but—"

"Because I know what I'm talking about! I have known him my entire life. You've seen him, what, three times? Give me the courtesy of knowing my enemies a little better than you!"

Merlin just shook his head, and Gwaine wondered if now would be a good time to slow his horse and slide out from between them. Instead, almost deliberately, Arthur pushed his horse closer, neatly penning Gwaine between him and Merlin, giving him nowhere to go.

"I'm going to say this just once more time because I am tired of having this argument with you," Arthur said, staring hard at Merlin. "You need to trust me. Right now. Tell me you trust me or you are out of my service."

Merlin sighed heavily, looking up at the sky for a moment before returning a hard gaze to Arthur. "Of course I trust you."

"Then stop worrying and do so."

Merlin's jaw set and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he pasted a fake smile on his face. "Fine."

Arthur studied him a moment longer, huffed in annoyance, and kicked his horse so that it leapt forward, distancing him from Gwaine and Merlin.

Gwaine actually managed to stay silent for a whole ten seconds before asking Merlin, "You're still worrying aren't you?"

"Hell, yes."

Gwaine smiled slightly. "Anything I can do?"

"Not really."

Gwaine sighed and studied Arthur's straight back now ten yards ahead of them, at the head of the line, the gold circlet on his head shining in the sunlight.

"He might actually know what he's talking about, you know."

Merlin frowned, eyes clearly finding Arthur’s back. "Maybe."

“And…” Gwaine added, “I know you, friend. You were going to come anyway, even if he didn’t bring any other servants. Because you always do.”

“That’s besides the point.”

Gwaine snorted a laugh. “True.”

After a few more beats of silence, Gwaine was going to say something else when Merlin sighed heavily.

"You know, Gwaine," he said. "I envy you."

"Oh? Is it the hair? Or just the body?"

"Ha ha," Merlin said, smiling slightly. "No, I mean…because you never seem to have any worries. Maybe because you moved around so much, you never stayed anywhere long enough for real worries to stick to you."

Gwaine frowned slightly, wondering if Merlin realized that he'd just insulted him. Merlin, though, was focused on Arthur as always, so Gwaine brushed the hurt aside, and smiled brightly.

"Perhaps so," he said, nudging his friend in the arm. "Or maybe I'm just a hell of a lot better at hiding them than you are."

Merlin actually blinked at that, and he looked at Gwaine, his eyes a little more open. Damn, Gwaine had forgotten just how quick Merlin's mind was.

"Gwaine, I didn't mean—"

"And," Gwaine said, grinning even more, his cheeks straining with the expression as he cut the apology off, "you really need to learn how to hide your worry better as well. Or Arthur might follow through on his threat. A smile and helping me keep the others happy might help." Gwaine's eyebrows lifted. "What do you say? Jesters in arms?"

Merlin closed his mouth, pressing his lips together as he regarded Gwaine for a moment. Finally, the gears apparently locked into place, because he gave a nod. And smiled.

"Jesters in arms," he promised, and finally smiled the genuine smile Gwaine had been looking for. _________________________________________________________

Merlin walked up to Arthur, who was standing at the edge of the cliff they'd chosen to camp on for the night. The king was looking down at the shadowed valley, the trees and meadows below already taking on the dark blue quality of encroaching darkness. The sun had set beyond the horizon, but up here, twilight was still bright enough to see the rolling, purpling hills of Mercia stretching before them.

"It's a pretty country," Merlin noted.

Arthur looked up from the valley and towards the distant hills. "It is," he agreed. He tilted his head. "It's the heart of Albion, you know. The center of the whole isle."

Merlin shrugged. "Just means that, if they want good fish, they have to come begging."

Arthur huffed a laugh at that, and nodded. "True." He looked down again. "There's a river down there. It's a branch off that big one we crossed earlier today."

"The one that almost drowned Gwaine, near Lord Corin's Castle?" Merlin smiled. "He really needs to learn better balance when dancing on a ferry."

Arthur chuckled, and looked up. "That big river will be the border someday. Camelot and Mercia fight about where the line should be, build up earthenworks and negotiate for the loyalties of the landed peers, but my father once told me that he thought the river would eventually decide it. Can't deny something as unequivocal or as powerful as a river."

Merlin tilted his head. "Unless…the lands unite. Then the river will just be a river."

Arthur smiled lightly, and looked away. Merlin studied him for a long moment, before clearing his throat. He'd really come with a purpose, to make up for their argument in front of Gwaine, and now was as good a time as any.

"I, um…" Merlin rubbed at his neck. "I wanted to say I was sorry about earlier. I know you aren't trying to be an ass about this whole not bringing enough servants thing."

Arthur smirked slightly, and glanced at him briefly before looking away. "I know."

"And I do trust you."

"I know that too."

Merlin nodded, and looked down at his boots. He kicked at the loose gravel on the rocky cliff they'd picked for their camp. It would not be comfortable to sleep on.

"You know why I need you with me, don't you?" Arthur asked the question so softly, Merlin almost missed it. He smirked.

"Because you'd be lost without me."

Arthur snorted a laugh, but, slowly, he gave a nod. "Not sure when that happened, but…yes." He looked north, to the battlements of a yellow-stoned castle in the distance. The blue crest of Mercia flew above the towers. His smile faded. "I think I might be."

Merlin's eyes widened slightly, amazed at the admission. And then he couldn't hide a brilliant smile. Arthur groaned and pressed a hand to his head.

"Do not," the king begged, "let that go to your head."

"Too late," Merlin said, grinning even wider.

Arthur smiled again, then hit him in the arm. After a moment, though, the smiled faded again, his attention drifting from the castle in the distance to the hills of Mercia again.

"Thing is," he said, his voice soft again, "I trust your judgment, almost more than my own these days, so when you doubt me…." He frowned slightly. "…It makes me doubt myself. And now I wonder…" He looked at Merlin out of the corner of his eye. "Was this a good idea?"

Merlin knew exactly what he was talking about, and he dropped all pretense of foolishness.

"Yes. It was. It is. Bayard is smart," he said solemnly. "He won't believe the rumors. And you coming here will quash them before they can get worse."

Arthur frowned slightly. "We'll see." The frown deepened. "I'm not sure it's even important whether he believes them or not. The question is, will he act on them?"

Merlin frowned. "You really think…?"

"He's not just intelligent. He's cunning. Ruthless. If he sees an advantage over me, he'll take it." Arthur looked at Merlin again. "My father would."

Merlin's frown deepened. "Which is why your father and Bayard remained stuck in their ways, leaving us at loggerheads with Mercia. Change is coming, Arthur. And it will not be born of deceit."

Arthur grimaced. "I wish I had your optimism."

"You do," Merlin said. "Or you wouldn't be standing here."

Arthur's brow furrowed, and then he smiled. He looked at Merlin again, still smiling. "Right." But it wasn’t confidently delivered. And, frankly, Merlin wasn't any more confident in their success. This was a gamble. A big, somewhat terrifying gamble. And usually, ideas this risky were Merlin's—but it had been Arthur's. And Merlin had been undercutting him more than supporting him, out of fear. Well, that changed now. Arthur wanted his optimism? He'd give it.

"You know," he said, placing his hands behind his back. "It's pretty country, but…" He looked at Arthur. "It's not a pretty as Camelot."

Arthur gave a nod. "Not disagreeing with that."

"I mean, we have forests. With trees. They have…" He frowned. "Less trees."

Arthur clearly couldn't resist smiling at that. "Fewer."

"Fewer trees." Merlin frowned. "Are you sure about that? Less versus fewer?"

"Yes."

"Oh. I was just testing you, you know."

"Sure."

"And besides more trees, we have an ocean on one side of us, and a really, really long beach at the estuary of an awesome river. They have, what…a few lakes? And small lakes at that."

Arthur hummed an agreement.

"And we have some seriously tall mountains. With snow on them. Their mountains are just stubby hills compared to our mountains. Our mountains are really mountain-y."

Arthur actually grinned at that. "You done?"

"I'm just saying…"

"What?"

"We're sort of bad ass. Who needs optimism when you're that bad ass?"

That earned a bright laugh, and Arthur wrapped an arm around his shoulders, giving him a quick sideways hug before letting go.

"Thanks."

"What I'm here for."

"MERLIN!" Gwaine's shouted echoed across the camp. "Get back here! You need to tell Elyan I'm not making up the story about the three wenches at that tavern in Kennery!"

"You're being hailed," Arthur noted.

Merlin sighed, looking up at the darkening sky, the stars already growing thick in number. "The three wenches of Kennery…." He shook his head. "I hate that story."

"I know," Arthur said, grinning. He pushed Merlin away, towards Gwaine's campfire. "But he loves to tell it."

"Can't you make up some excuse to keep me here? Polish your armor? Fetch more wood?"

"And deny you the spotlight, especially the ending where you end up lying in a wagon full of manure?" Arthur grinned. "Not on your life. I'll polish my own armor."

"You're rotten." He tilted his head towards the group. "At least join us."

"I will," Arthur said. "In a minute."

"Merlin!" Gwaine shouted. "Hurry it up, man!"

Merlin narrowed his gaze at Arthur. "You brood for longer than one minute, I'm sending Gwaine to drag you to the fire."

Arthur smirked, and glanced at the campfire. Finally, he gave a nod.

"You win," he said, and his eyes turned wicked. "But only if I get to tell the ending of the three wenches of Kennery story."

Merlin shuddered with that horrible thought, but…for the sake of his king's sanity…he acquiesced with a very reluctant nod. Arthur chuckled, slapped him on the back, and the two of them walked back to the fires, Merlin regretting the decision the whole way.
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Elyan had shaken him awake with a quiet word, and Gwaine sighed. Sitting up, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and grumbled inwardly at how much he hated being on watch. Twenty knights, yet Arthur had designated him, Elyan and Percival to cover most of the night. Sometimes it sucked being part of the inner circle. He knew the other knights were jealous, as did Arthur, hence these somewhat punishing details to make up for it. Gwaine was also always tempted to remind the others that, being Arthur's friend also meant you were at the front of the line at his side when it was time to fight.

But, yeah…who was he kidding? They had reason to be jealous. He loved it. Being one of the men always at Arthur's side was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

As he got to his feet, he glanced at Merlin, sleeping a few feet away from Arthur. One day, he'd figure out how to pay his friend back for making him part of this life.

Stretching his arms out over his head, Gwaine walked the perimeter of the camp, eyes unconsciously looking up at the bright, nearly full moon. It looked close to setting, swelling in size as it dipped towards the horizon. Only a couple more hours until dawn, then.

Reaching the edge of the white, limestone bluff on which they'd camped, he looked down the cliff to the shadowed, tree-lined valley below, and to the hills beyond. Over the next rise, he knew, the trees gave way to tilled fields and villages—the heart of Mercia. To the north, he could see the fat, round turrets of a yellow-stoned castle, the size of which easily challenged the might of many of the grey stone behemoths lining Camelot’s borders. Arthur could have begged leave to stay there for the night, but there was a sense of urgency and anxiety to this journey that had them staying on the outskirts of this particular Mercian lord’s lands.

Gwaine wasn’t entirely sure what it was that had Arthur so worried. Mercia was, like Camelot, massive and strong, one of the original five kingdoms. Others built castles and proclaimed themselves kings, but the five kingdoms were the true powers of Albion. And, for now, the five kingdoms were at peace. Uther’s greatest gift to his son—peace amongst the five kingdoms for the first time since Gwaine could remember. Sure, the treaty Uther had forged was sometimes strained but Gwaine had heard no rumors of Bayard wanting to threaten the peace. This trip to see the King of Mercia to renew the treaty should thus be one of confidence, not concern.

Of course, Gwaine never truly understood the politics that Arthur waded through now that he was king. Perhaps it was still the feeling that he had to live up to this legacy his father had given him, or perhaps it was something else. All Gwaine knew was that Arthur was grim, and Merlin was edgy—this afternoon's conversation clearly a symptom of that. It had to be more than just something that had happened many years before, when Mercia and Camelot were still at odds.

Grimacing slightly, Gwaine scuffed the loose rock at the top of the cliff and rolled his arms inside the chainmail.

Fact was, Gwaine didn't like edgy. Edgy meant trouble. Arthur wasn't talking, and, of course, Merlin never would.

Unless Gwaine could find a way to get Merlin drunk.

Smirking, he kicked a fat rock off the top of the cliff and followed it as it hit the leaves of a tree about twenty yards down. Not bad. He lined up another rock, settled back…and kicked it as hard as he could.

Ha! At least fifty yards this time! He'd have to see if Percival could do better when he came to relieve him. For the sake of further analysis, he kicked another one…it landed shorter than the second one. Hmm. Probably didn’t go as far because it was heavier. He'd have to find just the right rock.

Studying the innocent looking landscape a moment more, he turned, ready to cross to another vantage point, when he caught motion out of the corner of his eye. Frowning slightly, he looked back, just in time to see the trees shiver and shake in the valley below. The heavy oak leaves, silvery by the light of the moon, shimmered like diamonds, and Gwaine instantly tensed.

There was no wind to cause such an occurrence.

Still…perhaps it was just some animal. Some really big animal. One that can knock into oak trees and make them shake. Yeah. Not so likely.

He jumped slightly as a growl echoed in the darkness, and more trees shook, this time at the base of the shallow bluff on which the camp was sitting.

Whatever it was, it was heading in their direction. The growl came again, louder…angrier, and he heard rocks skittering and a tree trunk crack. Oak didn’t just crack. Gwaine ripped his sword from his sheath.

Hell n' all.

“To arms!” he shouted, turning and running back to camp. “Everyone awake! We are under attack!”

Chapter Text

“What precisely did you see?” Merlin asked, standing nervously by Gwaine’s side and gripping his sword so tightly his knuckles were white. “Monster, or man?”

“Neither,” Gwaine replied, studying the near dark woods in the torchlight. He nodded at Percival, a sword’s length away at Merlin's back, and to Elyan beyond. Arthur stood directly to Merlin’s left. They always gathered around Merlin, to protect their most vulnerable member against whatever may come. “I only know it's damned big and coming this way.”

“Then…” Merlin swallowed, his eyes wide and shining in the light of the torches. “How do you know it’s dangerous?”

Gwaine eyed the shadows between the trees for movement. “Because it travels at night, can shake ancient trees, and growls like a lion. I'm not trusting anything that does that.”

“But—"

“Shhh!” Arthur hissed, one hand reaching over to press against Merlin’s forearm. “Be still.”

"I was just going to ask whether Gwaine's ever seen a lion, or heard one growl, just for, you understand, comparison purposes."

Arthur gave him a look, and Merlin shut his mouth with a click, nervously changing his grip on the sword in his hands. It wasn’t a broadsword, requiring two grips, but Gwaine wasn’t about to correct Merlin’s stance if it brought him confidence. Besides, if there really was fighting, they'd all be gripping their swords in two hands by the end as exhaustion overcame training.

"I don't think they do," Elyan said, seemingly apropos of nothing.

"What?" Merlin asked.

"Lions." Elyan gave Gwaine a small smile. "I don't think they growl. Dogs growl. Lions roar."

Gwaine snorted. "And, what, you know this from firsthand experience?"

"No, but I've read a book or two, unlike someone I know."

Gwaine sneered, and Elyan chuckled.

"Shhh," Arthur hissed again. "All of you."

Gwaine did as he was told, fully understanding the sense of it, even if it went against his nature. He considered how long he might be able to go without speaking. Even he didn't give himself long odds on that one.

He glanced to the rest of the company spread out across the clearing. The other servants and the cook were gathered in tight near the supply wagon, each holding weapons, but all, quite clearly, terrified and ill-used to battle. Merlin had fought in the past, had even held his own, but those three were pale and shaking—this was probably the first time any of them had been forced to defend themselves. Still, there were twenty knights, including their king and two fierce looking lords, standing between them and whatever was coming.

Gwaine shifted his feet and cracked his neck. This was getting boring. He saw Percival frowning, his shoulders drooping a little. Arthur straightened up slightly. A soft, inaudible whisper arose from the direction of the servants on the wagon. Someone shushed them.

Another long minute passed without a sound.

“Perhaps it’s passed us by?” Merlin whispered, his tone hopeful.

Gwaine was about to respond when, from out the darkness near the wagon, something growled so deeply, it caused the ground to tremble.

“Or not,” Merlin whispered, his voice squeaking a little. The Company turned towards the sound, swords and maces raised.

And then another growl, from a completely different direction, drifted across the camp, this one closer to where the two lords stood. Half the camp turned to face it, weapons now pointed in two different directions.

Gwaine felt the hairs on his neck prickle, and he turned to look into the woods nearest to his position. Another growl, this one just feet away, shook the earth and caused the trees to tremble.

Three of them. There were three of them.

Eyes the size of small saucers appeared between two trees mere feet from Gwaine, glowing green like a massive cat's. It seemed to be looking right at him. Hell—maybe it was a lion.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Percival glance at him, and Gwaine grinned his best crazy grin.

“Whoever kills the first one,” he said, no longer bothering to whisper, “gets first dibs on the girls in the Mercian court.”

Percival huffed. “You’re on.”

“If I get first dibs,” Elyan said, “what will you guys do with your time? Because I’m going to take them all.”

“You’re all crazy,” Merlin muttered from somewhere behind them.

"You're just figuring this out now?" Arthur asked, chuckling. He was next to Gwaine now, having obviously pushed Merlin behind them.

Gwaine just laughed, knowing the sound would bait the creature to attack him first. Come and get me.

The creature roared and leapt out of the woods right on top of him, a black streak against the navy world. Gwaine rolled forward and came up on his knees under it, thrusting up at the creature's belly with his sword. Like trying to pierce a rock, the sword tip caught but didn’t penetrate, and Gwaine felt the first rush of panic as the animal came down, nearly wrenching the sword from his grip, slamming him backwards into the ground and driving the air from his lungs. With a heave, he flipped the beast over his head, paws scratching at his chainmail and breath hot in his face. The creature yelped and snarled, and Gwaine rolled and scrambled to his feet, gasping for air, sword still miraculously in hand, in time to see Arthur slashing at the animal's neck, a blow that, by all rights, should take the creature's head off.

A dog. It was a dog. A huge, black dog the size of a god damned cow.

But even with all his weight behind it, Arthur's sword seemed to barely scratch the skin. The creature's fur ruffled like spines on a hedgehog, the sword scraping over them like metal. Arthur jumped backwards as the beast twisted and rammed its head into the king's side, staggering him backwards and onto one knee. Suddenly Percival was there, slicing upwards at the beast's haunches, but the animal's fur rippled again, and the horrific scrape of metal on metal was all Gwaine could hear as the dog snapped viciously at Percival's stomach, teeth cutting through the mail and ripping part of the metal off. Trying not to think about the absurdity of a dog's teeth ripping through metal like paper, Gwaine got to his feet and stabbed at the creature's hindquarters, only to watch it rear up with an unnatural speed and twist in mid-air, shoving him back onto the ground and knocking the sword from his hand, teeth inches from his face.

And then it yelped, loud and piercing, and fell off of him, leaving Gwaine blinking in confusion. Fire flared over his head, and Gwaine went completely still, until he realized it was just the flames from a torch.

"Get off him!" Merlin yelled as both he and Elyan stepped over Gwaine, Merlin slashing with an almost too-bright torch as Elyan flanked him with his sword, driving the animal back. Then Arthur was there with another torch and a sword, getting in front of Merlin and taking over the attack. Gwaine followed his king's movements with his eyes, watching as the dog backed away from the blazing brand, eyes squinting at the flames. A sudden death-rattle scream echoed across the camp, from one of the other groups fighting off the other two black dogs, and Gwaine trembled involuntarily, reaching for his sword again.

And then Arthur swung the torch he was using a little too wide, and the dog launched itself at him, slamming the king to the ground and then making straight for Merlin and Eylan, who was still keeping close by Merlin's side. The creature easily knocked Elyan to the ground when he tried to protect Merlin, his sword no more effective than anyone else's, leaving Merlin standing alone.

Gwaine struggled to get to his feet as Merlin backpedaled rapidly into a tree, and, for some inexplicable reason, Gwaine realized Merlin no longer had his sword, just the torch; he was raising a hand towards the dog, palm up, as if he might pet it.

"Merlin!" Gwaine yelled, lurching towards him, but Percival and Elyan were faster. Even with his chainmail half torn off, Percival got right in front of the dog, and, with a fast, powerful slash, turned the animal's head. It veered sideways to avoid the metal, which put him right in Elyan's way.

The knight was waiting, cutting downwards at the beast's head like he was wielding an axe, and the beast howled as metal hit bone right between its ears. It staggered, shaking its head. Elyan raised the sword again, this time to cut at him sideways, but, faster than Gwaine could see, the massive dog jumped at him, huge jaws going for his arm. Elyan yelled as he fell back, and Gwaine ran to help. Percival came from the other side, and both drove swords at the animal's body—but it was like trying to stab a tree. Their weapons barely cut into the animal—but it was enough to get it to loose its hold on Elyan's arm and twist to face Gwaine again.

Holy crap. How could anything have so many teeth?

Gwaine backed up, panting from the pain in his chest and gripping his sword with both hands—partly from exhaustion, partly for extra strength. In the background, he saw Percival stalking the animal from the left, and Arthur was coming back from the right. Merlin was on his knees next to Elyan, doing something to Elyan's arm.

The dog growled and Gwaine took another step back, his attention instantly snapped back entirely on the green eyes bearing down on him. The dog paced with him, its massive size now blocking the view of anything behind it.

But he could hear what was going on. Swords clashing, men yelling…another scream cut across the camp from where the other knights were fighting. Gwaine wondered if he was next.

"Merlin," Arthur said, his voice sounding very far away. "Can you get Elyan up that tree? This thing is big, but it doesn't look like it can climb."

"I can still fight," Elyan replied, his voice weak but determined.

"Fine," Arthur snapped. "Then, Elyan, can you get Merlin up that tree?"

Gwaine half laughed, and took another step back as the dog stalked him, its sides heaving with tired breaths. At least they'd worn it out some—probably as effectively as flies annoying a horse on a hot day. Percival and Arthur didn't make a move except to keep up, one on each side of the monster. Like Gwaine, they were clearly trying to figure out what else they could do, which, since their swords had proved pretty much useless, wasn't much. All Gwaine could do was pray they thought of something as he kept backing up, the monster slowly keeping apace. Problem was he knew, at some point, he was going to run out of places to step; by now, he had to be getting really close to the cliff edge…

Hang on….cliff edge? He smiled suddenly.

"Come on, you ugly, stupid cow-dog," Gwaine taunted, taking another step back and letting go his sword with one hand to gesture the dog forward. "Come get me."

"Are you crazy?" Percival hissed as the dog growled. Arthur was frowning on the other side.

"Ever hear the story," Gwaine said, taking another step, his eyes never leaving the dog, "of a creature called a lemming?"

"No," Percival replied.

"They're like giant rats," Gwaine said, adding another step. This time, he felt the loose rock under his feet, the same rocks he'd kicked earlier. "Travellers from the northern parts, they say the creatures fall from the sky during heavy rainstorms in the summer, dumping tons of them on the land every four years or so."

"Gwaine…."Arthur warned. The dog had stopped, but it was still watching Gwaine unwaveringly.

"After a while…," Gwaine said, stepping back once more…and feeling nothing under his heel. He brought his foot forward to solid ground. "After a while, when there are too many of them to survive, they start collecting together…."

Gwaine's eyes flicked away from the green, steady lights in front of him, and smiled at the motion he could see behind the dog.

"…marshalling, hundreds of them, gathering, high up on the top of a bluff, wall to wall lemmings…."

He crouched down.

"And then all it takes," Gwaine continued, smirking at the beast, "is one, very loud, very obnoxious—"

"HYAH!" Elyan suddenly yelled, stabbing a torch directly into the back of the dog. It screamed and leapt forward at Gwaine, who covered his head with his arms…only to feel something slam into him impossibly fast from the side, rolling him out of the way as the dog leapt over his head….

…And over the edge of the cliff. The animal screamed the whole way down until it crashed into the trees below.

Gwaine rolled and turned on the edge of the cliff with his savior, until they both skidded to a stop, mere inches from following the beast in its plunge. Gwaine huffed, and Merlin laughed, pushing up off the loose, rocky ground and grinning madly, his hand still gripping the chainmail on Gwaine's chest. Elyan collapsed to his knees several feet away, Percival instantly at his side, while Arthur jogged over to check on Gwaine and Merlin. Merlin looked up, still grinning.

"What the hell were you doing?" Arthur demanded.

"Elyan and I've heard Gwaine tell that story before," Merlin said, grinning still. "About spooking lemmings to jump off a cliff. So, Elyan did the spooking, and I did the saving."

Arthur just stared at them both for a moment, and then shook his head. "You're both crazy, and you…" He shoved a finger at Gwaine. "…Are damned lucky Merlin is fast."

Gwaine exhaled heavily, and simply smiled, as if it had all been part of the plan. To be honest, though, he actually hadn't expected to be saved. He patted Merlin's arm in thanks.

"But also," Arthur frowned slightly, "good job. When you get your breath back, you might come help us get the other two black dogs." And without another word, he was jogging away.

Gwaine's smirk fell, as the sounds of fighting from elsewhere in the camp filled his ears again. Damn. That trick wasn't going to work again. They were going to need a miracle.

Merlin sighed, and made to stand. "Maybe we should—" He stopped talking, his eyes widening.

Gwaine held his breath…he'd felt it too. The ground had shifted under them. A lot. Rocks skittered down the cliff-side they were precariously balanced on, and something made a sound like a tear.

"Um…" Merlin looked down at the earth, and suddenly yelped, scrabbling for Gwaine as the ground under him gave way. "Help!"

Gwaine turned and grabbed for him…just as the earth gave way under him as well. He yelled in tandem with his friend as he and Merlin tumbled off the cliff into the near black trees below.
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TBC…

Chapter Text

Sometimes it came from a spoken spell, a learned enchantment, part of an intentional design, but, sometimes…

Sometimes, when he needed it the most, he was magic.

Merlin wasn't even sure he'd done anything at all, until he felt the wind blow up from the valley below and catch them, and he laughed.

And then something hard hit his head. Damn it, he'd forgotten the rocks falling with them…
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As they tumbled down the steep slope, hitting sharp and dull objects with a force that felt bone cracking, Gwaine fully expected every heartbeat to be his last. Merlin called out something next to him, possibly a farewell, a "don't die," or a "hang on;" it had been nonsense noise within the wind, chaos and pain. He'd tried to answer, but it seemed to take all his breath just to bang, smack, crack and not die.

Except he didn't. They didn't. They had stopped. And Gwaine wasn't entirely sure how that had happened.

He had a vague notion that, somewhere along that way, something had caught them, like a strong wind blowing up to hold them in its hand…just briefly, but long enough to slow them down enough to drop them here, in this shadowed vale, the sound of babbling water nearby. Ridiculous, obviously, but…

Oh hell, whatever had happened, he was just happy to still be here and, as far he could tell, still intact. And, since he'd heard Merlin swear and grouse when he'd attempted to move, he knew his friend was still with him as well. If his lungs and chest didn't hurt so much, he would have whooped for joy.

He tested his limbs one at a time, and they all responded. He closed his eyes and thanked the heavens above for the escape from certain death.

"Gwaine?" Merlin called softly.

He smiled slightly, opening his eyes. "Yeah?"

Merlin sighed again, and Gwaine waited for Merlin to speak again. When he didn't, Gwaine frowned slightly.

"Merlin?" he said. "You called?"

"Huh? Oh. No. Nothing. I just wanted to make sure you were still alive."

Gwaine grinned. "Miraculously, I am. Are you?"

"I think so."

"How are we not dead?"

Merlin was silent for a moment, then, "Guess that drop wasn't as steep as it looked."

Gwaine snorted. He'd seen that drop when they'd set up camp. They shouldn't have survived. But, since he had no better explanation, he just sighed. "Guess so."

Merlin sighed again, and then groaned in pain. Gwaine caught the movement out of the corner of his eye—Merlin pushing himself to his feet, a bit like watching an old dog rousing up from slumber.

Dog. Dog!

"Wait!" he gasped out loud, pushing up onto his elbows. "Be careful! That hound from hell is down here somewhere, he might have survived as well. And there could be others!"

"Yeah," Merlin said, his voice sounding strangled, "I know."

Gwaine turned to look at him, and found Merlin standing very still and staring at something outside of Gwaine's sight, his expression blanched.

With enormous reluctance, Gwaine sat up the rest of the way, grunting in pain as something in his chest twanged. Breathing through it, he pressed a hand to his chest, and looked in the same direction as Merlin. Swallowing heavily, he knew exactly what had driven his friend to silence.

"Well, that's not good," he muttered. Merlin huffed a pained laugh.

They'd landed at the edge of a moonlit clearing that was cut in half by a wide, rushing river about the width of a street in Camelot. On this side were Merlin, Gwaine and a thankfully unconscious black dog lying deathly still on the edge of the bank. Apparently, the creature's fall from the top of the bluff had not been as lucky as theirs. But on the other side of the stream were at least three more dogs, all slightly lighter in appearance—more gray than black—but, frankly, no less small. Gwaine revised the size of the animals in his head from small cow to small horse. Good god, these monsters were huge.

The largest of the three growled and approached the small river, its head down, green eyes glowing with a menace that not even the one they'd fought had managed.

Gwaine reached for his sword…and found empty air. Ah. That might be a problem. He pulled the dagger from his waist and levered himself the rest of the way to his feet, managing only a slight sway upon standing. He was calling that a win.

"Looks like the party continues," he said, moving forward to get in front of Merlin. "Stay behind me; I'll—"

"Wait."

Gwaine raised an eyebrow, looking over his shoulder at Merlin. "For what?" he said. "An invitation? Trust me, we're not going to get one."

"No. I mean don't threaten them. They're not attacking us—they're just watching us, like they're waiting to see what we do. I think we may have the wrong of this."

Gwaine smirked. "I highly doubt that. Seems pretty obvious to me--" He stopped talking with a frown, realizing that Merlin looked a little strange, like half his face was in shadow. Except it wasn't. That was blood. "Did you hit your head?"

Merlin blinked, and reached up a hand to touch his forehead near his left temple. He grimaced in pain and then pulled his hand down, frowning at what in the white moonlight looked like black ink on his fingertips.

"Oh," he said. "Yes. But it’s fine. And, oh yeah, while we were talking...?" He looked straight at Gwaine, and there was an intelligence and certainty in his eyes that Gwaine could only wonder at. "They still didn't attack."

Gwaine frowned. He'd seen his friend like this before a few times, when suddenly Merlin took on a quality that was well beyond his years. Like he operated on an entirely different plane of existence than the rest of them—a place where Merlin was, to put it mildly, scary smart.

He looked back at the dogs—Merlin was right, they hadn't moved. "Alright, so maybe it's not so obvious," he conceded. "Then what are they waiting for?"

"Those three creatures," Merlin said, "I think they're females."

"So?"

"They're not attacking, because they're protecting something. Look behind them, into the trees. Really look."

Gwaine frowned, but did as he was told, squinting into the shadows. For a second or two, he couldn't see anything, then movement caught his eye and he focused on it. And, like that, he understood.

Behind the three dogs, partially camouflaged by the trees, brush and shadow, were six or seven more black dogs…except that they were actually the size of real dogs. None of them could have been higher than Gwaine's knee, their eyes were wide and open, almost scared, and they shifted and fidgeted with the energy of children.

"Are those…" Gwaine swallowed. "Puppies?"

"Yeah," Merlin said. "I think so."

"Aw hell. We're never leaving this clearing alive. The dads are one thing, but a mother protecting her young?" He shook his head. "Listen, you run. I'll hold them off as long as I can. And tell the others…tell them I'll miss them. Even Leon. Though…he really does need to lighten up sometimes. Tell him that. And tell the princess….Tell Arthur it was an honor."

Merlin frowned, and then he moved up to Gwaine's side. "Yeah. Not happening."

"Merlin…"

"Let me try something."

Gwaine frowned. "Am I going to hate this 'something'?"

"Probably."

"Merlin—"

"I'll be fine."

"If you die, Arthur is going to kill me."

Merlin offered him a crooked smile, and then stepped forward, his arms out-stretched. When Gwaine stepped forward with him, though, Merlin placed a hand on his chest.

"No. You need to stay back. They know you're the greater threat here."

"But—"

"Please, you have to trust me."

Gwaine frowned.

"Gwaine, please."

"You have a bad head wound. How do I know you're in your right mind enough for me to trust you?"

Merlin smiled. "Nice. But not good enough. Can you go stand at the edge of the clearing, please?"

"I don't—"

"Please."

He sounded almost desperate, and Gwaine searched his face for something to hold onto. Something to believe in, so that he wouldn't think that his friend was about to die a horrible death right in front of him.

Merlin just stared back, earnest and honest. Gwaine did trust Merlin. But, warring with that trust was the simple fact that Merlin could die, and Gwaine would much rather give up his own life if it meant Merlin had any chance in hell to survive this.

"Gwaine," Merlin said, his voice gentle, "listen to me. I am going to save our lives, and possibly everyone back up in the camp. But only if you trust me. Please, do what I tell you."

Gwaine grimaced, never much one for doing what he was told.

"Go to the back of the clearing," Merlin ordered. "Now."

And for some reason he couldn't quite fathom, Gwaine found himself taking a step back. Then another. Almost without conscious thought, he backed up to the edge of the clearing, hand still tight on the dagger.

Apparently, Merlin could order him around. Who knew?

Body thrumming with fear for his friend (and for himself), he watched Merlin move up next to the unconscious black dog and kneel down. Gwaine bit his lip as Merlin’s hands skimmed over the creature, and then stood to face the three dogs on the other side of the stream.

"My name is Merlin," he called, and Gwaine strained a little to hear him over the rushing water. "Can you understand me?"

Gwaine's eyebrows lifted. Merlin was going to save the day by talking to them? Did he not get the part where they weren't people?

"Can you understand me?" Merlin repeated, moving closer to the edge of the stream.

The largest of the three dogs growled, but, amazingly, seemed to incline her head.

Merlin gave a nod in return. "Then, please, listen. We did not come into this valley with the intent to harm you or your children. I am guessing, however, that your…" He paused, as if looking for the right word, before continuing, "…warriors attacked us because you thought we were here to hunt you down. Twenty men in chain mail on the hill, we looked like a hunting party. Am I right? Why else would you have attacked such a dangerous looking group of men?"

The dogs said nothing, they simply continued to growl, low, deep and threatening.

"I swear to you, we had no idea you were even here. We only intended to pass through. We came this way because we were avoiding the road past the castle to the north. In hindsight…" Merlin cocked his head. "That might have been a mistake."

The lead dog lifted her head, baring her teeth and Merlin seemed to hesitate. It was a lot of very sharp teeth. Gwaine gripped his dagger tightly, ready to run forward if any of the dogs even looked like they were about to cross the water.

"Thing is," Merlin said then, his hands open, "as you can see from what happened to him," he pointed to the black dog next to him, "if you do not back off, the men still up on the hill behind me will win. They'll defeat the other two and then, in all likelihood, they will come down here after you."

All three dogs bared their fangs at that, hackles raised, and Gwaine swore softly. What the hell was he doing?

"They will come unless," Merlin pressed on, "you let my friend and I go and you call your other two warriors off before my friends kill them."
Gwaine snorted. Hell of a bluff. But there was no way that these creatures would go for it, not without more.

"And if you do this," Merlin said then, "I promise that we will leave this valley tonight, and that the people of Camelot will never come back armed to either hunt you or fight you or any of your kind."

Gwaine frowned slightly at that promise, one Merlin didn't really have the right to make. From the fact that the three dogs were still bristling, they didn't seem to buy it either.

"And one more thing," Merlin added, and Gwaine saw him draw in a deep breath as if nervous. "If you agree to let us go, and to call back your warriors….I will do what I can to heal this one."

Gwaine almost dropped the dagger. "Merlin," he hissed, "you did hit your head too hard!"

The fact that Merlin didn't turn suggested he hadn't heard him, and Gwaine ground his teeth in frustration. "Merlin!" he hissed again, this time a little louder. Merlin reacted this time, but still didn't turn. What was he playing at?

The lead dog growled darkly, and Merlin shook his head, almost as if the dog had said something intelligible.

"No, he's not dead," Merlin said. "He's unconscious and bleeding heavily both inside and out, but I think I can save him. And though I don't look it, I know something of healing. If I try, and I can get him back on his feet, will you let us go and call the others off?"

Gwaine just stared, open mouthed, convinced now that Merlin was totally and completely crazy.

Enough was enough.

Dagger fitted snugly in his palm, he walked forward. "Merlin, I love you, but you're nuts if—"

"If you heal him, we will do as you ask," the lead dog growled, and Gwaine halted in sheer shock.

"It can speak?" he said dumbly.

"She can speak, yes," Merlin replied, finally looking at him over his shoulder. He smiled slightly. "Didn't you hear her speaking before?"

Gwaine just shook his head.

"Probably a good thing," Merlin said. "She called you a few nasty things. I don't think she likes your hair."

He almost bought it…but then he remembered that all women liked his hair. Woman or hound-from-hell, it didn't matter. He gave Merlin a look, and Merlin actually smiled.

"Can you come here," Gwaine said tightly, gesturing quickly with his hand. "Now?"

Merlin bit his lip, glanced at the lead dog, and then turned and walked over to Gwaine.

"Merlin," Gwaine whispered when he was close enough to grab his arm, "I see what you're trying to do here, but, without sounding ungrateful, you have about as much chance of saving that dog's life as I do of becoming a virgin again. So, perhaps this might be a good time to revisit Plan A, wherein I fight them off and you get the hell out of here."

"I can do this, Gwaine," Merlin promised.

"With what? Fairy dust?"

"With your help."

"Come on. Even if Gauis were here, he—"

"Please," Merlin stressed, and his eyes took on that ancient look again. "I swear to you that I can do this. I need some herbs. There have to be some around here. If I tell you what to look for, do you think you can find them?"

Gwaine just sighed.

Merlin took that for a yes, and started describing flowers for Gwaine to find, randomly calling out their purposes as he did so, much like Gaius did when he was working on one of them. He sounded so confident, so much like his mentor, that Gwaine actually started to believe he could do this. And so, a moment later, after they had lit a small brand for light, he was heading into the dark woods in search of tiny white and purple flowers, while Merlin went back to talk to, well, the bitches.
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Merlin sighed heavily as Gwaine disappeared into the trees lining the valley, the fire marking his passage soon lost in the shadows of the bushes and greenery, and he turned back to the black dogs. The lead female, who was clearly the alpha, was still watching him warily.

"I need to set his bones, first," he said. She said nothing, so he looked around on the meadow floor. Moving with a measure pace, he walked to the nearest tree and found a couple of straight, strong sticks that should work for what he needed. Picking them up, he walked back to the injured black dog on the edge of the river bank and knelt down, using his knife to cut them to the right size. Fairly quickly, he had the broken foreleg splinted, using pieces of his shirt to tie the sticks in place.

He then felt along the ribs, slotting them back into place, wincing at the noise and feel of it all. Throughout, the injured creature didn't make a sound except to breathe more and more wetly.

There was also a number of wounds, more visible now that the dog wasn't moving. Some of them were stab wounds—so the swords hadn't been completely useless. But there was one terrible wound at his shoulder which was bleeding heavily—where a bone had poked through the skin.

Grimacing, he washed his hands in the river, then reached up and, praying softly to the heavens above, he pushed the bone back inside until he felt it "set." Then he pressed the skin together. It was only then that he realized he had no idea how he was going to keep it together. Frustrated, he let go and leaned back, sitting on his legs.

There really wasn't anything else he could do now. Except the obvious, of course.

Gwaine wasn't wrong to question his sanity. His record with healing magic was somewhere in the realm of one success to many, many failures. And it didn't help that the one time he had healed someone, it was Morgana. Or that he'd had a dragon's spell in making it happen.

He lowered his head, frowning. Nothing for it now. Gwaine would only take a few more minutes to find all those herbs, so he had to act fast before his friend returned.

Resting his hands gently against the animal's sides, he felt the swelling building beneath the animal's tough skin. He was literally bleeding to death inside, and Merlin had to stop it. The same spell that had saved Morgana's life should work here, and he cleared his mind in order to bring it to the forefront.

Problem was, that spell had awoken a woman who, since then, had rained nothing but devastation down on Camelot, killing hundreds of people, including one of his best friends. He'd saved a murderous villain with this magic, might even have made her worse. And here…here was going to save a creature that, moments ago, had been about to rip his friends to shreds.

His hands shook. Was this the right thing to do? Would Kilgarrah be ashamed to know that the same magic would bring another potential evil back to life?

"What are you doing?" the gray dog snarled, standing still at the edge. Merlin glanced at her. She lowered her head, her bright yellow eyes seeming to stare right through him. "You hesitate," she said, the growl part question, part accusation.

Merlin bit his lip. "Yes," he admitted quietly. "I'm scared."

She studied him for a moment, then cocked her hide to one side. "I cannot do anything about that," she said. "But this is the deal you offered, not me."

Merlin swallowed, and he looked at the black dog under his hands. She was right. He had. And he had promised to try.

Closing his eyes, he rested his hands on the dying animal's sides and the guttural dragon speech rolled off his tongue into the cool night air, the spell still as much a part of him now as it had been the day the dragon had gifted him with it. He felt the powerful surge of magic rise in him, filling his chest and running down his arms into the black dog's body.

He opened his eyes as the black dog jerked under his hands, whimpered slightly, and then settled, this time breathing far easier than he had been before. Swallowing, Merlin felt the beast's side and had a tiny burst of ego when he felt smooth skin. No swelling. Looking up at his shoulder, he could see the skin knitting together. He smiled brightly, and looked across the river.

The gray wolf had backed up a step, as had the others. Her wariness was far more pronounced now, eyes more wide than menacing.

"What are you?" she hissed. "That was not human magic."

His smile fell, not sure how to take that, but before he could say anything, Gwaine called his name. He twisted around, saw Gwaine jogging towards him with fistfuls of flowers and plants pressed to his chest. He turned to the gray female.

"He doesn't know," he whispered, begging her to understand. "Please."

She said nothing, just lowered her head again.

"I found these pretty quickly," Gwaine said, almost cheerfully. "This valley is verdant—probably because no people can come here." He flashed a wry grin and looked down at the black dog. "That a splint?"

"Yeah," Merlin said, reaching over to wash the blood off before reaching up for the herbs. Gwaine dumped them into his hands and stepped back, pressing a hand to his ribs. Merlin hadn't missed that—he wondered if any of Gwaine's ribs were broken. Presumably, if Gwaine could jog, then they weren't. Then again, his friend did have an insanely high threshold for pain.

Trying not to worry about it too much, he picked up the knife he'd used for the splint and pressed the herbs on a rock, using the butt of the knife to smash them.

"How's your head?" Gwaine asked, dropping his voice a little. "It looks like it's still bleeding."

Merlin grimaced. It hurt. A lot. He wanted nothing more than to drink a bucketful of willowbark tea, curl up into a ball on his bed under Gaius' watchful eye, and cry himself to sleep until it went away.

"It's fine," he told Gwaine, not looking up. The knight had to know it was a lie, but he didn't say anything. Well, fair's fair. Gwaine hadn't said anything about his ribs.

In moments, Merlin had an almost paste formed. It would help the wound on the black dog's neck to heal more cleanly.

As if hearing his thoughts, the injured dog huffed, and Merlin looked up, a little startled. Morgana had slept a whole night through after being healed. What if…what if this dog woke up more quickly than that? If the male woke up while they were still here, he may not abide by the agreement he'd made with the female. Best thing to do would be to put the animal into a deeper sleep with magic, before that could happen.

Which meant he had to get rid of Gwaine again. He looked down at the herbs…and spat out a curse.

"What?" Gwaine said. "What's the matter?"

"I need one more. Hemlock, to ease his pain. Can you see if you can find me some?"

Gwaine frowned, but nodded, pulling the dagger out of his belt. "I'll be quick. I saw one just a little ways back. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

"Thank you," Merlin said, trying to give him a confident looking smile.

Gwaine turned and jogged back the way he'd come, still holding a hand over his ribs as he moved.

Merlin blew out a breath, and reached out a hand to press to the black dog's head.
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Gwaine smiled, spotting the little white flowers almost glowing in the bright moonlight.

"Easy," he muttered. He didn't like leaving Merlin with those creatures by himself for too long.

He was roughly ripping some flowers free when he heard a percussive growl and Merlin yell out in terror.

"Merlin!" he shouted, throwing the Hemlock to the ground. He ran back to the clearing to find Merlin on his back, the black dog pressing down on him, splint and all, fangs inches from Merlin's face.

"You gave me your word!" Merlin shouted, hands up. Gwaine bellowed a war cry, raising the dagger over his head, but, before he could even get close, a gray-black blur had knocked the black dog off Merlin and now stood between it and his friend on the ground. Gwaine staggered to a stop, not sure what to do as the larger black dog faced off against the slightly smaller gray dog.

Merlin pushed himself up on his elbows and crawled away on his arms from them towards the stream.

"Merlin?" Gwaine said, jogging up the rest of the way and kneeling by his side, pulling him closer to him. "What happened?"

"I…um…" Merlin swallowed, and Gwaine could see he was trembling hard. He drew Merlin closer, putting an arm protectively around his chest. "I guess I didn't need the hemlock," Merlin finished weakly.

The two dogs growled, baring their teeth, keeping each other at bay. When the black dog made to go around the gray one, the gray snapped and went for his throat. The black dog leapt back, out of the way, and snarled. The gray dog planted herself between Merlin and the black dog again.

"I think they're arguing," Merlin said.

"Ya think?" Gwaine asked. He found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the stand-off. "I thought you could understand them?"

"She spoke English to me before. Now…now I don't know what they're doing or saying."

Gwaine just shook his head and held his dagger as tight as he could. If the female lost….

And then, suddenly, the black dog backed off. It gave Gwaine and Merlin a baleful look, but it turned and, head down, slinked away into the forest, barely limping on the splinted leg. The gray dog turned, glanced at Merlin, and then threw her head back, howling into the wind. It was almost piercing, and Gwaine found himself wincing a little at how loud it was. Merlin groaned, pressing a hand to his head, curling in on himself slightly.

"Merlin?"

"I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth, repeating the same lie from earlier. "That howl isn't helping the headache."

The gray dog stopped howling, and turned to face then, sitting down. "That howl, as you call it, may not have helped your head, human, but it served the purpose we promised." She looked up at the hill over their heads. "The other two—should they still live—will retreat from the fight with your soldiers."

Gwaine swallowed, still finding it strange to hear words from the creature's mouth.

"Now you fulfill your promise," the gray dog said, her yellow eyes once more focused on Merlin. "And leave our valley."

Merlin gave a nod and, with Gwaine's help, got back up to his feet. Halfway up, he swayed badly, pressing a hand to his head, and Gwaine grabbed his elbow to steady him. Merlin pulled his arm free, and, standing up the rest of the way, he gave a slight bow to the gray dog.

"Thank you for keeping your word," he said.

She just inclined her head.

Merlin flashed a crooked smile, and looked at Gwaine. "Ready to go?"

"My friend," Gwaine said, shaking his head in disbelief, "after this? I will follow you anywhere you lead."
_________________________________

Merlin was fading fast with every step, and Gwaine found his own aches and pains beginning to blur his vision, the world spinning a little as they struggled up the ruined cliff face. Every breath was a struggle, and his chest was on fire—he had definitely broken at least one rib.

Leaning heavily on each other, they were halfway up the only obvious path up the hillside when they found themselves accosted by Arthur, Percival and a half-dozen more knights charging down from the other direction. Arthur stopped dead when he saw them, eyes wide, and then he laughed and lunged forward, quickly embracing Merlin and grabbing Gwaine's arm warmly.

"How are you not dead from that fall?" Arthur exclaimed, wrapping a hand around Merlin's arm, as if afraid he might slip away again. "We thought we were going down to retrieve your bodies."

"No faith," Merlin muttered.

"Takes more than a minor plummet from a cliff to stop us," Gwaine answered with a grin. "Oh…and catch him before he falls, will you?"

Arthur's grip switched almost instantly from Merlin's arm to under his shoulders, pulling Merlin up as the servant's knees buckled slightly. Merlin's head was down, as if it were too heavy to hold up.

"Are you alright?" Arthur asked, using his free hand to turn Merlin's head towards him, checking out the blood-covered face. The fact that Merlin suffered the indignity of it without back-talk was pretty telling.

"Honestly? No. He hit his head hard on the way down," Gwaine replied on Merlin's behalf. "He needs rest."

Arthur nodded solemnly, looking over at Gwaine. "And you? Are you well?"

"Nothing I can't handle." Just my ribs feeling like they're floating around like driftwood in my chest.

"Good, good," Arthur levered Merlin up a little higher and looked to the rest of his men. "Continue following those creatures. I want to know where their den is. When we come back, we'll need to—"

"No," Merlin said, putting enough force into it to interrupt Arthur. The king frowned.

"What?"

"We're leaving." Merlin had finally lifted his head, and, even with his eyelids at half-mast, there was determination in that voice. "And we're not coming back."

Arthur's frown deepened. "I'm going to assume you are saying that out of some sort of concern for our welfare, but those black dogs are a danger to—"

"No, he's not," Gwaine inserted, stepping forward. "He's saying it because that's the deal he made them."

"Deal?" Arthur repeated, his gaze locked on Gwaine now. "What do you mean, deal?"

"There were more black dogs in the valley," Gwaine said. "To save our lives…and yours…Merlin made a promise that, if they let us go and called the dogs off that were attacking you, we'd leave the valley and never return. Apparently, the dogs only attacked us because they thought we were here to hunt them."

Arthur cocked his head. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Merlin made a deal with—"

"No, I heard that part. I'm trying to understand…the dogs? How do you make a deal with a dog?" He looked at Merlin for the answer, but Merlin's head was down again and his eyes were closed.

"Well, they're not exactly dogs," Gwaine said, shrugging (and wincing as it tugged on his hurt ribs). "They're magical creatures."

"I know that. The fact they were the size of a pony and nearly impossible to kill sort of gave it away. But that doesn't mean anything. Griffins and basilisks are magical creatures, but I've never known any of them to actually speak. They are just mindless creatures, whose only purpose is to kill."

"Well, these aren't," Gwaine replied. "And Merlin talked to them and saved all our lives. You'd still be fighting up there if he hadn't. Assuming that you weren't able to kill them."

Arthur stared at him for a moment, before frowning. "No. We were losing, to be honest. The one you tricked was the only one we managed to kill."

Almost kill, Gwaine revised in his head. But he wisely kept his mouth shut on that one.

Percival asked, "Is that why the two we were fighting suddenly retreated? That howl…?"

Gwaine inclined his head. "Merlin gave his word." He lifted his chin, his tone even as he met Arthur's gaze. "And we're going to honor it."

The young king's eyes narrowed—he'd heard the implied threat in Gwaine's voice—but, thankfully, he didn't remark on it. "And if these creatures attack others?" he asked softly. "What if they attack a caravan, one with women and children? What then? How do I live with that? I made an oath to protect the people of this land."

"Not this land. We're in Mercia, remember? You can tell Bayard about it, or the lord in that castle over yonder, if they don't already know. Let Mercia deal with them."

Arthur's gaze darkened. Gwaine knew that look—heroes like Arthur didn't like backing down from a fight, especially one where the other side could come back meaner and more brutal. He couldn't say that those dogs wouldn't attack others—they probably would, and it could be women and children. They probably already had. But…

"Merlin gave his word," he said again, his only real argument against what Arthur was saying. He looked at Merlin, who wasn't so much standing now as being held up by Arthur. "And," Gwaine continued, his voice softer, "he needs a healer."

"He's not the only one, Sire," Percival noted, just as soft. "We've nearly a dozen men injured up there, and at least two dead."

Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, but when he opened them again, Gwaine knew the battle had been won. Arthur always put his men first.

"We'll discuss this again in the morning," the king said finally. "For now, you're both right. Our men need shelter and help." He took a step back from Merlin's side and bent over, catching the falling servant over his shoulder as he tipped over. When he straightened with Merlin settled in place, he looked over at the youngest of the knights with them. "Sir John, run back up to camp and tell the men to get ready to move out immediately. We're going to seek the hospitality of that castle."

Gwaine relaxed…and swayed slightly, everything that had happened catching up to him. When Percival placed a hand under his arm for support as they started the walk up the rest of hill, he offered a grateful smile to his friend.

Chapter Text

The sun woke him, shining right into his face like a slap. Frowning, he turned his head away from the bright light, trying to find some comfort in whatever shadows still remained.

"Hey, you awake?"

That was Gwaine's voice. Sighing slightly, Merlin reluctantly turned his head towards the voice's origin and opened his eyes. The light invaded like a hammer blow, causing the headache he hadn't really noticed to suddenly beat against his skull like a blacksmith attacking hot iron. He didn't realize immediately that the agony-filled groan was coming from him, so intent was he to shut his eyes again and hide.

"Yeah, you're awake," Gwaine said, not unkindly. "How about trying that again, the opening the eyes thing. Because I'm really getting bored and I'm not above finding some charcoal and drawing pictures on your face."

Merlin twisted his lips—because Gwaine would so do that—and reluctantly opened his eyes again, only to avoid the promised humiliation. Blinking a few times, bringing the world back into focus, he couldn't help but smile to see Gwaine sitting in a chair by a window, alive and wrapped in a thick, blue blanket. He looked better than when Merlin had last seen him, shivering in the back of the wagon with a dozen other injured as they rolled into the courtyard of the fortress-like castle the night before.

Merlin did not remember much after that himself, as he had also been shivering in the wagon, cloth bandages wrapped around his pounding head like a turban, and the rest of him feeling like one massive bruise. He had a memory of Arthur yelling orders, the castle's servants dashing around in dressing gowns about the wagon, and the castle's guards keeping tight watch over them. His only clear memory was of Arthur speaking to someone on the broad steps leading up to the castle's main keep, a woman in silks with the bearing of nobility. She'd been silhouetted by the torchlight from the open doors behind her, and all Merlin had really garnered about her appearance was blonde hair. The castle's mistress, presumably. He wondered who its master was.

"Can't believe you slept longer than me," Gwaine said, his voice patently teasing. "One tiny scratch on your head, and you ended up sleeping almost the whole day away."

Merlin offered a mock sneer and made to sit up, instantly regretting it as the room spun slightly. Pressing a hand to his head, he felt a thick bandage stuck to his temple, held in place by a bound of cloth.

"I wouldn't touch that," Gwaine said, still smiling, sitting up and gesturing at Merlin's head. "You're going to have one ugly scar on your forehead, by the way. Percival says it runs from the center of your head all the way to your temple, like a half moon. But don't worry…." He grinned rakishly. "I'll show you how to work it with the women. They can't resist a scar that comes with a heroic story, like defeating the infamous black dogs of Mercia."

"They're infamous?" Merlin asked. "I didn't even know they existed until yesterday."

"Trust me, when I'm done? They'll be infamous."

"And we didn't exactly defeat them."

"Do you want to have a girlfriend someday?" The blanket had fallen down a bit with his movement, allowing Merlin to see the bandages wrapped around his chest. There were also bandages on his arms.

"You were a bit more damaged than you let on, apparently," Merlin noted.

"It's nothing." Gwaine looked down at his chest. He pushed the blanket down further so Merlin could see that the wrappings went all the way down to his stomach. "I'm not sure how much of this is real and how much precautionary. It was like this when I woke, but I couldn't have broken that many ribs, could I?" He pressed against the bandage, and winced slightly. "Well, maybe it's not so unnecessary." He leaned back, looking happier now that the blanket was off his chest. "Doesn't mean I like it. I feel like a trussed up roast in an oven."

"Oven?" Merlin frowned, and tried to sit up more to see him better. "You have a fever?"

"Now, don't go all Mother Merlin on me. I did have a fever, apparently, but it's broken. I don't feel like I'm going to die anymore, and I've been sweating like a pig for the last hour." He grinned and held up a finger. "Not a word about me and pigs."

Merlin smiled ruefully, but continued to try to push himself into a proper sitting position, determined to ignore the nausea it induced.

"You probably shouldn't be doing that," Gwaine said, actually sounding worried. "Your head isn't as thick as Arthur likes to pretend, and, like me, you’re a mosaic of bruises, so the physician told him you needed quiet and rest for a couple of days. I don't think the princess would want you moving about too much."

Sneering slightly but with a touch more caution, Merlin finally levered himself enough to get his back against the wall and have a better look at their surroundings. The room was round, white-washed and somewhat small. Two narrow, squat doors sat kitty corner to each other, and the sun shone brightly through a series of arrow slits along two of the walls, cutting the room into slivers of light and dark—a tower room?

He noticed only four pallets rested against the walls: his, an empty one presumably for Gwaine, and two others, both occupied by sleeping knights. One of them was Elyan, the other a knight Merlin didn't know too well, Sir Clay. Both were the color of ash, and Merlin felt his heart sink.

"Are they—?"

"No. They're alright. For now." Gwaine was instantly sober as he looked to the other two beds. "Elyan's arm is nasty—it'll take a while to heal, and it'll likely end up pretty scarred. Sir Clay…he had a chunk taken out of his side—they're not certain he'll survive it—but he's holding his own right now."

Merlin exhaled softly. Gwaine lowered his eyes.

Merlin looked towards one of the doors. "And the others?"

"I'm not sure. Apparently, there's more pallets in the rooms on either side of this one. Arthur said there were at least a dozen hurt, though only five or six as badly as Elyan and Clay. Two were killed in the fighting."

Merlin frowned deeply. Two men too many. Arthur would be upset.

He looked at the room again—it was plain but, perhaps because of the sunlight and the white walls, it was oddly serene for what was obviously part of a castle's battlements.

"What is this place?" he asked.

"We're in the West Tower of that Mercian castle we saw last night, in the outer wall. Though I only know that from being told." Gwaine shrugged, and winced, pressing a hand against his ribs again. "I haven't actually made it out of this room yet."

"So who told you where we were?"

"Arthur and Percival. They visited a little while ago to check on us. Said they would be back with the castle's physician, a woman named Hildy."

Merlin nodded, and sat up the rest of the way, feeling less dizzy this time, sliding back so that he was resting against the wall.

"Where is everyone else?"

"Camping in the outer courtyard. The lady of house wouldn't let anyone inside the inner keep, except for Arthur, Lords Exestan and Corin, and the servants."

"Ah."

Gwaine smiled thinly. "Apparently, the lord of the house is not here. So, she's being cautious."

"You haven't met her."

"No. Like I said, I've just seen Arthur and Percival."

Merlin tilted his head, wondering who the castle's owner was, but then finding he didn't really care. "How long are we staying?"

"Those of us that can, are leaving on the morrow. The rest are staying here until we return."

"Does that mean—?"

The sound of the door opening stopped his question, and both Gwaine and Merlin turned towards the noise. Bending nearly in half to avoid the low frame, Percival grinned as he pushed his way into the room, followed closely by Arthur and a woman Merlin assumed was the physician, based on the eye-glass hung around her neck and the bag on her shoulder. She was round-faced and cheerful looking, smiling indulgently when she saw that they were both awake. Arthur smiled as well when he saw Merlin, and Merlin couldn't not match it.

"My, my," Hildy said, chuckling as she headed over to Gwaine first, "you are pretty when those eyes are open, aren't you? How are you feeling, son? Well enough to move into a chair, I see."

"I don't much like beds, my lady," Gwaine replied, inclining his head in a bow. "And I feel much better, thank you." The woman clicked her tongue and shook her head.

"Oh, I'm not a lady, just a mistress. You may call me Hildy." She reached out a soft hand and touched his forehead. "Fever has all but gone, which is a blessing. You're healing well."

"I've always been a fast healer," Gwaine replied. "One of my few gifts."

"Oh, I'd say you have more than a few, Sir Knight," she replied, giggling as she looked him up and down. "Definitely more than a few."

Gwaine's face flushed—it was like being ogled by a matronly aunt—and he started tugging the blanket up. "Um…."

"Any news?" Merlin asked Arthur and Percival, kindly interrupting Gwaine's embarrassment.

Arthur was grinning, clearly enjoying the joke, but he answered Merlin anyway. "Not as such." He gave a shrug. "But her ladyship has asked to visit the injured. I told her that would be fine, but I wanted to make sure you all felt decent enough before letting her in."

Merlin looked down at his usual clothes—which looked like they always did. Rumpled, torn and stained with blood and grass. He gave a shrug and beamed at Arthur. Gwaine looked like he was considering whether he needed a shirt, but…hell, if the lady was young and pretty, Merlin knew he wasn't shy. Sure enough, he gave Arthur a nod.

"I'm fine," he said.

"He's fine, indeed," Merlin said, pointing at Gwaine. "I'm less so, but I've accepted my lot in life."

"Aw, sweetness," Hildy said, moving over to pat Merlin's shoulder. "You're adorable."

"Yes," Merlin said tightly. "Because being called 'adorable' is what most men like being called."

She laughed at that, patted his shoulder again and went to check on Elyan. Merlin noticed her demeanor grew more solemn as she crouched next to the pallet to check on his arm.

"Then I guess I'll let her in," Arthur said, nodding to a servant that was standing by the door. The young man gave a nod and opened it.

"They're ready for you, my lady," he said, backing away from the door.

Using his arms for leverage, Merlin pushed himself up a little higher. He noticed that Gwaine was quickly rearranging the blanket on his lap to hide a little more of the bandages.

"Lady Clarissant," he heard Arthur say, "may I present—"

"Gwaine?"

Gwaine had been looking down, still fiddling with the blanket, but his hands stopped cold. Hell, near as Merlin could tell, his friend's breath had stopped cold. He obviously knew that voice, his face rapidly losing all of its color. With the demeanor of a man facing his executioner, Gwaine lifted his gaze to the woman who was now standing in the middle of the room…staring at him.

"Clarissant," he breathed, the word almost catching in his throat.

_______________________________________________

Clarissant.

The room dimmed and grayed, until all Gwaine could see was her. Her eyes were exactly the same, identical in every way to his own. Eyes that now stared at him with complete shock.

She was every inch the princess she had wanted to become. Her blonde hair was gathered tightly around her head in perfect curls, the yellow velvet dress cloaking her fitted her to a T, showing off her still young figure, and glinted with a myriad of jewels sewn into the lining. Ruining the look, her pale face had become the color of snow, making the rouge on her lips and cheeks stark in color, giving her features an almost sickly appearance. Or perhaps it was the dark circles under her eyes that no amount of powder could hide.

"Then this is the prince's castle," he said softly.

"It is," she said, her demeanor so rigid he wondered if she might break. "And you…." She blinked slowly, deliberately. "You became a knight." She almost huffed the word, like it was distasteful. "Of Camelot."

He looked away, wanting to hide from that judging gaze. "I did." His mind raced, trying to find a way to explain this…but the words seem stuck in his throat.

She blinked again, then more rapidly, and the color rushed back to her face in a wave, turning her cheeks bright pink. Her features became instantly ugly as her dark brown eyes narrowed, her lips curling in rage.

"You…you…hypocrite!" she shouted. "You…How could you? After what you said, what you called me, you became a knight? A knight! The one thing you swore you would never, ever—" She shook her head roughly, the curls falling. "You horrible wretch! You pusillanimous, two-faced insect!" Her chin shook with rage as she glared at him. "You cut me out, keep me from Gaheris' funeral, and then you turn around and—"

She suddenly pressed a fist to her lips, and shook her head again.

"No…No, do you hear me? I will not bear this. You cannot be here, not now. It's too much! I will not look on you! Leave this place! I won’t have you in my home. Leave! Get out!" She took a step back, nearly running into Arthur, and her eyes widened as if suddenly realizing they weren’t alone…and that she’d just yelled in front of a king. Gasping slightly, she backed away from him, a hand raised in supplication.

"You majesty," she pleaded, a tear running down her face, cutting a line through the makeup covering it, "I am…I am so sorry. I forgot…. Forgive me, I…I have to go." And then she was, all but running from the room, her servants running after her.

Gwaine raised a shaking hand to his head, and blinked a few times, the room coming into focus around him. No one had spoken, and he soon realized why. They were all staring at him, eyes wide open. Even Merlin was halfway to his feet, concern and curiosity filling his face.

"Gwaine?" Arthur said, his tone soft. "Is there something I should know?"

"Um…"

He didn't know what to say. What to do. Reaching down, he tugged at the blankets covering him, trying to extricate his legs. "I need to go," he said. "To leave."

"Oh no, you don't," Hildy said, bustling over and resting a surprisingly strong hand on his shoulder to keep him from standing. "You're staying right here for at least a day. You don't mind the lady—I will speak to her. She has been a little high strung lately. There is…there is much going on."

"No, it's…" Gwaine grimaced a little as the pressure caused his ribs to ache. "It's fine. I need to get out of here." He looked over at Arthur, then Percival and finally Merlin. "Please. I can't be here."

Arthur closed his mouth tightly, and he turned his attention to the physician. "Your recommendation is that he stays still?"

"It is. His body is weak—too much movement may allow bad humors to set in. I want to be sure he has his strength back before he can leave. At least a day."

"Then he'll stay here," Arthur stated. "On my head be it."

She nodded.

Gwaine frowned, trying to break the grip she had on his shoulder without pulling too hard on his ribs. "Now, hang on, you don't understand, I—"

"No," Arthur said. "You're not well. I won't have you getting sick because you didn't have time to rest. "

"But—"

"And," Arthur snapped, cutting him off, "I won't ask what that was about. I trust you, Gwaine, that you would tell me if there was something I should know that could bring harm to your friends and fellow knights. Am I correct?"

Gwaine's eyes widened slightly, feeling the sudden weight of that much trust like an anvil. "I…" He shook his head. "Thank you. I…yes. But...but she has asked that I leave."

"I will take care of that." Arthur frowned. "But you must promise that you will tell me what that is about someday. I think I deserve to know."

Gwaine nodded. He did. "Thank you," he said again.

Arthur stared at him a moment longer, his expression cool. Finally, he turned away and walked over to check on Elyan. Hildy let up on Gwaine's shoulder and headed over to join him.

Gwaine slipped down in the chair, feeling a little like he'd just been punched in the head.

"Hey," Percival said quietly, still leaning against the wall next to him, "we're here for you, you know that, right?"

Gwaine lifted his eyes to meet his friend's, and tried to smile. Merlin said something similar on his other side, as he settled back into his bed, and Gwaine smiled at him as well. Of course they had his back, trusted him, stood by his side. The problem was….

He didn't deserve it.

Hildy was moving over to Sir Clay now, and Arthur was following her. Gwaine steeled his jaw.

"Arthur," he called.

Arthur stopped and turned to look at him, eyebrows raised in question.

"Lady Clarissant…" Gwaine hesitated, his heart beating a little faster. "Lady Clarissant is my sister."

______________________________________________

Arthur asked Mistress Hildy to leave them, which she did, still wide-eyed but, gratefully, without protest. After that, Arthur and Percival both found a place to sit on Gwaine's bed, while Merlin stayed in his bed, none of them speaking—they were waiting on Gwaine to speak. So he did.

He'd never told Arthur, or anyone else, other than Merlin, about his father. How his father had died a knight while serving in Caerleon's army, leaving them penniless, and how the king had rejected his mother's pleas for help afterwards. And not just the king—the nobility in general had cast them aside. He explained how, after that, he had sworn to never trade on his father’s title, and never to serve anyone who did.

He looked at Arthur at that last part, to find his king giving him a thoughtful look.

"You were nobility," the king said slowly. "My father almost executed you, and he banished you, and it all could have gone away if you had just told him—"

"Then I would have gone against what I believe in. Besides, why would he have believed me?"

Arthur looked down for a long moment, clearly taking that in. Finally, he cocked his head. "And after? Once I'd made you a knight? Why not tell me then?"

Gwaine shrugged. "There was no reason to. I became a knight on my own merit." He smiled. "And I only agreed because the man I have promised to serve knows to look beyond a title to determine a man's worth."

Arthur looked up. After a moment, he smiled softly.

"Thank you," he said finally, taking the compliment for what it was.

Gwaine just inclined his head.

"So what has this to do with Lady Clarissant?" asked Merlin.

"Ah, my sister…" Gwaine sighed. "That's a less pleasant story. She might be a bit mad at me."

"Who isn't," Percival snorted from where he was sitting on the edge of his bed. Gwaine smacked his leg.

"What did you do?" Arthur asked.

"What she deserved," Gwaine replied, his eyes growing distant. "At the time. At least, I thought so. It was a very long time ago, and I was still just a stupid kid." He lowered his head, hiding his face behind his hair. "I hated her. Really…hated her. For so long."

"Why?" asked Merlin.

Gwaine looked at his friend out of the corner of his eye, the quick, glib answer sticking to his tongue. Normally, if they'd been anywhere else, he'd have launched into some story about what a bitch she had been (which she had), but that wasn't what Merlin was asking, or what the others wanted to know. And what Merlin was asking, he didn't want to tell.

He'd done a lot of things he never thought he would since coming to Camelot. He'd become a member of the nobility again, after swearing he wouldn't. He'd found a place where he wanted to stay, after promising himself he'd never settle down. And he'd found people he cared about, after committing to never get tied to anyone ever again. And most of that was the fault of the man sitting a few feet away from him. He should hate him.

But he didn't. No more than he had hated his sister, or hated her still. Mostly…he just missed her.

"She left us," he said finally, still looking at Merlin, though he knew the others were listening. "When she was sixteen and I was only thirteen. She wanted out of Caerleon's kingdom so badly, out of our home and away from our poverty and my mother's tall tales about my father, that she took the first chance she could to escape." He crushed part of the blanket on his lap with a fist. "She stole money that was meant to feed us to buy dresses, traded on our name to attend balls in Caerleon's castle, pretended we weren't her family when she walked by with her friends…and at one of those balls, she met Prince Thiernan, King Bayard's youngest son."

"Thiernan," Merlin repeated. He looked over at Arthur. "Isn't Thiernan—?"

"Mentally unstable? Oh hell yes. That's what inbreeding does." Gwaine snarled slightly, recalling the fop prince dancing with his sister for hours at one of Caerleon's feasts. "But Clara wanted out so badly, she didn't care what form it came in. And though Thiernan had about as much hope to become king as I did, being fourth in line, she jumped at the chance to be a Princess of Mercia." He shook his head. "We never saw her again. My mother was already ill, my little brother Gaheris too, and without Clara helping out, we…didn’t do so well. And now, I haven't seen her in…" He did a quick count. "…almost twenty years."

"That's a long time," Merlin said, somewhat unnecessarily. Gwaine just nodded, and tipped his head back against the solid wood of the high backed chair.

"Yeah."

"She didn't want to see you or your mother?" Percival asked, his voice a little strangled. Gwaine knew why—Percival had lost his family, to deliberately not want to be with them probably sounded crazy to his ears. Gwaine bit his lip—this was why he didn't want to tell them. But it was too late now.

"Not exactly. After a while, she tried—sent letters, even an envoy once. I wouldn't let him in." He felt the shame of it now like a burning brand on his skin. "I burned all her letters without reading them. Wrote and told her that we never wanted to see her again. Even when my younger brother Gaheris died a few years later…I never told her. Instead, I blamed her. I thought, if she had been there, that somehow…." He closed his eyes. "It was an unforgiveable thing to do. But I was so angry at her for deserting us, deserting our mother. And I was so certain I was right to keep her away, to cut her off from us. You’re so certain when you’re a teenager, when everything is so black and white, and you have no idea just how complicated life really is."

He opened his eyes again, and found Arthur sharing a look with Merlin, while Percival had turned his head away.

But across the room, he found that Elyan was watching him, silently listening. He hadn't even noticed his friend had awoken. Elyan smiled at being seen, and gave a nod, imbuing the simple gesture with a deep understanding.

Gwaine didn't know much about Elyan's life, but he knew he'd left Gwen and her father to pursue his own path when he was just a teenager, much like Clara had. He'd abandoned them, and hadn't made it home for his father's funeral, which should have been just as unforgivable as what Gwaine had done to Clara. But Elyan had made up with his sister, their relationship stronger than ever, and, with that nod from his friend, Gwaine started to think that, perhaps, it wasn't too late for him and Clara.

"Do you still feel that way?" Percival asked, sounding about ten years younger than he was. "Do you still think it was right to cut her off?"

Gwaine flashed him a soft smile. "No," he answered. "I don't. But after what you just heard her say…" He looked at Arthur. "Do you think either she or Prince Thiernan would accept my apology? I did call them both some pretty horrible names back then."

"Um…." Merlin said, breaking the quiet. "Speaking of names, about the prince…" He looked at Arthur. "Earlier, when you interrupted me, I wasn't actually going to say that Prince Thiernan was mentally unstable. I was, um…." He was still looking at Arthur, the sort of pregnant stare that suggested he wanted Arthur to say something. "I was thinking of…something else. Arthur, isn’t there something you should tell them?"

Arthur frowned deeply, glaring briefly at Merlin, before sighing.

"Arthur?" Gwaine prompted.

Arthur grimaced, standing up and crossing his arms. "Merlin is right—there is something you need to know.”

“It involves Thiernan,” Merlin supplied, somewhat unnecessarily. Arthur gave him a sour look before continuing.

“The reason…” He pursed his lips, as if pondering exactly what to say. “The reason I didn't want to stop here last night is because I knew Prince Thiernan wasn't here. That fact is, he, and his brother Pieter, second in line to the throne, are missing."

"Missing?" Gwaine prompted. "What do you mean?"

"About a week ago, Pieter went out on a hunting party with Thiernan. Neither returned, but they found the rest of the members of the hunting party dead near the river that runs through this valley. Bayard has been searching for his sons for a week. He's letting his third son run the search—Prince Renaud—but he's keeping the crown prince close in the castle. Prince Aymon is all but a prisoner under palace guard, because Bayard is convinced this is an attack on his reign."

"Whoa," Gwaine breathed. “Is that why you wanted to go after those black dogs so badly?”

“It wasn’t dogs that did this, or any other beast,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “Otherwise the whole party would have been found. No, someone attacked the party to kidnap the princes.”

"Who would attack Mercia like this?" Percival asked. "In such an underhanded way?"

Merlin made a funny face. "Yeah, that's the thing."

"My spies tell me," Arthur continued, "that Bayard suspects Camelot."

"What?" Percival gasped, standing up as well. "Are you kidding? Does he not know you at all?"

"Apparently not," Arthur replied.

"Alined, okay. Odin, perhaps. But you? You're the only honest king in the five kingdoms!"

"I do not know what proof he has to suspect me," Arthur said, shaking his head. "It's part of the reason why I wanted to see him, face to face. Renewing the treaty is more of an excuse. I plan to convince him of our innocence, and, if necessary, to pledge him my knights—all of you—to help in the search, if he'll allow it." He shook his head. "I will not let Camelot be blamed for such a vile act."

"Why didn't you tell us this before?" Gwaine asked.

Arthur shrugged. "Because I was hopeful it would not be necessary. If the princes are found before we reach Mercia, or if Bayard accepts my troth, then we may return home without worry."

Merlin was leaning back heavily against the wall next to his bed, his expression dour. Gwaine couldn't blame him. His concern about being brought along without more people to hide behind made sense now.

"So, you didn't want to stop here," Percival continued, "in Thiernan's castle, because—"

"I didn't think we'd be welcome," Arthur replied. "And it might have seemed like I was trying to rub salt in a wound." He looked at Gwaine. "I'm sorry, Gwaine. This might make any reconciliation with your sister even more difficult to attain."

Gwaine stared at him a moment, then huffed a laugh. He shook his head. "It's alright. What's another twenty years of estrangement?"

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. Arthur turned to face it, and, now that he was alerted to the underpinnings, Percival rested a hand on his sword and did the same.

"Come in," Arthur called.

The door creaked open, and a serving girl popped her head in. When she saw them arranged at her attention, she blushed and ducked her head.

"Begging your pardon, your majesty." She kept her head down, eyes downcast as she spoke. "But my lady asks whether you and the other lords will dine with her this evening."

Arthur nodded. "Of course. We would be honored."

"She…she also asked me to convey that Sir Gwaine may remain in the castle. He need not leave while he is too ill to move."

Arthur quirked a smile and glanced at Gwaine. Gwaine bit his lip, not yet sure what to make of the hospitality.

"And…" The serving girl swallowed. "She wishes that, if Sir Gwaine accepts, to speak with him on the morrow before you all leave."

Gwaine's eyes widened, looking to Arthur. The king's smile broadened, but he raised his eyebrows in question at him. Gwaine felt a million questions and worries and old regrets fly through his mind in that half second, but, almost without conscious thought, he found himself nodding.

"He'll be there," Arthur told the serving girl. She nodded and curtsied deeply, before turning and rushing from the room, shutting the door behind her.

"Well," Arthur said then, smiling at Gwaine, "maybe it's not such a lost cause after all, eh Gwaine?"

Gwaine barely heard him, too lost in what the morning might bring.

Chapter Text

Merlin helped Gwaine with his armor in the morning, while both Elyan and Sir Clay watched from their pallets, the two bearing deep frowns of disappointment. They, and a handful of others, were staying behind to be tended by Hildy.

Gwaine almost wished he were staying longer as well, only so that he could put off this reunion. He still wasn’t sure what Clara was going to say to him, or what he was going to say to her. She was the only family he had left, though, and, if he was being honest, somewhere deep inside, he desperately wanted to repair what he'd done.

But what if she didn't want the same? What if…what if she hadn't changed? He wasn't sure he could take it if she rejected him and he lost that piece of himself again.

Merlin seemed to understand, because he had spent part of the last evening polishing Gwaine’s armor while he was asleep. Seeing as the servant had needed rest himself, and Gwaine would never have asked him to do it, he was initially annoyed….but, inwardly, when he saw how much nicer the armor looked, he was also grateful. He held Merlin’s arm for a long moment in thanks, before leaving him with the others to follow Clara’s serving girl into the main castle.

Arthur walked with him for a time, not saying anything, just keeping him company as they walked from the outer bailey to the inner courtyard. It wasn't until they reached the steps of the keep that the king stopped.

"This is the quietest I've ever seen you," Arthur said casually as Gwaine started up the steps. "It's a little worrying."

Gwaine paused mid-step, and turned to give him a sly look. "You saying you're starting to like my 'mindless chatter'?"

Arthur snorted. "I didn't say that. But…" He shrugged. "I might miss it if it were gone."

Gwaine snorted a laugh. "Knew I'd grow on you, Princess."

The king flashed a smile. "Oh, and one more thing."

"Yeah?"

He threw a thumb back towards the outer bailey. "Don't forget we're all just back there."

Gwaine studied him a moment, knowing what that really meant. He inclined his head to show his understanding. "Thanks."

Arthur returned the nod and turned to leave. Gwaine sighed as he watched him walk away—wishing he could join him. When he finally turned and resumed climbing the stairs, he found his legs had grown a little heavier, and the pain in his chest a little sharper now that he was alone. That old part of him, the one that used to run from anything that reminded him of the family he'd lost so long ago, was screaming at him to do so now.

The girl had stopped at the top, and was waiting for him. When he reached her, she turned and walked into the keep, leading him through a series of narrow halls and up several sets of circular stairs, winding them deeper and deeper into the heart of the castle. Eventually, she pushed through a pair of doors into what was clearly the keep's Great Hall. It was rather plain, with rugs on the walls and thin windows nestled in dark alcoves with little adornment. This was a castle meant for battle, not for beauty.

Clara was standing at the far end of the hall, her back to him, looking up at a painting on the wall. Like yesterday, her blonde hair was curled perfectly around her head, but her dress this day was darker, almost a blood red. It matched the dark painting she studied. As he got closer, he could see it was a faded painting of Thiernan, sitting astride a large black horse in full Mercian battle armor, gazing out over a field of men in blue awaiting his command.

He snorted. "Still as ego-driven as ever I see, your husband."

Clara's head dropped, and Gwaine swore inwardly. Damn it—he was supposed to be patching things up with her, and he just insulted her missing husband? What kind of an ass was he?

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head. "I didn't mean that. That was a stupid thing to say."

She turned then, and he frowned, expecting to see anger on her face, or tears, or pride. Instead, she seemed almost…apathetic.

"Can I offer you a cold drink?" she asked. "The weather is turning humid; it will be an overly warm day by all accounts."

Gwaine's eyebrows lifted. "Uh….sure, that'd be nice."

She moved away from him to a small table, on which sat a pitcher of water and several glasses. She poured two, and took a sip from one of them before walking over to hand the other to Gwaine. He took a sip of the tepid water. Frowning slightly, he took a deep breath.

"Clara, I—"

"Clara," she breathed, repeating the name softly. "I haven't been called that in years."

Gwaine pursed his lips, uncertain whether her reaction meant his nickname for her was welcome or unwanted. Just in case, he went with the latter. "Clarissant," he tried again, "I wanted to tell you that—"

"Stop," she said, holding up a hand. "Before you go any further, would you please turn around?"

He frowned, but, seeing no reason not to, he did as she asked. He found himself looking at the sidewall, on which hung another painting. This one was newer, and it took him a moment to understand what he was seeing. The likeness of his sister was fairly poor—he'd seen better portraits at Camelot—but it was obviously meant to be her. She sat on a chair, with Thiernan standing behind her, older than how he was portrayed in the other painting, but still proud. He had a hand on her shoulder, and another….on a tall, thin blond boy. There was also a young blond girl sitting at Clara's feet. Children?

Gwaine's mouth fell open, his heart clenching in his chest. Did that mean…?

"You're an uncle, Gwaine," Clara said. "My son, Gregory, and my daughter, Anne."

He couldn't help it—he grinned. When he looked again at his sister, he was almost laughing—he was an uncle! There were kids in his family again!

"That's so wonderful!" he said, jogging over to embrace her tightly, ignoring the stiff way she accepted it. "Sister! You wonderful thing! They're beautiful!" He let her go, turning to look at the painting again, moving closer to look at it more carefully, to see their faces more clearly. "Look at them! I'm an uncle! She looks just like you! And he…he looks just like Gaheris! How old are they?"

"Eight and four."

"May I see them?"

"No."

Gwaine's smile faltered as he studied the two children in the painting, and he remembered why he was here. The trepidation he'd felt before was gone—instead, he was determined to make this work no matter what she wanted. He wasn't going to miss out on being an uncle. Turning, he saw that she was walking away, heading over to sit in one of the small, dark alcoves, on a bench under a window. He glanced at the painting one more time, at the faces of the two children, and then strode swiftly over to join her, sitting opposite her on the bench and grabbing her hands, holding them tightly in his own.

"I don't know exactly why you wanted to talk to me, but…but I'm glad you did. Because I need to tell you something." He drew in a deep breath. "I was an idiot. A huge, huge idiot. What I did, cutting you off, it was stupid and childish and wrong. And though I know there is nothing I can say that can make up for what I did, I swear, if I could go back, smack my teenage self upside the head, I would." He frowned. "I don't expect you to forgive me, not easily, but…Well, can you?"

Her eyes darkened, and she pulled her hands back to her lap. "You think it's that easy?" she asked.

Gwaine shook his head. "No, no, of course not," he said, trying to keep the hope in his chest alive as she stared at him so coolly. "Obviously, there's more that needs to be said. And done. But I…I really do want to reconcile—"

"And why would I want to reconcile with a liar?" she asked tartly. "One who became the very thing he so devoutly swore he would never be? The thing he most despised." She gestured to his armor. "One of them?"

Gwaine nodded, understanding that fully. He'd called her terrible things when they'd last spoken, words he was ashamed of now, and all on the basis of self-righteous certainty that he would never be a knight.

"I know this looks bad," he said, meeting her gaze. "But it isn't what you think. Arthur isn't like the others."

She snorted, turning her back on him. "I thought they were all the same," she snarled. "Isn't that what you told me?"

"He's different."

"Of course he is. How convenient for you."

"And…" Gwaine pressed his lips together as he considered his next words. "And because I was wrong about one prince, it's possible I may have been wrong about others." He moved closer, reaching to touch her arm. "I may have been wrong about your husband."

As his fingers touched her, she flinched and stood up, turning her back to him.

"Don't," she hissed. "Don't.”

Gwaine drew his hand back. "Please, Clara, I—"

“How can you say that about him? That you were wrong?”

“Because, hard as it may be to believe, I’m not a kid anymore, Clara. What I thought about him when I was a teenager…. You were right, I never gave Thiernan a chance. All I saw was his title. I didn’t listen to you, didn’t read what you wrote about him after you left. But I’m willing to give him that chance now.”

She stiffened. “And…and how do I know you’re not lying to me?”

Gwaine stood. “Because, everything I have ever done, I have never lied to you. I may have changed my mind on some things, but I have never and will never lie to you.”

She sighed heavily, the motion stretching and relaxing the dark red fabric across her back.

“That,” she said finally, “I might believe.”

“Then let me—“

"You weren't wrong about him," she whispered. "About Thiernan."

He frowned at the sudden change in her mood, tilting his head slightly. "What?"

"You and mother never read any of the letters I sent," she continued, her voice shaking now, "did you?"

Gwaine lowered his gaze to the ground.

"The letters," she continued, her voice so low now it was almost inaudible, "in which I begged you to come and get me? To save me from him? Where I begged my brother, my proud, brave brother, to come and rescue his sister from the evil she had fallen into?"

He looked up, eyes widening slightly. "What?"

She was facing him now, moving closer to the wall, leaning against it.

"I wondered," she said, her voice weak. "I wondered how you could have been so cold. But if you never read them—" She looked up at him, and this time there were tears in her eyes. "It makes more sense now."

He just stared at her, unable to move, feeling almost like he couldn't breathe.

"But you can fix that," she said, straightening up again. "You can make up for it, just like you want.” She walked over and took his hands, as he had done to her before. "You can save me now, me and my children."

He blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"You were right about Thiernan. He was what you said he was." She let go of his hands and wrapped her arms around herself. "Crazy. But not just unstable, he was…he is violent and vicious. I learned pretty quickly to accept the beatings, to let him ride his anger out, but when he started to threaten the children…."

"He beat you?" Gwaine repeated softly, his mind reeling, the desire to kill Thiernan immediately coming to the front of his mind.

She swallowed. "I have found ways to keep the children hidden, out of his way. But Gregory is clever—he'll soon understand what I'm doing, what I'm protecting him from, and he'll start trying to intervene. I see it in him." She looked at him. "He's like you. And Thiernan will kill him, I just know it. And until yesterday, I thought there was no hope."

"No hope?" Gwaine said, frowning. "Clara, if he has been beating you, why haven't you just run away? Taken them and run? Especially if Thiernan is missing as everyone says, then—"

"I can't."

"Sure you can. There are places to hide—many of them. I know them well. I could—"

"No," she said. "You don't understand. I can't just run."

“Why not? Is it because your children are nobility? Who cares! We hide you well enough, no one will--”

“It’s not just that! It’s…it’s more than just that.”

"Then explain it to me."

She bit her lip, the look of it so familiar it was like looking in a mirror.

"I have a proposition," she said, "for King Arthur."

He frowned. "A proposition? What has that to do with--"

"Because I can't just leave!" she said quickly, cutting him off. “I can't just go to some village with my children and hide—I won't go back to that life, the life we had before I married Thiernan. I won't let them grow up like that, scorned and debased, to live in squalor after living like royalty. But your Arthur, he could find us someplace to stay, somewhere with servants and a small income." She smiled thinly. "I'm not greedy. I just—"

"You want Arthur to be the one to help you escape, and to hide you?"

She nodded, moving to take his hands again, pulling him closer. "When I saw you, saw how close you were to Camelot's king, I started to think I had a chance. A way to start a new life. You could approach him on our behalf, explain the situation…"

Gwaine shook his head, pulling his hands free. "Clara, no. I’ll help you any way that I can, but I can’t involve Arthur. You know he can't be party to such a thing. If Bayard found out that the King of Camelot helped his daughter-in-law run from his son, and took his grandchildren as well? If that doesn't start a war, I don't know what will. He’s already under suspicion for your husband’s disappearance."

She shook her head, backing away from him. "He might agree," she pressed, "if I had something to trade for it."

Gwaine just shook his head more. "No, nothing is more important to him that preventing a war."

"Even if the information I have could save Camelot from being destroyed?"

He just stared at her. "What?" He felt like he'd been saying that a lot lately.

"I have information about an attack on Camelot," she said. "One the kingdom will not survive, not without forewarning. I can tell your king who is behind it and how it will happen but…." She licked her lips. "Only if he promises to get me and my children out of here, and set up somewhere safe, far away from Thiernan and Mercia."

Gwaine frowned, and snatched at her arm, gripping it tightly. “If you have information that could prevent an attack on Camelot, you need to tell me now.”

She set her jaw stubbornly. “Not until I know my children and I will be safe.”

“And they will be. I promise you,” Gwaine vowed, “I will get you out of here. And I’ll support you, find us a home far from anyone’s eyes. I’ll quit Arthur’s service so that I can help you bring up the children. On that I swear, sister. But you have to tell me what you know.”

“That’s not good enough,” she said, pulling her arm from his grip. “And if you won’t help me….” She lifted her chin. “I will go to the king myself.”

“Clara, no, please, I can protect you. You just need to let me…”

But she was already walking away, heading towards the doors. “Too late,” she snapped, the anger from earlier back. “I should have known better than to look to you for help. How am I supposed to rely on you, put my children’s safety in your hands, after what you did?” She spun around. “I should have known you’d let me down.”

“Clara, please!” He started after her. “I am not letting you down. I can get you and them out of here. Please. I will help you, I just can’t involve—”

“Then I’m on my own,” she hissed. She turned again, walking so fast towards the doors she was almost running. “As I always have been.” She reached the threshold and turned to face him. “And I will rescue myself. I don’t need your pi—”

The doors suddenly burst open, and Clara jumped back with a yelp, just avoiding being hit. Gwaine jogged up to her side, taking her arm protectively as a fully armed Prince Thiernan strode into the room, flanked by a dozen heavily armed mercenaries.

“Thiernan?” Clara gasped. “Where did you--?”

“My love,” the prince said, dark eyes boring into his wife, “I’ve been told you’re talking treason under my roof.”

"What? No, I—"

"Enough!" Thiernan snarled, and Clara instantly backed up, cowering, the image making Gwaine feel sick. But before he could act, he found Thiernan pointing a sword at his throat.

“Hello, brother." The prince sneered, pressing the sword forward and forcing Gwaine back a step. "How very disappointing to see you again. I'd really hoped you were dead.”

Chapter Text

Gwaine had learned a long time ago the necessity of adaptability. The fact that Prince Thiernan was suddenly no longer missing wasn’t about to distract him from protecting his sister from an obvious threat. Once he understood what was happening, he was knocking Thiernan's sword down and pulling his own, taking up position in front of Clara, ready to defend her if he needed to.

And from the looks of things, he’d need to. Thiernan was not a small man—like his father, the prince was tall, a good half a foot taller than Gwaine and Clara both. He was obviously older than Gwaine remembered him as a child—the slicked back blond hair was now loose and silvered with gray, and the thick eyebrows were bushy to the point of ridiculous. But though his blue eyes were more sunken, and his face more lined, he wasn’t ugly—never had been. One thing that was the same was that, unlike his father, he still favored being clean-shaven, his square jaw so sharp it looked like it could cut glass. He lifted it now, thin pale lips curling into a smirk as he looked at the siblings.

“Thiernan,” Clara whispered in clear terror, backing up a step. “You’re supposed to be lying low in the caverns while Arthur was here. I thought—“

“That I wouldn’t find out?” Thiernan turned his attention to Gwaine, and his smirk darkened. “Been a long time, Gwaine. You learn how to use that yet? Last time I saw you, you were still playing with wooden ones.”

Gwaine shifted the metal in his hand. “I might have,” he replied, straightening his shoulders under his red Camelot cape. “Want to try me?”

Thiernan waved a hand. “I would, but I don’t feel like giving lessons at the moment.”

Gwaine smiled at that. “Oh, who knows, it’s always nice to learn a new thing or two.”

“Thiernan,” Clara said, pushing a hand against Gwaine’s arm. “Please, he’s just being Gwaine. He’s as much a child as he ever was. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. You don’t have to—“

“Oh, never fear, my love,” Thiernan said, turning dark eyes to his wife. “I have no intention of harming your brother. Although, you must also know that I can’t let him go.”

“But…But I didn’t tell him—“

“But you were about to. And not just him. You think I don’t know what's going on in my outer battlements?” Thiernan looked over his shoulder. “Hildy?”

Clara’s mouth dropped as the physician was shoved into the room along with the serving girl that had led Gwaine to this room. Both looked mildly ashamed.

“I am sorry, my lady,” Hildy said, lowering her head, “but we had to. You know we did.”

Clara pressed her lips together, disappointment clear on her face. “I thought we agreed—“

“The risk was too great.”

Clara exhaled heavily, and straightened. “Well, it’s too late. King Arthur already knows your plan.“ Gwaine stilled his face so as not to give away her lie. “He’s going to tell your father, and you’re not going to be able to stop him. And Arthur knows Gwaine’s in here. If he doesn’t return, Arthur will come in after him, and he has a good dozen healthy soldiers out there. You may as well just let him go and call off this whole foolish thing.”

“You haven’t told the king anything,” Thiernan said, lowering his voice. “And your brother isn’t leaving.”

“You don’t know me very well,” Gwaine said. “Because I will fight my way out of here. You think your men can stop me?”

“I’m sure they can, but I don’t need to.” He snapped his fingers, and a larger, scar-faced man pushed into the room with a sandy haired little boy in tow, a harsh grip on his arm. Gwaine gasped—the resemblance to their little brother Gaheris was extraordinary. The scarred man swung the boy in front of him and pressed a blade to his throat.

“No!” Clara screamed, lurching forward only to be stopped by Gwaine.

“Don’t!” he begged Theirnan.

“Mother?” Gregory pleaded softly, his eyes wide and streaming tears. “What’s going on?”

“How could you?” Clara shouted. “He’s your son! Your own son!”

“Clearly, Clarissant, fear for your own safety is not enough, you need more motivation to behave.” Thiernan arched an eyebrow at Gwaine. “And as for you…” He smiled. “Even if you don’t particularly care for your family, no true knight would allow the death of a child to be on his head. And that is exactly what will happen unless you do exactly as I say.”

Gwaine swallowed thickly, anger coursing through him as he slowly lowered his sword to the ground.
____________________________________________

Merlin knew something terrible had happened the moment Gwaine walked into the tower room. He had just finished helping Arthur with his armor, to prepare them for the rest of the journey to Bayard’s castle, when the door opened and a stranger walked inside wearing his friend’s face. The only time he had ever seen Gwaine so blank was that time with Lamia, and it had terrified him then. It terrified him even more now.

And then Gwaine asked to be left behind, and Merlin instantly knew it was a lie.

“I know it is not a normal request, Sire,” Gwaine was saying, keeping his tone formal, his back straight as he looked at a point a little over Arthur’s shoulder. “But I would appreciate it if you permitted me to stay here to become better acquainted with my sister.” Merlin saw him glance at Hildy out of the corner of his eye when he finished, and she gave him a sad smile. The tiny snarl Gwaine flashed at her was not lost on Merlin. Two other castle servants were also in the room, and they seemed very intent on the conversation—more than normal. What the hell was going on?

Arthur’s expression next to him was, to put it mildly, confused. Merlin’s gaze narrowed, and Gwaine’s eyes met his. He could almost see the plea in them. But what was he pleading for?

Arthur glanced at Merlin, who lifted his eyebrows but otherwise said nothing, before returning his attention to Gwaine.

“Far be it from me,” the king said slowly, almost cautiously, “to get in the way of family." He frowned, and Gwaine mirrored it. Arthur lowered his eyes. "And I know a little of what it’s like to want to reform one’s relationship with a sister.”

Arthur was taking his formality the wrong way, Merlin realized. He thought it was because Gwaine was trying to protect him from thinking about Morgana. But Merlin was certain that wasn't it.

“You have my permission,” Arthur said, raising his gaze again. “Stay as long as you need. Obviously, we’ll be stopping by here on the way back from Bayard’s court to collect the others we’re leaving behind to heal. I hope you will be able to join us again then.”

Gwaine forced a smile. “Thank you, Sire.”

Arthur frowned again at the “sire,” but didn’t say anything. When Gwaine turned his gaze downwards, Merlin knew he had to say something. He just didn’t know what.

“Your majesty,” he said quietly, “may I have a word?”

Arthur nodded, and the two of them moved to a quiet corner.

“Something is off,” Merlin whispered, once they were out of earshot of Gwaine and the castle servants.

“I noticed, but what?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think we should leave him on his own.”

Arthur frowned, glancing at Gwaine before looking again at Merlin.

“What would you suggest? Stay with him, delay leaving?"

Merlin shook his head. "No. You can’t delay the trip to see Bayard any longer. I know that. But maybe some men?"

Arthur winced slightly. "If I leave men behind, it might look like I don’t trust Gwaine or his sister. Besides which, I'm already down eight men. The whole purpose of this was to offer our help to find Pieter and Thiernan. If I leave more behind, I won’t have as many men to barter with when we do reach Bayard."

Not to mention, Merlin mused, leaving men behind would place Arthur at more risk of being attacked. With two princes kidnapped, Mercia was in a state of unrest; he didn't want Arthur in more danger than he already was.

"You're right," he said. "You need all your men with you."

Arthur was looking at Gwaine again. “Could it just be stress over his relationship with his sister? It may just be that he needs someone to talk to.”

Merlin frowned, not disputing that. He looked at Gwaine again, and was surprised to see how open the man’s face had become, as if he were hoping for something. But while Merlin was many things, a mind reader was not one of them. All he knew for certain was that Gwaine was in trouble and he needed help.

And, if he were being honest, he owed Gwaine more than just leaving a couple of Arthur's knights to back him up. All the times Gwaine had come to his rescue, how could he not return the favor?

“Let me stay,” Merlin said, and Arthur’s expression instantly hardened.

“What?”

“I’m his friend; he can talk to me. And I am also a servant—less noticeable. If there is more to this than the obvious, I can ferret it out. And if there is any danger, I will steal a horse and come find you, to call you back. It’s only two day’s hard ride to Bayard’s castle from here.”

Arthur stared at him a long moment, and Merlin knew it was because Arthur was balancing his need to have Merlin at his side, and Gwaine’s need to have a friend with him.

But Arthur wouldn’t look as vulnerable with one less servant, even if Merlin knew he would be. And, at this stage in the game, appearances were worth more than reality. Besides, with any luck, Merlin and Gwaine could be on their way to join him soon. He hated to leave Arthur on his own, especially with so many dangers out there, and going into Bayard’s court alone, but…he owed Gwaine this.

Finally, Arthur sighed but nodded. “Alright,” he said, “just try to follow as soon as possible.”

Merlin gave a nod, and the two returned to the center of the tower room in which they were having this impromptu meeting.

“Sire?” Gwaine prompted.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t changed my mind,” Arthur said, smiling. “Merlin has just reminded me that someone else also needs to stay behind to keep an eye on the rest of the men. He…” And Arthur hesitated a moment, before sighing and continuing. “He will also be staying behind, to give Hildy a hand.”

Gwaine’s expression fell, and Merlin tried not to frown at Gwaine's reaction.

“That’s not necessary,” the knight said quickly. “Sire, I can—”

“Gwaine,” Arthur said, his tone short. “A word?”

Gwaine grimaced, but he stepped forward so Arthur could speak in his ear. Merlin took a courteous step back, but stayed within hearing.

“Merlin is staying behind because he’s not fully recovered either,” Arthur said quietly, and Merlin frowned slightly at the fact, even though it wasn’t a lie. “He’s still having trouble with his balance, more than usual, and I’d rather he be safe here than out there with me. In addition, he may have a point about what happened all those years ago. While I am certain Bayard would not recognize him…. I admit, it’s probably safer not to bring him. And finally…” He looked at Gwaine out of the corner of his eye. “He said he thought you might need a friend more than I do right now. And I’m inclined to agree with him.”

Gwaine bowed his head, eyes downcast.

“Thank you, Sire. I will do what I can to keep Merlin out of trouble.”

Merlin frowned at the continued formality, but he vowed that he would do whatever he needed to do to keep Gwaine out of trouble.
__________________________________

Gwaine had rarely felt so trapped. Arthur had said that Merlin was his friend. It was precisely because Merlin was his friend that he didn’t want him here, in danger. But he couldn’t say that in the tower, couldn’t even whisper it, or his nephew’s life would have been forfeit.

But now Merlin would expect to hang out with Gwaine and that would put him in the same line of fire as Clara and the children. Elyan and other still healing knights would be safe, so long as he could keep them ignorant of what was happening, which wouldn’t be too difficult with their injuries. They’d expect to be kept separate, away from the central keep. But Merlin would expect to go into the lion’s den with him.

And he had no idea how to stop that from happening.

Still praying for some sort of miracle that would send Merlin away with Arthur, he stood side by side with him as the king and the others rode out. Clarissant stood on Gwaine’s other side, her expression stony. Guards and servants—spies all, Gwaine presumed—backed them up.

“There goes hope,” Clarissant said softly as the red capes disappeared over the ridge on the road. Gwaine gave her a pained look. She matched it with one of her own. “I am so sorry, brother,” she said. “Whatever happened between us, I never meant or wanted—”

“I know,” he said. On his other side, he felt Merlin’s curiosity at overhearing that brief exchange.

“Merlin,” Hildy said cheerfully, tapping his friend’s arm. “Why don’t you come with me to my chambers. I can show you my stores, and we can work out a plan to attend to the rest of your men.”

Merlin smiled and nodded. “Of course, I just want to talk—”

“Go on, Merlin,” Gwaine said. “I’d like a moment with my sister, if you don’t mind.”

Merlin gave him an examining look, but finally nodded. “Sure. I’ll find you later?”

“I’ll find you,” Gwaine promised. “Don’t come looking for me.” Merlin’s gaze narrowed slightly at that, and he stepped close enough to whisper in Gwaine’s ear.

“I know something is wrong. I stayed so I can help.”

Gwaine smiled tightly and whispered in return. “I don’t want you to get involved. Just take care of the others. Promise me?”

Merlin snorted and backed away. Finally, he gave a shrug—the sort of shrug he always gives Arthur when he’s planning something stupid, like spying. Gwaine shook his head, but Merlin just flashed an innocent smile and allowed himself to be led away by Hildy. Gwaine sighed heavily as soon as he was out of sight.

“Hildy will do what she can to protect him and the others,” Clara said, a resigned exhaustion in her tone. “She may have given me up, but she’s not evil. She’ll keep him from finding out what’s really going on if she can.”

“What is going on?” Gwaine demanded then, turning to face her. “I think, at this point, I should probably know.”

Clara nodded. “Follow me.”

Gwaine noticed the other guards were all watching them, hands on their swords. “As if I have a choice,” he muttered.

Feeling a little like a lamb to the slaughter, he followed his sister back through the gates and courtyard, climbing the stairs up to the keep and trying to learn as much about the layout (and potential escape routes) as possible. He wasn’t sure exactly sure how long Thiernan was going to keep him alive, but damned if he wouldn’t fight his way out if he got the chance.

Within moments, they were back in the Great Hall, but this time it was fully occupied by the prince and his mercenaries. Gregory was sitting in one of the window alcoves, legs bent to his chest and head buried in his knees. A little girl was sitting with him, pressed tightly to his side, and Gwaine could only guess that was his four-year-old niece Anne. She glanced at him as he passed by, but she didn’t even seem to see him, too focused on holding onto her older brother. Clarissant had stumbled slightly upon seeing her children in the Hall, but she gripped her hands into fists and continued forward.

Thiernan was sitting at the head of the long table that graced the room, studying a handful of maps, and, as they got closer, he tossed one aside in favor of another. It didn’t take a genius to see they were maps of Camelot – both of the kingdom and of the town. One looked like it was a map of the citadel itself.

So that was it. Thiernan was going to attack Camelot. The threat his sister was going to warn Arthur of was her husband.

To be honest, Gwaine was actually relieved. After fighting off immortal armies and Morgana, a small army of mercenaries led by a nutter like Theirnan was really not much of a threat.

“It’s done,” Clara said softly as she reached her husband’s side. “King Arthur has left.”

“How many did he leave behind, besides this one and the servant?” he asked, not looking up from his study. He shifted the papers to look at another map.

“Only five other men. They have all been moved to one room in the West Tower.”

“Good. Make sure Hildy keeps them there after we leave.”

She said nothing to that. Gwaine considered cutting Thiernan down right now. If he could get her attention, maybe he could signal Clara and the kids to get out of this room before--

“I was angry at first, Gwaine,” Thiernan said suddenly, without preamble, “that my wife would try to take advantage of your reappearance in our lives to effect some sort of deal. As a consequence, I planned to kill you—making it look like an accident, of course, so as not to prematurely alarm your boy-king. But then…” He shrugged and looked up from the map at Gwaine. “I realized that I could use this to my advantage.”

Gwaine frowned, crossing his arms. “And how would you do that, exactly?”

“You’re going to help me.”

Gwaine smirked. “Ah, that might be a problem. I’m not really inclined to help people I’d like to grind into dogmeat.”

Thiernan chuckled. “We’ll see.” Thiernan tapped the map showing the whole of Arthur’s kingdom. “See, I have a plan. While your King Arthur is distracted with my father, I’m going to take Camelot, and you’re going to show me the best way in.”

Gwaine snorted a laugh. “Yeah. That’s happening. You know, you should really think about laying off the mead there. Perhaps think about clearing your head by jumping off a cliff or setting yourself on fire.”

Thiernan just smiled. “Oh, I don’t think it’ll be that hard.”

Gwaine looked at his sister. “Is he serious?”

Clara cast her eyes downward. Thiernan, meanwhile, stood up.

“Perfectly serious,” the prince replied.

“Listen, crackpot, you try, you’re going to fail. Miserably. After what we defeated in the past, I think we can take some pansy-ass prince with delusions of grandeur.”

Thiernan hummed, smiling. “I’m sure. But we’re still going to try, and I’ll stand a better chance with your aid.” Thiernan leaned against the table. “I could use some advice on how to attack Camelot--in particular, the Citadel. Information on weaknesses, areas of vulnerability, and, most importantly, best access to its water supply. You can tell me. You can also tell me how accurate these maps are.”

Gwaine crossed his arms. “I assume, if I say no, you’ll just threaten to kill your children again?”

“Actually--”

“GET AWAY FROM THEM!” Clarissant suddenly screamed, running to the two children sitting in the alcove. A tall figure in a black, hooded cloak was standing a few feet from them, but it backed up when Clarissant dove between it and them. Clara had pulled a dagger from somewhere and was pointing it at the figure. “You are not to touch them, you hear me?”

Thiernan sighed, straightening from his lean. “Peg, do as she says.”

The figure turned to look at them, and Gwaine took an involuntary step back when he saw its face. The tall, thin woman looked a hairsbreadth away from death—her skin mottled and scarred, sores visible on her forehead and neck, and her nose half torn off. Her skin was a sallow green color, like dying algae, with long, dark green hair that hung in limp waves around her face like seaweed. Dark yellowish green eyes glanced off Gwaine to focus on Thiernan with a cold intensity. Her purple upper lip curled in obvious hatred as she looked at the prince.

“As you command, princeling,” she croaked, her voice as coarse as sandpaper, sounding about as respectful as a cat to a rat. With an incline of her head, she backed away to go stand in a corner. The other men in the room gave her a wide berth. Gwaine shuddered slightly when she turned her dead eyes on him again, appraisingly this time—he had absolutely no idea what the creature was and he was fairly certain he didn’t want to know.

Thiernan shook his head, and turned his attention back to Gwaine. “I’m afraid Peg has a thing for children. But, as you can see, I have no intention of letting her hurt mine.”

Peg. What a normal name for a creature so foul. “No?” he challenged.

“Let me explain. What happened before was simply a ruse to force your hand, Gwaine. I would never have hurt my son.”

Gwaine’s eyes narrowed, not believing that for a moment. “You touch them, and I will kill you.”

Thiernan gave a short laugh. “Might be hard to do with all these men around me,” he gestured at the gathered mercenaries.

Gwaine grinned coldly. “Try me.”

Thiernan cocked his head. “So certain you can win?”

Gwaine just shrugged, resting his hand on his sword. “Want to see?”

Thiernan’s laugh dissolved into chuckles, and he gestured towards the doors. “Bring him in.”

Gwaine’s eyes narrowed, hand gripping his sword more tightly.

“Here’s the thing, Gwaine,” Thiernan said. “I’d rather not kill you if I don’t have to. At least, not yet. I really do think you can help me achieve my aims more easily. To that end, you’re going to accompany me on my quest to conquer Camelot, and, on the way, you’ll inform me of the best means to bring it down. Now…” He rested a hand on his hip, as cool as can be. “I’m fully aware that you’re not likely to want to help me once we’re away from here. In fact, you’re likely to try to escape in order to try to ‘rescue’ my wife and children. So, I’m going to need extra leverage over you while on the road.”

Gwaine tried not to react—but he had a horrible feeling he knew where this was going.

“Since you now know I would not hurt my son, I had to go with something else. Or rather, someone else.”

Gwaine felt sick. “You leave him out of this,” he snarled. “He doesn’t know anything.”

Thiernan grinned. “Too late.” He turned to the doors as two guards walked in, hauling Merlin between them, the servant’s eyes wide with confusion. When he saw Thiernan, they widened even further in obvious shock. Thiernan shook his head as if dismayed.

“Foolish boy, he really shouldn’t have asked to stay behind or called you friend in front of my guards.” The prince shrugged. “Because if you don’t help me,” he added, “I’m going to have to kill him as well. And it won't be quickly.”

“Blackguard!” Gwaine shouted, surging forward, his sword in his hand without even thinking. Thiernan backed up, and suddenly there was a wall of men between him and the prince, forcing Gwaine back. But he could beat them – he knew he could. This is what he was made for!

“Gwaine, stop!” Clara shouted from across the room as he clashed swords with these mercenaries. “Look to your friend!”

It was enough of a distraction for one of the mercenaries to force his sword down, but Gwaine would have dropped it anyway when he saw Merlin on his knees, a thin line of blood dripping from the knife at his throat, where the man holding him had already started to cut.

With a frustrated snarl, Gwaine let go the sword and raised his hands. The mercenary closest to him, the same man with a scar down half his face, snatched it up with a merciless grin.

“Take them to the caverns,” Thiernan said then. “And get everything ready. We move out in an hour.”

Chapter Text

Calling them the "caverns" was not a misnomer—they had literally walked into the bowels of the castle, past the dungeons, and then through an open doorway into a tunnel that was more natural than man-made. The mercenary leading them raised his torch high as they entered the cave, but it didn't even begin to cut into the blackness beyond the light's reach—it made the cave seem endless.

When Merlin hesitated, he got a rough shove into the tunnel, and Gwaine quickly inserted himself between his friend and the mercenaries. "Don't," he warned them quietly. It only earned a laugh—and Gwaine started keeping a tally of their faces. The ones he'd make sure to find first once he got his sword back.

As they descended deeper into the cool darkness, the tunnel grew less and less groomed. Soon, they were sliding through gaps and bowing to avoid getting their heads knocked, and passing multiple off-shoots from this main "way" that only tiny children and gnomes could fit into. Gwaine quickly lost any sense of direction. It also forced them to slow down, as it was difficult to see where they were putting their feet. He found himself tiring as well, the dull pain in his ribs growing more intense with each uneven step, and he unwittingly found himself pressing a hand to the bandages under his chainmail. When he caught himself doing it, he stopped—though, by now, the mercenaries probably knew he was injured.

Finally, the tunnel they'd been following turned and seemed to level out, and the air, which had taken on a stale quality, grew fresher. Torches appeared on the walls as the cave widened until it was at least two stories high, lessening the gloom. Oddly, there were faded red and black paintings lining the sides, as if done by children. Gwaine's curiosity was fighting his anger, and he could see that Merlin felt the same, his expression open as they turned another corner.

Suddenly, the walls just fell away. A massive cavern yawned before them, one that the entire main courtyard of Camelot could fit into. Far above their heads, shafts of sunlight cut down from gaps in the earthen ceiling, which allowed them to see just how big it was.

"Wow," Merlin whispered, and Gwaine couldn't disagree. The smooth cavern floor was marred with disused fire pits and numerous pools of stagnant water, giving it both a smoky and a damp quality. Along the cavern's walls, other caves leading into black tunnels could be seen, and there were others that looked like large rooms or alcoves. One of them, a shallow cave with a smaller opening and a flicker of light coming from inside, had been sealed with metal bars.

"That way," the mercenary behind him said, pointing towards the barred room. Naturally.

Merlin fell in by his side, but he kept looking up and around, still awed, and slowing down as a consequence. Gwaine took his arm to keep him moving before the mercenaries could shove him again.

They smelled it before they reached it, a strong, fetid smell, one common to dungeons. Gwaine screwed up his face against the strong odor, while Merlin simply seemed to pale, holding a hand against his nose. It was the smell of human waste—old, human waste. Even the mercenaries seemed affected, one of them pressing a glove against his nose and mouth as he unlocked the door.

The tiny, barred room was nearly pitch black, save for a candle in the corner next to a bedraggled-looking man with his head on his knees. Before Gwaine could see who it was, Merlin was roughly shoved to the ground at the man's feet. Gwaine was also shoved, but he managed to retain his feet, turning a glare on the mercenary who had taken his sword. The man just shrugged, smiled a gap-toothed grin, and shut the door with a clang. Gwaine watched him turn the key and then leave, returning the way they had come. Was that the only way in and out?

"Are you alright?" Merlin called softly behind him. Gwaine turned around, about to answer that his ribs were fine, when he realized Merlin wasn't talking to him. He crossed his arms and frowned at the prisoner that Merlin was now crouching next to. The healer in his friend was trying to get a better look at the clearly ill man.

The prisoner raised his head, revealing a battered face behind stringy hair and a slightly bewildered frown, as if uncertain why someone would be talking to him. He wasn’t old, and beneath the grime, his hair looked full and long, reddish-brown in color, and his face—where it wasn’t bruised—was mostly unlined. He looked at Merlin without recognition, and then looked up at Gwaine. Upon seeing Gwaine's armor and cape, his expression cleared.

"You're from Camelot," he said, his voice hoarse from obvious disuse. Gwaine wondered how long he'd been down here without company.

"We are. And you're…" Gwaine squinted, trying to see his face better in the dim light. Then recognition dawned. "Prince Pieter?" It was more a guess than anything. He'd seen the older prince before, around the same time he'd first seen Thiernan when he was a kid, but the beaten, trembling man sitting in squalor in this cell could have been anyone.

"For now," Pieter replied, his tone resigned. "Until my brother kills me." He frowned at Gwaine. "And you're a knight."

Gwaine nodded, shifting forward so he could crouch down on the prince's other side. "Are you alright?" he asked, repeating Merlin's question.

The prince huffed a sad laugh. "I haven't had anything to eat in nearly five days, other than bugs, and I've been drinking water from that disgusting pool in the corner, so, no." Gwaine looked at where he pointed, to the natural pool in the corner, the water as black as pitch. Considering the filthy floor, it couldn't be all that clean.

Merlin tsked his tongue, and dug into a pouch on his belt. He pulled out some nuts and held them out. "Here."

Pieter stared at them, and then at Merlin. Slowly, with a shaking hand, he took one of the nuts. "Thank you."

"Merlin," he said as Pieter chewed. "I'm Merlin. I'm from Camelot as well."

Pieter grimaced, as if it hurt to think. "Merlin…I know that name…." His eyes widened then, and he looked more appraisingly at him. "You're King Arthur's man?"

Merlin's eyes widened in surprise. "You know my—?"

"I remember you never leave his side," Pieter said, growing suddenly more agitated. He grabbed at Merlin's arm with a trembling hand, scattering some of the nuts. "Then he's here?"

Merlin frowned, glancing at Gwaine before answering. "He was. He's traveled on to see your father. I stayed behind to…I stayed here. He has no idea that we've been captured, or what Thiernan is planning."

Pieter groaned. "Then it's happening. If Arthur is with my father, then Thiernan has the window he needs. He's going to attack Camelot." He buried his head in his hands. "Dear God in Heaven."

Gwaine settled down to sit on the floor next to him. "Your highness," he said, "can you tell us, what exactly is Thiernan's plan? He didn't explain to us."

Pieter frowned slightly, looking at Gwaine. "Then you didn't see her?"

"Her?"

"The water witch." Pieter turned away, the disgust plain in his voice. "His monster."

"Water witch," Merlin repeated, leaning back on his heels. "The woman with the hair like seaweed?"

Pieter nodded.

"What is she?" Merlin asked. “I’ve never seen her like.”

Pieter snorted. "Be glad you don't know. She's a grindylow, a hag that lives in the rivers and lakes in the north. They feed on the innocent—usually small children or young animals—capturing them if they come too close to their feeding grounds."

"It feeds on children?" Gwaine repeated, frowning. "And you allow such creatures to live?"

Pieter gave him a dark look. "I wouldn’t say we 'allow' it." He sneered slightly, looking down at his feet again. "Of course we've tried to kill them. I'm not even sure they can die. They have complete power over water—they can drown whole towns with a thought, or simply poison the only water source so nothing can drink it and survive. And when they're in the water, they're as indestructible as the river or lake itself—have you ever tried stabbing a lake?"

Gwaine twisted his lips in apology. "Then how do you defeat them?"

"The only…" Pieter swallowed, rubbing at his throat as if it were sore. "The only thing you can do is make a deal with them. Which, long ago, is what my ancestors did. We promised Peg that, every seven years, we'd deliver a sacrifice to her—it could be a young animal, like a lamb or a calf—in return for her not attacking anyone that approaches her hunting grounds. She only made the deal because we threatened to dam up the river where she lives, and grindylows don't like change."

“Peg?”

“That’s her name, the one Thiernan captured. Peg. Peg Powler.”

Gwaine glanced at Merlin, but his friend shook his head. He hadn't heard of this water witch before either.

"How did he capture her?" Merlin asked.

Pieter shook his head. "No idea. I didn't even know it was possible. But Thiernan is going to use her to bring down Camelot."

Gwaine frowned. "You know his plan?"

"I don’t know all the details," Pieter said, pressing a hand to his head. "All I know is, he plans to do it from the inside out."

"Inside out?" Merlin repeated.

"I assume Arthur is visiting my father to convince him that he had nothing to do with my and Thiernan's supposed disappearance?" Pieter asked. At Merlin's nod, Pieter frowned. "Thiernan, obviously, is the one who started and spread that rumor. He knew Arthur would want to see my father in person to proclaim his innocence. In fact, he relied on it. With Arthur in Mercia, he's going to sneak into Camelot and then pretend that he and I have been there the whole time, in Arthur's dungeons."

"What? Why?"

"He'll claim Arthur kidnapped us, for ransom."

"But surely you can refute it."

"Alas, me, I will have been too badly beaten by Camelot's guards. My father will be told I perished in the dungeons, so that Thiernan can use my death to make his glorious capturing of Camelot even more righteous."

"He's going to kill you?" Merlin asked softly. "His own brother?"

"That does put my own sibling rivalry into perspective," Gwaine noted weakly. Merlin gave him a grim smile.

Pieter's eyes were on the ground now, his voice almost a monotone as he continued. "His plan is to take the citadel, likely by using Peg to kill everyone inside, and then boldly emerge from Camelot's borders as its new king. And he'll be carrying my dead, emaciated body home," he gestured at his thin body as he spoke, "probably very respectfully. As soon as my father sees it, sees me like this, he will likely have Arthur executed right here in Mercia, along with all his knights."

Merlin had his hand over his mouth now, as if he was going to be sick, and Gwaine couldn't blame him.

"I believe my brother thinks he can leverage his capturing of my father's greatest rival to convince him to make Thiernan the heir presumptive, rather than our oldest brother Aymon. And my father will do it, because Thiernan will be able to reign over both kingdoms as one, and create the greatest kingdom Albion has ever known."

Merlin crossed his arms, looking almost affronted by the idea. "Well, that's not going to happen."

"Believe me, I'm not disagreeing," Pieter replied, coughing. "I'm not really keen about being used as a martyr for my younger brother's ambition."

Gwaine huffed at that. "Right." He stood up suddenly, looking down at them both. "Then I guess we’ll have to stop him."

Merlin stood up as well, smiling slightly. "You have a plan?" he asked hopefully.

"No," he replied, smacking his hands together to rub them and ignoring the way Merlin's smile fell. "But we're going to. Because there's no way in hell I'm letting anyone hurt my friends or my family ever again."

Pieter snorted, the look of it garish under all the grime. "I wish you luck, knight of Camelot. But it's going to take more than determination to get us out of this." He lowered his eyes. "Believe me, I've tried."

Gwaine shrugged, and offered his most confident smile, the kind that usually either won him the pot, or distracted his opponents enough that he could run off with the pot. "I'm sure, but you didn't have us before."

Pieter smirked, and buried his head in his knees. "No. I had ten great and loyal knights, all of whom Peg killed without blinking an eye."

Gwaine froze for a moment, but he didn't drop the smile. That was tragic, yes, but pessimism was not going to get them out of this cell. And he'd promised Arthur he'd look after Merlin.

"Fine. I'll admit I don't know about how we're going to defeat them just yet," Gwaine replied. "But I do know a little something about locks." He lifted his cape and patted around his back, grinning when he found what he was looking for. They hadn't searched them before tossing them down here, and Gwaine had a couple of knives hidden under his chainmail. He pulled one now and pointed it at the candle next to Pieter.

"Merlin," he said, "can you bring that to the door?"

Merlin did as he was asked, picking it up and carrying it over so that Gwaine could get a better look at the lock.

"You know how to pick a lock?" Merlin asked, a tinge of wonder in his voice.

"I've been in a few sticky situations in my life," Gwaine replied. "I may have learned a thing or two." He knelt down at studied the lock—it looked fairly straightforward. To be fair—he'd never actually successfully picked a lock before, but he'd seen it done and, surely, it couldn't be that hard.

He reached up and unbuckled the clasp on his cape, and then ripped the clasp off the fabric. Bending back that metal pin that held it in place, he inserted that into the lock and felt around. He felt something give way, and smiled. Sliding the knife in, he started pushing up the pins. The key they'd used only had two prongs, so it shouldn't be…

He felt something catch, and he grinned. Holding both the knife and clasp pin in place, he simply twisted.

The lock groaned…and then popped.

"Ha!" he crowed, pushing the door open.

"Wow," Merlin said, smiling. "I'm impressed!"

"Naturally," Gwaine grinned, slipping his knife back in the sheath at his back. "I'm an impressive guy." He looked down at the ruined clasp in his other hand, and then shrugged. He'd have to leave the cape behind. Standing up he looked at Pieter and jerked his head towards the door. "Coming?"

Pieter eyes were wide now, the consternation clear on his face. "Where?"

"Somewhere else. Now, come on."

The prince frowned lightly, but he gamely pressed a hand against the wall behind him and levered himself to his feet. When he took a step, though, he nearly fell. Merlin was instantly there, getting a shoulder under the sickly prince's arm. Gwaine walked out into the empty cavern, and, spotting a torch on the wall near the entryway to the castle, went over to grab it.

Brand in hand, he began a quick circle of the room, thrusting the torch into each doorway opening. Some were just rooms, others were caves leading goodness knew where. When he found a cave, he watched the flames, looking to see if they moved. If there was a way out at the end of one of them, the torch would move.

It didn't. It either meant the cave went nowhere, or, more likely, it was sealed by a door at the far end. There was no way of knowing and he didn't know how much time they had to find out.

Swearing softly, he finished his circuit and joined Merlin and Pieter now standing in the middle of the large cavern. Pieter was looking up at the ceiling, at the sunlight streaming through the gaps in the rock with clear longing.

"We may have to go back the way we came," Gwaine said, frowning slightly. "Unless you know another way?" He looked at Pieter hopefully.

Pieter shook his head. "I'm sorry. I don't know this place. My brother brought me here the same way he brought you."

“Then we go the way we came,” Gwaine repeated. He pointed the torch towards the main entrance.

“And if they come from the other direction?” Pieter asked.

“You have a better idea, your highness?”

“Not better, just modified…that you should leave me here.”

Gwaine’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, and he turned to look at the prince. Now that he was standing, Prince Pieter actually looked more like the royalty he was. Like his father and Thiernan, Pieter was tall. Even half bent over with Merlin propping him up, it was clear he was almost as tall as Percival. And despite being starved for days, there was still muscle definition in his arms—he’d be a good fighter if he got his strength back. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He didn’t have his strength.

“We’re not leaving you,” Merlin said, as if the idea were preposterous.

“I’m too weak to run, and would be useless in a fight,” Pieter said. “I’m only a liability right now. You escape, find King Arthur and warn him, and get word to my father of what Thiernan is planning.”

“Even if leaving you were an option,” Gwaine said fiercely, “your father would never believe our word. We need you there.”

“He will. He already suspects. As do my brothers Renaud and Aymon.”

“What?” Merlin said at the same time as Gwaine.

“It's why I came out here, I was—“

“What have we here?” a new voice called out, taunting, and Gwaine spun around to see a handful of mercenaries spill out of the entryway leading to the castle. Swearing in frustration, he pulled his knife again and took a couple steps back as they formed a semi-circle around the escaping prisoners.

“We were thinking about getting some fresh air,” Gwaine replied, spreading his arms out and making sure he was between them and Pieter and Merlin. He flashed the knife, settling it in his grip. “It’s a bit stuffy down here.”

The lead mercenary, the same brutish man with the scar down his face, smirked. “You’re not too bright, are you, knight? In case you hadn’t noticed…” He swept out a hand. “You’re well underground. Only way out is through us.”

“Just the six of you?” Gwaine asked, eyes narrowing as he braced himself. “Doesn’t seem like a fair fight.”

The mercenary laughed. “Is that so?”

“I’m willing to bet my life on it,” Gwaine said, smirking slightly. Broken ribs or no, he had no concerns that he could take these meatheads.

“Gwaine,” Merlin whispered. “Wait, I can hear—“

“What’s going on?” Thiernan’s voice growled out, appearing with even more mercenaries behind the first six. He was fully dressed in armor, complete with a helmet, standing at the doorway like Hades at the gates of hell. His gaze narrowed instantly on spotting Gwaine facing down his mercenaries. “What idiocy is this? I want his arms fettered, now! And get that armor off him!” As he shouted orders, more mercenaries poured into the large cavern, ten…twenty…thirty…forty….

Hell. Even he wasn't that good.

Gwaine took a few steps back, and he heard Merlin and Pieter shuffling backwards with him. When one of the mercenaries approached with some rope to bind him, Gwaine hissed at him, and the mercenary actually hesitated.

“You really have a high opinion of your abilities, don’t you, Sir Gwaine,” Thiernan jeered. “Well, I’ve had just about enough.” He stepped to one side and the black hooded figure stepped out from behind him. “Peg, please show our uppity guest what you can do.”

Gwaine took another step back as the water witch lifted her hood to reveal her sickly features, and knelt to the ground, touching a wet rock. Gwaine shifted his weight, ready to take whatever she might throw at him, when he felt something snaking across the top of his boot. Frowning, he looked down to find water washing up and over his left foot, from a puddle that wasn’t there before. As he watched, the water started swirling around his leg, rising with each passing second, like waves, crashing up his leg.

“What the—?“

“No, don’t!” Merlin shouted. “We’ll not fight you. Don’t do this!”

But it was too late, Gwaine knew. He'd tried to move as soon as he understood what she was doing, but the water anchored him as powerfully as if he were drowning in it. It spilled up over his body, inside his clothes, through the chinks in his chainmail. He heard Merlin shout his name, but what could he do? With no other choice, Gwaine drew in a deep breath and then shut his eyes and mouth as it quickly encased his head. He tried to move his arms to clear it from his face, but he knew…he knew that this was it.

I'm sorry, Merlin. And I'm sorry, Clara.

Vaguely, he heard Merlin still shouting, and perhaps Pieter too, but soon all he could hear was his heart hammering in his chest, and his lungs starting to burn with the need to draw in air. The water tickled at his nose and ears, pressed against his sternum and throat.

Something hit him from behind and he gasped, the reaction involuntary, and water exploded into his mouth, filling it, and he couldn’t stop his lungs from wanting to expand, and he choked, his lungs burning as the water spilled down his throat; how could water burn? Sparks flashed behind his eyes, his ears felt like they were exploding, and, Gods above, the pain as it felt like steel bands were tightening and crushing his chest…can't breathe…can't...

And, just as suddenly, the water was gone, and he was on his knees, choking and spitting and gasping in sweet air. Without really understanding, he felt someone undo his belt and rip off his chainmail, revealing just his leather jerkin underneath. Feeling much lighter now, he experienced a bit of a head rush as his arms were pulled behind him and bound, but all he really knew was that he needed to breathe. He coughed and gagged, and, only when he’d drawn enough clean breaths to clear the black spots from his eyes, did he finally look up.

She was right in front of him, staring into his eyes, and he could see the evil that she was. This creature had wanted to kill him, just because she could.

“Thiernan ordered me to spare you,” she hissed, yellow-green eyes insanely bright. “But next time I will not be so held back, Maiden’s Knight.”

Gwaine frowned as he coughed out, “Maiden’s what?”

“And you’ll find,” she whispered, leaning close enough that he could smell the algae on her breath, “that I have done you a favor. Now you owe me.”

Before he could ask what she was talking about, she was stepping back with a garish smile, replacing the hood over her head and face, hiding it from view once again. He swallowed thickly, his throat sore, and coughed more as she faded into Thiernan’s shadow. The youngest prince of Mercia was giving him a triumphant smile.

Abruptly, he found Merlin next to him, grabbing his shoulder to turn him. “Are you alright?”

Gwaine coughed wetly again, and nodded. He looked at Merlin. “You?”

“You’re the only one she attacked.”

He snorted. “Figures.” And coughed again. It felt like he couldn’t get the water out of his lungs.

Merlin gave a small smile, rubbing his back. “Try not to cough too hard. Ribs, remember?”

Gwaine nodded, and looked up at Thiernan. With Merlin’s help, he got back to his feet and, somehow, managed to hold his head up high even with his hands behind his back. Merlin, apparently, didn’t rate having his hands tied, as Gwaine was obviously the greater threat.

“I hope that lesson was instructive,” Thiernan said darkly. “If you do not cooperate, I will have her drown your little friend there next time. And I won’t tell her to stop.”

Gwaine’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing to the taunt. He simply stared. Thiernan snarled, obviously unhappy that his threats weren’t encouraging the right amount of visible fear from Gwaine.

“Get them moving,” he growled. “I want to be across the border by nightfall.”

He swept past them, and headed towards a different cave entrance about a quarter of the way around the cavern. Peg followed behind, and though the hood was low, Gwaine could feel her eyes on him as she walked by. The other mercenaries ran to some of the side caves, only to reappear after a few moments with weapons and travel gear. Gwaine swore softly—had he known that was there….

“Time to move,” the scarred mercenary said, shoving Gwaine forward. Gwaine sneered at him.

“Are you always going to be the one pushing me?” he asked.

“I volunteered,” the man replied, grinning.

“Why?”

“Because I like teaching pretty boys like you a lesson, to respect you betters.”

“And you’re my better.”

“If the shoe fits….”

“Or the scarred face,” Gwaine snapped. That earned him a very hard shove to the ground, from which Gwaine only recovered because Merlin caught him.

“Scarface has it out for you,” Merlin hissed in his ear.

“Ya think?” Gwaine retorted.

“Try not to antagonize him. Not until you’re better.”

Gwaine grimaced. “Not really in my nature, Merlin.”

“Just try.”

Gwaine sighed, and nodded. Merlin then left him to help Prince Pieter back to his feet. The second son of King Bayard had apparently collapsed to the ground without Merlin’s support. When Merlin returned to him, Pieter smiled weakly in gratitude and let Merlin help him up.

Gwaine sighed again and straightened, considering whether his ribs would allow him to help as well, when he realized something rather extraordinary.

His ribs didn’t hurt. At all. He pressed a hand to his chest and pushed—not even a twinge. His eyes widened, and he looked towards Merlin as if he might have an explanation, but the apprentice healer wasn’t looking at him. And then he remembered what Peg had said. His eyes searched the far edge of the cavern, and found her standing in the shadows in a corner, near where Thiernan had disappeared.

The hood lifted, and pale eyes met his. She smiled thinly and nodded, and then stepped into the cave after Thiernan.

Gwaine swallowed harshly. Had she healed him somehow? How? Why?

He’d have to ask Merlin later, but, for now, it seemed he was as healthy as he ever was. Frowning slightly, he went over to help with Pieter, ducking down to get his shoulder under the prince’s other arm. Merlin frowned at him, probably worried that Gwaine was going to strain his cracked ribs, but Gwaine just ignored him.

For now, he wasn’t looking a gift horse in the mouth, and the three men followed the stream of mercenaries into the dark cave entrance that Thiernan and Peg had left by.

Chapter Text

Merlin knew what tunnel vision was, and he knew he was succumbing to it (literally) as they shuffled forward into the darkness, his sight narrowing to just the backs of the men they were following and the feel of Pieter's arm over his shoulder. His head was throbbing unmercifully, almost as painfully as when he'd first woken up yesterday morning, and what had just happened hadn't helped.

He'd tried to help Gwaine. A little bit of magic to break a hole through the wall of water she'd encased him in, to get him some air, but it had backfired horribly. He'd seen Gwaine stumble forward and open his mouth, sucking in all that water. For a heart-sickening moment, he'd thought he'd killed him…and then Thiernan had ordered Gwaine freed. Merlin almost fainted from relief.

But it also made him wonder at just how outmatched he might be. Her magic was incredible, and, from the way it had reacted to him, seemingly indestructible. Most magic could be attacked, but hers…. How had Pieter put it? You can't stab a river? You can't kill it with magic either, apparently. Though, to be fair, the way he was feeling, he wasn’t sure he could even conjure a light much less kill a monster right now.

He blinked, tripping a little on the rough stone floor, and tried not to give into hopelessness. But, right now, with his head pounding, his body aching, and two badly injured men to look after, it was pretty damned hard not to.

And then the silliest memory came to him—of sitting in a cell with Arthur, terrified, and Arthur completely unconcerned, certain they would escape. He just needed a little of that courage. So, what would Arthur be doing right now? Obviously, first and foremost, the king would be focused on getting his men out of this alive. Since he wasn't here, that focus had to become Merlin's. He had to put all his energy into keeping Gwaine and Prince Pieter alive, no matter what the cost.

He steeled his jaw, and tried to shake off the pessimism cobwebbing his mind. He was going to keep Pieter and Gwaine alive, he was going to stop Thiernan and Peg Powler.

He had to.

There was a shout from above, and the group stopped. Merlin barely managed not to walk into the mercenary in front of him, and looked up, feeling trapped in the black tunnel with this mass of heavily breathing and smelly men. Somewhere in front of them, he could hear some harsh grunting, and then a sharp crack.

Bright light suddenly filled the cave, nearly blinding. It soon resolved itself into daylight, and Merlin could see the outlines of trailing ivy and trees on the far side of the opening, dark green against a bright blue sky.

He hefted Pieter a little higher on his shoulders, feeling the prince trembling through the thin rags covering him. He was probably the only one not overheating in the cramped space. He wished he could see Gwaine, to convince him to not take as much of Pieter’s weight as he was, but Gwaine was ignoring him, focused on what was before them. Merlin frowned, and adjusted the bandage on his head, wincing slightly as he felt it catch on the gash on his head. It felt squishy. Was it bleeding again?

Scarface, as Merlin had dubbed him, gave him a push when the group started to move again, and the three of them followed the crowd out of the cave, past a thick black door that had the appearance of something incredibly ancient. Ducking under a thick overhang of ivy, they were soon out in the sunlight, and it was fairly clear that it was well past mid-day. There wouldn’t be that much light left this day, but it’d be enough to get them to the border, only half a league away.

“Start marching,” Scarface ordered.

With no better recourse at the moment than to do as they were told, Merlin and Gwaine supported Pieter between them and started hiking through the rough brush after the others. Merlin took a look behind him at the hill—just in case they needed a back way into the castle, and watched as three men muscled the ancient wooden door closed and hid it behind the ivy, causing it to vanish. He could tell Gwaine was also looking around, trying to map landscape as well, before Scarface pushed them onwards again.

For the first couple of miles, it wasn’t so bad, mostly downhill and the terrain was fairly smooth. Pieter was growing weaker with each step, though, and his head was dropping to his chest. How he was even walking at all after being starved for days was sort of amazing, but it also couldn’t be endless.

Merlin tried to reconcile this thin, spindly prince with the boisterous man who had visited Camelot with his father and older brother Aymon a few years ago, perhaps a year after Merlin had arrived. Aymon had been aloof and cool—a little like his father—someone who obviously took his position with extreme seriousness. He’d barely spoken to anyone outside of his father’s presence, and Arthur had declared Aymon “unbearably boring.” Prince Pieter, however, had been a whole different matter. He was second-in-line, only a couple years younger than Aymon, but you’d have never known they were related. Where the crown prince had been stern and aloof, Pieter had been funny, bright and mischievous. He’d loved to talk, a little like Gwaine, and had known everyone’s names—even the scullery maids—within a couple of days. Merlin had learned quickly that all the servants apparently loved him, for the Steward had to hold a lottery to decide who would attend him while he was visiting, something which Merlin had watched with some amazement (something about the prince being generous with gifts). To Merlin’s mind, you could learn a lot about a person by how they treated their servants, and the general consensus in the kitchens had been that it was a shame Pieter couldn’t be the crown prince. But then, Merlin wondered, perhaps it was because he wasn’t the crown prince that allowed Pieter to be who he was. Merlin knew better than anyone the heavy weight Arthur had carried as the heir of Camelot, and Aymon had the same look, though he’d obviously been carrying it much longer, being a good ten years older than Arthur at the time. Arthur might have grown that stern and cold if things hadn’t changed.

As for the other two brothers—Princes Renaud and Thiernan—Merlin hadn’t met either until now. And Thiernan was giving Morgana a run for her money as the most evil royal sibling in Albion. Although, if he was being fair, Morgana had some reasons for being the way she was. He couldn’t for the life of him guess what had turned the youngest prince of Mercia crazy, or how he could so easily kill his brother.

As if hearing him, Pieter suddenly slumped completely—whatever resources he’d been tapping into had clearly burned themselves out—and Merlin and Gwaine almost collapsed with him to the fern-covered ground.

“We need to stop,” Merlin said to the mercenaries with them, as he and Gwaine struggled to get Pieter up on his feet again, finding his breeches had gotten snagged on some brambles. “Please. He can’t go on.”

“And not just him,” Gwaine muttered, looking at Merlin worriedly. “Your head is bleeding again.”

Merlin frowned. It had been squishy, and, if he thought about it, he realized he could feel something dripping down his cheek. Similarly, he knew Gwaine’s ribs couldn’t possibly be taking this extra weight well.

“We have to stop,” Merlin said again with greater force, this time directing the words back at Scarface, since he seemed more leaderish. The mercenary just shook his head.

“Not happening. No time.”

“The prince needs rest, water and food,” Merlin insisted. “He’s been subsisting on nothing for days. You can’t expect him to walk the ten miles to the border without having some of that replenished.”

“Then carry him.”

“What, us?” Merlin asked, flabbergasted. “We're hurt; we can’t carry him for ten miles.”

“Not my problem, peon.”

“But he’s your prince!”

“So?” Scarface replied, giving Merlin a dark look. “Some accident of birth means I have to give him some measure of care? Why?”

“Because he’d give it to you,” Merlin replied, ignoring the arched look Gwaine gave him at that, probably not understanding why Merlin was so certain.

“Please. Being Nobility don’t mean they're actually noble.” Scarface sneered. “They’re all the same and none of them are worth the loyalty they’re given. If it were up to me, I’d hang ‘em all.”

Merlin saw Gwaine wince slightly, obviously recognizing the sentiment.

“But you follow Thiernan,” Merlin tried.

“I’m loyal to his purse, boy, not the man and definitely not his title.”

Merlin frowned at that. “But—“

“Enough,” Scarface snapped. “I’m bored. Keep moving.”

Merlin frowned even more deeply, and looked over at Gwaine. Gwaine just shook his head. With a grunt, they lifted Pieter’s limp body higher and continued on down the hill. It was awkward, as Pieter was taller than both of them, but if they canted forward, they could keep his boots from dragging on the ground, much.

But Merlin was growing angrier by the minute—unable to get over the absurdity of carrying Pieter the whole way to Camelot if something didn’t change, and remembering his promise to himself back in the cave. When they reached the bottom of the little depression they’d hiked into, and they reached a thin, trickling stream, Merlin planted his feet, forcing Gwaine to stop as well.

“We’re putting him down, and I’m giving him some water,” he said, jaw set.

He heard Gwaine sigh and mutter, “this isn’t going to end well,” but he stopped anyway, and together they lowered Pieter down. The prince only mumbled slightly, completely insensible. In the sunlight, his bruises were even harsher, all yellow and purple under the grime—one whole side of his face looked like it had been kicked. It was amazing he was even lucid—Merlin had seen blows like that to the head turn a man’s brain into mush. It was also easier to see just how frail the man really was—skin and bones would be an understatement.

“Hey! No stopping!” Scarface barked. Merlin ignored him, and went to get some water from the trickling stream. Scarface followed him and Gwaine stood up, clearly ready to act if Scarface tried to hurt his friend.

“I said, no stopping,” Scarface shouted, grabbing at Merlin’s shirt and causing him to yelp. “Get your ass back—“

Gwaine shoved into him from the side, and Scarface fell into the mud with a wet squelch. That stopped the procession of mercenaries in front of them, and even Thiernan and Peg, at the head of procession on the top of the ridge, came to a stop. Mercenaries jumped on Gwaine, shoving him down into the mud, one of them even sitting on his back to keep him down, while Scarface swore invectives at the top of his voice as he scraped mud off his clothes. Determined to make his point, Merlin ignored it all, soaking his scarf in the thin stream of water and carrying the sodden fabric up to Pieter. He wrung it out over Pieter’s lips for him to swallow. Pieter came to groggily as Merlin then used the scarf to wipe some of the grime off his face.

“You shouldn’t…” Pieter whispered. “…trouble.”

“Shh,” Merlin hissed, standing up to get more water.

Thiernan shouted something from up top the ridge, and Scarface quit cursing. He stomped up the muddy earth and grabbed Merlin’s arm where he was soaking the scarf in the water again, pulling him to his feet.

And then he drove his mailed fist hard into Merlin’s already bruised stomach. For a half second, Merlin couldn’t see or hear, the pain so overwhelming as he fell to his knees, pressing his hands to his abdomen, as if that could somehow alleviate the agony spiking through his entire torso. He didn’t even realize he was hacking until he felt the hand in his hair again, and a hand slammed across his cheek, sending him onto his side. Oddly, it helped him get his breath back, and, with it, his sight and hearing.

He could just make out Gwaine making inarticulate threats from where he was being sat on a few feet away.

“I’ll punch you in the stomach with a knife in my hand next time, boy,” Scarface snarled over Merlin’s back. “You do as you're told.”

Merlin coughed some more, but stubbornness pushed him up onto his elbows. Twisting his head, he glared up at Scarface.

“He…” Merlin coughed again. “He needs water. Please.”

"You just gave him some,” Scarface answer. "Should be enough. And for disobeying me, you get to carry him the rest of the way without the knight’s help.”

“Wait,” Gwaine tried, but his voice was obviously strangled by lack of air, so the word came out sounding more like “wuh.” He was probably having trouble inhaling fully with the behemoth sitting on his back and his mouth half submerged in mud. Merlin frowned—his ribs surely couldn’t take more abuse.

“Fine,” Merlin told Scarface. At least, if he were the only one carrying Pieter, Gwaine's ribs might get a rest. Lifting his chin, he walked over to Pieter and started to pull him up. Scarface grinned, and gestured at the men sitting on Gwaine to let him up. Gwaine spluttered, shaking his head and glaring at the mercenaries.

“Let me help him,” he demanded, pulling with obvious frustration at his bound hands as Merlin struggled to Pieter’s greater bulk over his shoulder without falling over. Merlin’s head was pounding something fierce now, and, combined with the now searing pain in his stomach, he realized he wasn’t going to be able to do this without a little help.

“He has to learn,” Scarface replied coldly. “But I’ll let you carry him by yourself tomorrow, if you like.” He grinned wolfishly, and Gwaine looked like he was resisting the urge to shove him in the mud again.

Hoping their bickering would be enough of a distraction, Merlin whispered a tiny spell under his breath with his eyes closed, and felt Pieter’s weight get instantly lighter. It would have to do. He shifted Pieter a little higher on his shoulders and then started walking before being told, crossing the muddy stream and leaving them behind. He heard someone run up behind him, and then Gwaine was by his side, looking at him with concern.

“Are you--?”

“Fine,” Merlin mumbled.

“I’m beginning to hate that word, friend,” Gwaine replied softly. Merlin didn’t have the energy to disagree.

When they reached the top of the rise, most of the other mercenaries had marched on, but Thiernan and Peg had waited. Despite the magic he’d used to lighten Pieter, Merlin was already beginning to grow unsteady on his feet, and they’d only climbed one rise. Sweat was pouring down his brow, heavier and hotter than before. Or perhaps some of that sweat was blood—he couldn’t tell—he just knew he hurt.

“What happened down there?” Thiernan demanded of Scarface.

“Boy wanted to give your brother some water, and wouldn’t listen when I told him we weren’t stopping.”

“Is that right?” Thiernan said, now staring at Merlin, who was actually having a little trouble seeing clearly. Thiernan stepped closer, pushing Gwaine out of the way when he tried to get between them. Scarface pulled Gwaine back, holding his arms tight.

“Leave him alone, Thiernan!” Gwaine snapped. Thiernan ignored him, and also Merlin, instead poking at his brother’s arm.

“What’s the matter with Pieter?” Thiernan asked. “Why isn’t he walking? You knock him out?” He looked at Scarface. “He the one that pushed you in the stream?”

“No. He collapsed on the way here. He’s sick.”

“He needs food and water,” Gwaine stated, glaring at Thiernan. “Otherwise, he’ll die long before you want him to.”

Thiernan snarled, and lifted up his brother's head, his eyes narrowing as he studied his condition.

"Didn't think he'd be such a weakling. If we have to carry him the whole way, it's going to slow us down."

Gwaine snorted, pulling free of Scarface’s grip. "Probably should have thought of that before you—"

"Shut up," Thiernan said, without much fire, as if it was beneath him to even have to make the order.

"I'm just—"

Thiernan slammed a hand across Gwaine's face, sending him to his knees without his hands to brace himself. "I will not tell you again, boy." Again, it was delivered almost dismissively, and Gwaine snarled. Merlin begged him silently not to make this worse.

"Can you fix him well enough so he can walk on his own?" Thiernan was looking at Peg now. "I've seen you do stuff like that before."

She gave a light shrug. "I may be able accelerate the healing process." She looked at Gwaine, her voice still that horrible husky rasp as she continued. "And I can replenish some of what he's lost, and expel the infection in him." Peg looked at Thiernan again. "With some food, it will get him back on his feet long enough for us to reach Camelot, but it will only be temporary as he is so frail."

Thiernan frowned, as if the very idea of even remotely helping his brother sickened him. Clicking his tongue in disappointment, he nodded. "Needs be," he muttered. He looked at her, gesturing at his brother. "Go on then. Get him on his feet."

She shook her head. "We need to get to water first, something more substantial than a stream. I need its strength."

Thiernan sighed heavily. "There's a river in the valley below us." He pointed at one of the mercenaries. "Go inform the sergeant we're taking a detour into the valley, to get to the river. Tell him I want the quickest route in and out." The mercenary nodded and jogged away to get to the head of the still moving legion.

Merlin looked sharply at Gwaine at the mention of the valley, but Gwaine shook his head imperceptibly. It was the valley of the black dogs. But how likely was it that they would attack a group of mercenaries like Thiernan's hideously ugly band?

"I thought you said to stay out of that valley," Scarface said, as if reading their thoughts. "Said it was dangerous."

"No one will approach us if we're with Peg," Thiernan said, with confidence. “Not even the black dogs are that foolish.” Peg just smiled, all jagged yellow, blue and green teeth, and Merlin had to look away. He'd seen dried out skulls with better teeth.
______________________________________

True to her word, upon reaching the river below—thankfully a different meadow than the one Merlin and Gwaine had been in two nights before—nothing approached them as Peg stepped into the water. Merlin gently lowered the prince to the ground by the river near her, placing Pieter on his back. When he stepped away, his legs shaking with exhaustion and rubbing at burning shoulders, Gwaine moved with him, sticking close to his side.

Peg exhaled happily as the water swirled around her legs, the cape floating around her on the surface as she stepped deeper. She extended her arms out from her sides almost in exultation, and the heavy wool sleeves slipped down to her elbows revealing faintly bluish-green skin lined with stripes of green and yellow. If she wore anything under the cape, it didn't have sleeves.

"Look," Merlin whispered, squinting slightly as he looked at her. Gwaine nodded—he clearly saw them as well. The river witch’s arms were bare except for a pair of silver bands around each wrist—identical bracelets that looked fused to her skin. Merlin could feel the magic in them, the whisper of binding. “Think they're manacles?"

"Well, I can't imagine something like that being into jewelry," Gwaine replied out of the corner of his mouth, looking around at the mercenaries surrounding them to make sure no one was listening. He needn't have worried—they were all staring in wonder at the creature laughing now in the river. She looked on the verge of melting into it and disappearing.

"Peg!" Thiernan barked.

Her laughter stopped abruptly, and she turned around to face the prince. There was nothing but pure hatred in her gaze, eyes black as pitch instead of the yellow-green they were normally. Without a word, she returned to the bank and sat on the edge, keeping one leg in the water as she reached out to Pieter.

The whole valley seemed to hush and lean closer, and even Merlin found himself enraptured as water spilled out from her hand and across Pieter's chest. He could feel the magic ringing out of her like music. It surrounded the prince's torso and rose to his face and into his mouth, similar to what she’d done to Gwaine in the cavern. Pieter spluttered, choking slightly until his body figured it out and started to drink. Peg studied him as she "worked," the water soaking into his filthy clothes, leaving them clean and dry as it disappeared, perhaps being absorbed by the skin underneath, the water falling away from his now clean face at the same time.

When she lifted her hand, Pieter convulsed, arching off the ground, and started to cough violently. Merlin was instantly by his side, rolling him onto his side so that he could spit out water from his mouth. Peg backed off, but not before she ran a hand across Merlin’s cheek and head in passing, and he felt a chill run down his face. When she let go, his headache was completely gone, as well as much of his tiredness. He shuddered slightly, not sure what just happened. Shaking it off, he refocused his attention on Pieter, looking up when he heard Thiernan approach.

"It's done?" Thiernan demanded as Pieter's coughing subsided. Peg inclined her head.

"He will be able to walk. But he should have some sort of sustenance as well."

"Then here," Thiernan said, pulling a piece of dark bread from the pack hanging off his belt. "You, boy! Make him eat this." He tossed it at Merlin, who caught it deftly. Gwaine moved closer to Merlin, to see that Pieter was awake and, as promised, looked almost alert.

“Can you sit up?” Merlin asked. Clearly bewildered, Pieter just nodded as he pushed himself up on shaky arms, pressing a hand on his chest as he did so.

"I almost feel well," the prince wondered, his voice soft for Merlin and Gwaine's ears alone. "My chest is clear and I feel…healthy. How?"

"Not sure," Merlin replied, his voice just as low. "Peg did it."

Pieter grimaced. "Oh. So…is it real? I mean…permanent?"

"I don't know."

"Is he eating?" Thiernan boomed, finally stepping into their little circle. "Because I want him on his feet now."

Pieter looked up at his brother, and it was an expression Merlin knew well. He'd seen it on Arthur's face enough times when he thought about Morgana—somewhere between hurt, anger, disgust…and despair over the loss of something once dear.

"Well?" Thiernan demanded. "Why isn't he standing?" When Merlin didn't immediately reply to the question, Thiernan kicked Merlin harshly, shoving him to the ground with a pained gasp. Gwaine growled but before he could act, Pieter was between Merlin and Thiernan, up on one knee and hands outstretched.

"I'm getting up," Pieter snapped. "I'm getting up. Leave him alone."

"Good," his brother snarled. "Because we have miles to go before I'm letting you sit again. So eat the bread and let's get moving."

Pieter frowned deeply, but he stood, even though his legs clearly shook with the effort after so long without use. But his back was straight, and, once his brother had turned away to shout orders for the mercenaries to move out, Pieter turned and helped Merlin to his feet as well.

"You alright?" Pieter asked. Merlin just gave a tremulous laugh, brushing the dirt from his jacket.

"Yeah. Fine. I'm almost getting used to being one giant bruise." And it wasn’t as much a lie as before. His body still ached unmercifully from all the abuse it had taken in the past three days, but without the headache, he felt almost normal. He pointed towards where Scarface was glaring at them. "We should get moving."
______________________________________

The mercenaries surrounded them as they walked, almost carrying them along as they headed up the tree-covered hill out of the valley. Scarface walked directly behind them, his hand on the knife on his belt as he watched them.

"That our keeper?" Pieter asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"One of them," Merlin replied.

"He win the job in an ugly contest?" Pieter asked. Gwaine snorted a laugh.

Scarface growled, but didn't do anything, and Pieter smirked slightly. He just rose another notch in Gwaine's estimation. Add it to the point he’d earned protecting Merlin earlier, it put Pieter in almost the same camp as Arthur, on the short list of nobles Gwaine didn’t automatically feel contempt for.

"You should eat this," Merlin said, handing Pieter the bread. "Small bites, since you haven't had anything solid in your stomach for a while."

Pieter nodded. "Thank you." He broke off a small piece and chewed it as the walk became more of a climb as they headed back up to the ridge. They weren't following any obvious path, but it hadn't been difficult going along the verdant valley floor. Now, though, they were starting to wind their way up through trees and around rocks, sometimes skirting bits of limestone cliff and it was getting harder to find a clear route. The mercenaries continued to herd them, a bit like being in the middle of a pack of gnats, the nasty creatures constantly swirling around you no matter how much you'd like to throw them off. Gwaine snorted at the image, wanting nothing more than to start swatting.

As he followed Pieter and Merlin scramble up through a gap between two sharp boulders, he shrugged and rolled his shoulders. His shoulders and arms were really bothering him now, tied back like this. It also wasn't helping his balance either, but he wasn't about to let it show if he could help it.

Especially since they probably had a long way to go.

A goat track offered some respite from the uneven climb, and they followed it for a while until it widened enough for them to walk nearly side by side again. Gwaine noticed that he could see the top of the ridge now—about half the mercenaries were already up and over it.

Suddenly, Merlin stumbled hard, like something had tried to take the legs out from under him, nearly going down, but Pieter caught him under the arm, setting him aright. Oddly, though, Merlin didn't look at him. His attention was focused upwards, narrowed as if in pain, and Gwaine found himself following the gaze.

Ahead of them, already on top of the ridge, Peg was staring down at them. If Gwaine didn't know better, he'd swear she was looking directly at Merlin.

"You alright?" Pieter asked, his hand hovering near Merlin's elbow in case he fell again. Merlin shook his head, as if clearing it, and smiled at Pieter.

"Yes. Sorry. Just clumsy."

"That all it was?" Gwaine asked, looking from Merlin to Peg and then back again. Merlin paled slightly at the unspoken question, but nodded.

"Yeah." He walked ahead of them into the lead as the track narrowed to a single file path again.

Gwaine's eyes narrowed, wondering if Merlin had just lied. Peg had touched all three of them, now—he hadn’t missed the touch Peg had given Merlin down at the river. He wondered if she'd left something behind in them—something that gave her some control over them. He wouldn't put it past something like her having that sort of power.

"We need to find a way to kill her," Gwaine muttered softly. Pieter was behind him, and he felt a hand on his shoulder conveying agreement. Merlin just sighed…and stumbled again, this time more obviously out of tiredness. Gwaine's arms strained against his bonds, wanting to help him.

When they finally reached the ridge, and started down the wider path that would lead them to Camelot, the three men returned to walking at each other’s sides. Merlin stumbled for the third time, this time on an exposed root, and he was rubbing at his belly where Scarface had punched him. Thiernan’s kick probably hadn’t helped. Gwaine winced as Merlin hacked an ugly cough and cleared his throat.

The noise startled a rabbit out of a burrow, and it dashed across the trail, startling them to a stop. Merlin chuckled lightly, grinning at Gwaine, but then Scarface shoved at him from behind and the grin vanished.

Having eaten about half of the bread, Pieter handed it back to Merlin. "You have the rest. You look like you could use it."

"I'm fine," Merlin promised, waving it off as he scrambled over a boulder. "That's for you."

"I'd take it as a favor, please," Pieter said, climbing over the same boulder. "And also some for…" He frowned, glancing at Gwaine. "Sorry, what was your name again?"

"Gwaine."

"Sir Gwaine," Pieter nodded.

"Gwaine's fine," he said.

Pieter smiled lightly. "Gwaine, then," he said, as if Gwaine had just done him a kindness. He held the bread out to Merlin again, since Gwaine obviously couldn't take it. "Please, Merlin. The two of you need to eat as much as I do."

Merlin sighed, and held out his hand for the bread. When Pieter grinned and handed it over, Merlin proceeded to put it into the pouch on his belt. Pieter's smile fell.

"But—"

"Later," Merlin replied tiredly, rubbing at his head. "We've a long way to go."

Pieter grimaced. "Merlin…"

"I'm fine."

“No, I…I was wondering something.” Pieter frowned. "Did my brother do that?" he asked softly, gesturing at Merlin's head. Merlin reached up and lightly touched the bandage that was still there, as if he'd forgotten about it. Gwaine noticed it was still spotted with blood but it was no longer leaking, and it didn't seem to have gotten worse, thankfully.

"No, this was…." Merlin blinked, as if trying to remember. "This was from before."

"We were attacked before we reached the castle," Gwaine supplied. "Merlin was hurt, as was I. It's why were stayed behind while Arthur continued on to see your father. To recuperate."

Pieter's expression darkened at that. "Ah. I see. And, instead, you got caught up in my brother's mad scheme."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault."

Pieter grimaced, but didn't reply to that.

"Hell," Merlin muttered, and Gwaine realized he was pressing down on the bandage. Frowning deeply, Merlin reached under his mop of hair and found the end of the cloth holding it in place.

"What are you doing?" Gwaine said. "You need to leave that be."

"No, I…I don't think I do." Hildy had only wrapped the cloth around once, so it was easy to undo, and Merlin quickly released the bandage off his head. Blood had dried on his forehead, but the skin underneath…was unmarked.

"It's gone, isn't it?" Merlin asked softly, gingerly touching where the gash had been.

"Not even a scar," Gwaine replied in wonder. "It must have been when she touched you by the stream."

“I don’t have a headache anymore either. My head feels perfectly clear.”

“She also fixed by ribs,” Gwaine whispered, “back in the caverns.” Merlin gave him a surprised look, and Gwaine just nodded.

"Why?" Pieter asked, keeping his voice low, glancing over his shoulder at Scarface, who was far enough back that he didn't seem to be listening. "Why would she do that?"

Merlin's frown turned dark, and he looked ahead, though none of them could see Peg Powler at the moment.

"Who'll bet me that we don't want to find out?" Gwaine asked, flashing a smile.

"No bet," Merlin muttered.
______________________________________

Gwaine frowned as he glimpsed the turrets of Lord Corin's castle in the distance, the gray stone brightly lit in the wake of the setting sun. They were skirting through a thick forest to its east, traveling south along the river that he knew would eventually lead them all the way to Camelot. Corin Castle, and this river, marked the border.

Despite whatever "healing" Peg had performed, they were all exhausted from the long trek, and, if they didn't do something soon, in two days they'd be in the shadow of Camelot's turrets instead of Corin's. Gwaine could barely feel his arms, his fingers so numb he wasn't even sure they were there anymore. He was tripping as much as Merlin, and Pieter had been keeping a hand wrapped around his arm for the last hour or so. At some point, Gwaine had lost the will to even be proud and reject the prince's help.

So when the stumbled up to the top of a hill, through a gap between thick rhododendron bushes that towered well over their heads, he was unbelievably grateful to see that the mercenaries were using the sheltered, hidden copse to set up camp.

"Thiernan!" Pieter shouted angrily, and, oh yeah, he was feeling better, Gwaine realized, if he had his royal attitude back. Thiernan gave a heavy sigh, and turned to face his brother as Pieter strode towards him, still carting Gwaine in tow. Merlin kept up, jogging a little.

"Something you need, brother?" Thiernan asked, not hiding his condescension.

"Release the knight's bounds. He will not fight you this night."

Thiernan smiled thinly. "And you know this because…?"

"I make the promise on his behalf. You have my word on it."

"Um…" Gwaine said, frowning. "I don't—"

"Your word?" Thiernan grinned. "Well, isn't that sweet." He looked at Peg, standing coolly by his side. "My brother actually believes in that sort of thing. It's somewhat sickening."

She said nothing, her yellow eyes focused instead on Merlin. Gwaine shifted to block her sight of this friend. Merlin huffed.

"Please," Pieter said then. "He needs to eat and relieve himself. Do not demean him by having others do it for him." Gwaine winced slightly at the words, flushing slightly.

"My lord," he said to Pieter, "Don't bother. I'll be fi—"

"And how will you make him behave?" Thiernan asked his brother.

"He'll give is word. He is a knight. He will keep it."

Despite his exhaustion, Gwaine was getting a little tired of being spoken of as if he wasn't there. "Excuse me, your Highness and Lowness, but—"

Thiernan grinned and looked at Gwaine. "Will you? Will you give your word to, what was that, 'your Lowness?'"

Gwaine sneered. "Not on your life, you sick, homicidal piece of—"

"Sir Gwaine!" Pieter hissed, gripping his arm tighter. "A moment please, brother," he begged, and hauled Gwaine back a couple of steps. Merlin moved with them.

"While I don't doubt your stubbornness, sir knight," Pieter whispered, "you cannot hope to defeat Thiernan's whole army and Peg Powler tonight. You need your strength back, and I know your arms are hurting right now. A few hours relief will help. And…" His gaze was earnest. "…I have a feeling they will use Merlin against both of us tonight. You'll be in a better place to help me defend him, unfettered."

"I don't need defending," Merlin whispered, clearly affronted. "I'm not a girl. I'll be fine."

Gwaine glanced at Merlin, saw the lines of dirt and exhaustion on his face, the dried blood still on his face despite the lack of a wound. He also saw the purpling bruises visible beneath his loose shirt collar, where his scarf normally was. While Peg had healed his head, she'd obviously not healed the rest of him, and Gwaine had seen how stiffly Merlin had walked the last few miles to this place.

As much as he hated it, the prince was right. He sighed and nodded at Pieter. The prince smiled, clapping him on his shoulder, and turned them back towards where Thiernan was watching them with a tiny smile.

"You have my word," Gwaine said, scowling deeply. "I will behave this night."

Thiernan nodded. "How sweet." He grinned. "But I don't think so. Ghuron!"

Scarface stepped forward.

"Ten lashes to my brother for his impertinence. Against that tree over there should be fine."

Merlin gasped and Pieter visibly paled. Ghuron grabbed the frail man's arm and pulled, dragging Pieter away even as the prince tried to keep his chin raised, staring defiantly at his brother. Gwaine tried to stop them, but it only took a hard shove from Scarface to land him on his rear. The sick smile he wore as he continued to drag Pieter away only made the scarred skin more ghastly.

"Don't do this!" Merlin shouted, stepping in front of Gwaine. "He was only—"

"As for you," Thiernan said, "I think it's about time someone taught you your place, boy. Grab him!"

"What?" Gwaine snapped, scrambling up to his feet as three mercenaries grabbed Merlin and shoved him to his knees. "What are you doing?"

"You want to stop it?" Thiernan snarled, turning his bleak gaze on Gwaine. "Then start earning your keep, Gwaine. I brought you along because I wanted information on Camelot. Are you willing to give it?"

Gwaine opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He couldn't betray Camelot. He couldn't…

"Do it," Theirnan snapped. The first hit cracked across Merlin's face like a whip, and Merlin gasped in pain, reaching up to touch his cheekbone. They hit him again before he could recover, and then they were beating on him, worse than any beating Gwaine had ever seen. Merlin tried to fight back as they punched and kicked, he even managed to get in a good hit or two, but one of them slammed a gauntleted fist across the back of his head, and he went down, sprawling across the dirt, blood spurting from his lips and nose.

"Stop! Leave him alone!" Gwaine yelled, moving to intervene, only to feel a grip of iron on his arm. Peg held him tight, her hand as unyielding as a rock. No matter how hard he tugged, she was stronger. She didn't even look like she was trying very hard to hold him.

They were kicking Merlin now, and his friend tried to curl in on himself. Then one of them caught his arm with a visible crack and he howled, gripping the now obviously broken arm to his chest. Gwaine shouted for them to stop as they continued to beat him, twisting desperately in Peg's grip.

Suddenly, the crack of a lash echoed over the clearing, and he saw a shirtless Pieter slump against a tree, the first red welt appearing on his pale, bone thin back. Horribly, it was already marked with scarred over welts—apparently this wasn't the first time Thiernan had his brother whipped.

"Stop this!" Gwaine yelled again, looking at Thiernan. "Enough, please!"

"You'll tell me what I want to know?"

"Please, you can't—"

"Kill him," Thiernan snapped, pointing at Merlin, who was now completely out cold, a crumpled, bloody mess. One of the mercenaries pulled out a dagger from his belt and raised it over Merlin's back.

"NO!" Gwaine yelled. "Stop! Yes! Fine! I'll tell you what you need to know! Anything! Please! Just stop!"

Thiernan held up a hand to the man with the dagger. "About time," Thiernan said coolly. "They're rolling the maps out in my tent as we speak. You will tell me the best way to enter Camelot unobserved, and I want to know where all the main water sources are."

Gwaine could feel the tear run down his flaming face, his jaw trembling with sheer rage as he looked at Merlin's broken body on the ground. In the background, Pieter gasped as another lash sliced at his back. Gwaine looked over--five welts were already bleeding down the prince’s back.

"Him, too. Stop the lashes," he choked.

"Not part of the deal, I'm afraid," Thiernan said. "You have no say over how I deal with my brother."

Gwaine shook, and he felt the blood rush painfully into his still bound hands as Peg suddenly released her hold. She gave him a knowing look and stepped away. She'd loosened the bonds—not enough to free him, but enough to get the movement back in his hands and fingers.

"Peg," Thiernan said then. "Take the serving boy down to the river and put him back together. If my brother-in-law here needs more incentive, we may need to repeat this lesson tomorrow. I wonder…" He smiled at Gwaine. "How often can I break your serving boy, do you think, before he loses his mind?"

Gwaine's shaking increased—he had never in his life felt hatred like this. Not even against King Caerleon. He set his jaw. He'd find a way to kill this madman. He would.

Peg walked over to Merlin and, with one hand, pulled him up and over her shoulder, like she was picking up an empty shopping basket. She looked at Gwaine, gave a nod, and walked away, Merlin flopping against her back like a broken puppet. The mercenaries grinned, one of them licking the blood off his knuckles as he grinned at Gwaine.

"Shall we?" Thiernan asked, smiling at Gwaine and indicating the tent the mercenaries had set up.

Chapter Text

Merlin opened his eyes slowly, his entire body trembling and in pain. He felt the water lapping over him, the scent of it clean and wonderful, taking away his aches. He could hear her humming tunelessly to one side, and after blinking a few times to clear his vision, he turned his head to look at her.

Peg was sitting by the river, one leg immersed, and her hand on Merlin’s shin. Water was draining off him. Apparently, she’d felt like she’d done her job. And he did feel better.

Can you hear me, Warlock?

Merlin flinched, eyes widening.

I tried talking to you before, earlier today, but you didn’t let me in.

So that’s what that was. He had felt something cold push at his mind a couple of times, but he’d shoved it away before it could get in. The first time, they’d still been in the valley where she’d healed Pieter, and he’d almost fallen on his face at the shock of it. Thankfully, Gwaine had accepted his lie that it hadn’t been Peg. He’d almost convinced himself that it wasn’t.

But it was sort of ridiculous to believe that now. And she had him at her mercy.

Yes. I can hear you.

She smiled, that horrible, hideous smile.

Good. Because I cannot speak my mind out loud, in case he hears. And he can hear everything I say while I wear these manacles.

Merlin lifted his eyebrows. They’d been right—they were manacles. Those are what bind you to him?

Yes. And once on, only a powerful sorcerer or, I suppose, a warlock, can remove them. Which you are.

Merlin swallowed. How do you know?

Simple. I knew someone had magic, when something tried to stop me from drowning your friend in the caverns—which failed miserably, as you know—but I wasn’t sure if it was you or the knight, which is why I healed you both. Now that I know you can hear me, and talk to me, I know it’s you.

Merlin frowned. So much for that secret.

Peg’s face darkened. Do not fear. I will not tell anyone, provided you accept the deal I am going to make you.

Merlin’s heart sunk. He was beginning to hate the word “deal.”
____________________________________________

“Gwaine.” Someone was shaking him. “Gwaine, wake up.”

He groaned softly, slapping the shaking hands away. They just smacked back and suddenly there was a rough, calloused hand across his mouth, pressing down hard. Gwaine’s eyes snapped open; he tried to grab at the arm, only remembering belatedly that his arms were bound. He stopped struggling when the dark blue shadow leaning over him resolved itself into Merlin, staring down at him with worried eyes. Beyond him, he could see the night sky, the waning moon casting everything in a pale blue light.

“Merlin?”

"Shh," he hissed, voice barely audible—he could barely hear it above the crickets. “Tip up so I can get to your hands.” Gwaine frowned, but did as he was told. Merlin flashed a dagger—stolen from one of the mercenaries, obviously—and sawed through his bonds. Gwaine glanced around at the sleeping mercenaries—thankfully none stirred.

But he saw something else even more worrying—Peg leaning over Pieter with a dagger of her own.

"Merlin!" he whispered urgently, snatching the dagger from Merlin’s hand to throw at the witch. Merlin grabbed his arm to still it. His friend shook his head, as if to indicate that Peg was helping them.

Gwaine's face darkened, and he looked past Merlin at the creature. She returned his gaze, her lank hair falling around her ghastly face like wet seaweed, the pale irises searching. There was no trust in that gaze. There wasn't even concern or any other human looking emotion.

Warning bells clanged even louder in his mind. “Merlin…”

“No choice,” Merlin whispered, tugging at Gwaine’s arm, to get him to his feet. "Come on," he said. “We need to help Pieter.”

Gwaine could see that Peg had backed away once the prince was freed. He kept his eyes on her as he and Merlin crept over to help the groggy prince to his feet. His frown deepened when the mercenary she slithered next to didn't move, despite all the rustling they were making—he saw why when he looked at the man's hand by the edge of her cape. It was shriveled. Desiccated. Ugh.

“What’s happening?” Pieter asked dazedly, still obviously hurting from the lashes earlier. The thin shirt he had been dressed in was sticking to his back, dried blood stains all down the pale fabric.

“Shh,” Merlin whispered at him. “Put your arms around our shoulders.”

Pieter frowned, but did as he was told, his limbs shaking badly as they pulled him up, heat rolling off him in waves. Thiernan had allowed his brother some soup last night, but he was still quickly sliding back into the sickly man they'd met before Peg had helped him yesterday. He only seemed to notice Peg once they got him on his feet, tensing at her judging gaze.

“Merlin,” he whispered, his voice trembling as much as his body. “No, she—”

“I know,” Merlin hissed. “Later.”

Pieter frowned deeply, but lowered his head. Gwaine mirrored the expression—he agreed with Pieter’s lack of enthusiasm. He could only hope Merlin knew what he was doing.

Peg said nothing throughout all this, just crooked a bony finger at them and crept away from the main camp. It wasn't the direction of either Camelot or Mercia, and Gwaine frowned. Merlin seemed to accept it, though, and they followed, worming their way through the sleeping men and towards the thick rhododendron bushes marking the edge.

The ground was springy under foot for now, granting them some luck, but soon they’d head more downhill, and there’d be roots to trip on and twigs to snap. Trying not to think about that too much, Gwaine forced himself to only focus on the immediate—keeping Pieter’s feet under him and getting as far from Thiernan as possible. He had to force down his natural desire to just run, even though it flared with each rustled leaf or skitter of rocks as they made their way down the hillock the camp was settled on.

Once they near the bushes and finally out of hearing, Gwaine whispered, "Where are we going?"

"Down to the river," Merlin replied, just as quietly. "Peg says she can get us away with the water’s help."

Gwaine grunted slightly, certain there was more to what she wanted than just getting them away.

And then, gah…he saw them. The two guards that had been on watch were lying by the edge of the rhododendron bushes—their mottled, pale bodies as bloated as if they'd been pulled from the bottom of a deep sea. No question who had killed them. Peg knelt next to one, pulled out his sword, and held it out to Gwaine. Feeling sick to his stomach, he took the weapon. She flashed a cold, knowing smile, and continued to lead the way through the bushes.

"We're going to regret this," Gwaine hissed as they wound their way out of the bushes, the putrid smell of the dead bodies combining with the flowers overwhelming his senses, cloying. “We can’t trust her.”

“You think I don't know that?” Merlin replied, sounding a little insulted. “But she is the only way that we are going to get away from here and warn Arthur.”

Gwaine just frowned, and he felt Pieter shaking his head. Free of the bushes, they continued to move cautiously down the hill, slow enough to avoid being heard, but trying to be a little quicker now that they had some measure of protection between them and the camp. At least no one would see them now, if they woke. Peg was moving much faster than they, her impatience clear on her face whenever she stopped to wait for them.

“I don't understand,” Pieter whispered, his expression pained as they skidded down a sharp, leafy incline, the motion obviously twisting his ripped up back. "Why is she helping us?" He turned his head to look at Merlin. “What did you promise her?”

Merlin licked his lips. "I…I may have promised to free her."

Gwaine's brow furrowed, and Pieter sighed heavily, his muscles tensing beneath Gwaine's hold.

"You didn't,” Gwaine said.

"I had no choice. We weren't getting out of there on our own, and with Peg under his control, Theirnan could terrorize all of Albion, not just Camelot." They shifted around some thick brambles, feet leaving deep furrows in the muddy earth. "Taking her with us takes away his advantage."

"But with no one in control of Peg, she could do that anyway,” Gwaine warned, keeping his voice low now so she couldn't overhear.

“Merlin, you can't.” Pieter shuddered, whether from fear or the fever in him, Gwaine wasn’t sure. “She’s a monster.”

"Not all monsters are evil," Merlin whispered, shifting Pieter higher on his shoulder as they slid and stumbled further down the hill. "But, even if you’re right, I couldn’t let Thiernan use her to destroy Camelot."

“But—”

“It’s too late to argue,” Merlin snapped. “It’s done.”

Gwaine sighed, and he felt Pieter shake his head. Merlin was right. It was too late now. Merlin was also right that they’d had to get out of there, and they’d had to get Peg out from under Thiernan. But doing it this way, letting her go free…. Gwaine just had to have faith that, somehow, they’d be able to track her down and stop her before she took her revenge out on any innocent people.

None of them spoke again as they skidded the rest of the way down the hill, all their attention now on staying upright with Pieter’s weight between them. Every step downwards had to tear at the prince’s still healing back—Gwaine could feel Pieter’s muscles in his shoulders and sides trembling with exertion. He could also feel the heat rising off the prince—it was like sitting too close to the fire, but being unable to pull away. Even in the cool early morning air, Gwaine was sweating heavily from all this work. He didn't want to think about how Pieter must be feeling.

The river was at the bottom—they just had to make it there.

"You should have left me," Pieter whispered suddenly, his voice choked with strain. “This is taking too long. I’m slowing us down too much. If Thiernan wakes up before we’re away, he’ll just order her to stop.”

Merlin pressed his lips together, apparently not about to dignify that with an answer.

Pieter tried again. "We're not going to make it. Just leave me here and get away."

“Hush,” Merlin hissed.

“Merlin, I'm not worth either of your lives, you—"

“Peg,” Merlin said, and the river witch stopped, looking over her shoulder at him, her eyebrows raised. “Can you heal him? We can move faster if you do.”

For a moment, anger filled her features as if the idea repulsed her, but then, just as quickly, she nodded. She stalked up to them and, though Pieter reared back his head, she touched his face and water spilled out of her hand and into his mouth. It wasn’t a lot, but, then, Gwaine supposed, she wasn’t standing in a river—which obviously made her weaker. Nonetheless, when she pulled her hand back, Gwaine could feel the difference in Pieter. The trembling was gone and the prince wasn’t imitating an oven any longer.

“Thanks,” Pieter said, frowning slightly as he pulled his arms free from Merlin and Gwaine’s shoulders. He still looked like a strong wind might blow him over, but at least he could stand on his own.

“Thank me by getting a move on,” Merlin snapped. “And not another word about not coming with us.”

Pieter grimaced, but, with his strength back, they were able to start running down the hill, and in moments, they were on the bank, breathing hard.

“She won’t be able to take us too far, because the manacles force her to stay within a certain radius of Thiernan,” Merlin noted as Peg stepped into the river, her body relaxing immediately. “She also can’t talk to us until she’s free, or he'll hear.” He glanced at Pieter. "I think he can control her, even from miles away."

“Wait…if she can’t talk,” Gwaine said, looking at Merlin as he tucked the sword into his belt. He handed Merlin the dagger he'd stolen from him up at the camp. “Then how did she tell you all this?”

“When she was healing me,” Merlin said, his eyes dark as he put the dagger in his belt. “She…spoke inside my head.”

Gwaine shuddered. “Oh, man. And here I didn't think she could get any creepier."

“Shh,” Peg said suddenly. She crooked another finger at then, and then pointed at the river. Gwaine knew he wasn’t the only one who hesitated, looking into the black water with clear distrust.

Merlin stepped in first, and Gwaine couldn’t not follow. Wherever his friend went…. Pieter stepped in last, and the moment he had one leg in the water, it suddenly surged up around them in a massive tidal wave, immediately drowning their screams before they could make a sound.
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When he was a kid, Merlin had once jumped into a pool from a cliff-face on a dare. The sensation of crashing into the water and feeling it rush past his head had been both terrifying and exhilarating, and he’d loved it. But then he'd been able to surge back up to the water's surface in less than a second, to pull in great lungfuls of air, to grin and laugh with his friends. This was that…without being able to get back to the surface, making it all the terrifying without the exhilarating.

He lost all sense of time and place, the water rushing over and around him, rolling him over and over. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn’t even see, his eyes scrunched tight as he tried not to just give in to the terror of this being completely out of his control.

And then, suddenly, he was thrown out of the river onto a rocky beach, the sharp stones bruising and cutting as he rolled to a stop about ten feet from the water's edge.

Shaking, his arms and legs numb from cold and his ears feeling like they were about to fall off, he looked up at the still star-filled sky overhead, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Then something grabbed his arm and roughly pulled him upright, standing him on his still trembling legs, and also catching him when he almost fell forward.

Her grip was like steel, hard and unyielding. He realized that, if she'd wanted to, she could have snapped him in half. Or the others. Panic flared in his chest and he turned to make sure Pieter and Gwaine were still both with him….They were. Looking like a wet cat, Gwaine was on his back, out cold, a few feet away, his soaking wet hair covering most of his face. Pieter was further away still, on an earthen bank, face down and arms splayed.

"You hurt them," Merlin coughed, looking at the creature holding his arm tightly.

They're alive, she said, her voice echoing in his mind. As you asked. And unconscious—something you also asked for, so that they would not see you perform magic. I have done what I promised. Now it's your turn. Thiernan is awake, he knows something is wrong—we have moments only. You must do this now.

She let go of his arm and stepped back. Unclasping her cloak, she let it fall off her shoulders, revealing a nearly naked, mottled and scarred body underneath, covered only by a short, thin shift of pale material. She held her arms out towards him, the manacles shimmering in the pale light.

Merlin drew in a steadying breath, and touched his hands to the manacles.

"Onspenaþ þá handcopsas," he said, hoping the simple spell would be enough. He felt the magic surge through him, and the manacles loosened, but did not come off. Frowning, he tried again, enunciating the words more carefully. "Onspenaþ þá handcopsas." This time, they loosened further, but the clasp still didn't release.

"Try something else," the witch snapped. "Hurry."

He sucked in a breath, and wrapped his hands around the metal. "Unspanne þás hægtes." He felt it this time, the fire under his hands, the metal fighting against the magic binding the manacles to the witch, but he held on, feeling the magic surging inside him. "Onspenaþ þá handcopsas! Unspanne þás hægtes! Áhredde Peg Powler!"

The magic exploded out of him like a lighting crack, a burst of energy so powerful it threw him backwards, and for a moment, he felt weightless, spinning in the air like a leaf. He thought he heard her screeching in pain, but then he hit the rocks hard, slamming the air out of his lungs, and any thoughts flew out of his head as he bounced and skidded, the sharp rocks cutting into him as if he were made of paper.

When he finally stopped, everything ached and burned, and he could smell something burning. His hands felt like they were on fire. Shakily, he brought them to his face, expecting to see nothing but blackened, bleeding husks…but they were fine. Pale and shaking, but not a mark on them. Blinking, he realized he could hear laughter…horrible, cackling laughter.

Sitting up, every muscle protesting, he turned towards the sound…and tried not to freak out.

She was massive, ten feet tall at least, standing in the river, arms outstretched, fingers extending outwards like thin tentacles. Her head was thrown back, and she was laughing, the sound cutting through him like a drum.

Shakily, he got to his knees and finally his feet. He saw the manacles were still nearby, but they were twisted, charred ruins. His heart sank—he hated the idea of them, but he had also foolishly hoped that, if he kept them, perhaps he could use them on Peg himself, force her to behave. Now, without them, he had no idea how he could possibly stop her.

It was then he realized she was no longer laughing.

She was staring right at him.

"You kept your word," she said, stepping back onto the shore, returning to a normal size as she did so.

"I did," he said, taking an involuntary step back. "And you promised me that you would leave this place, return to where you came from."

She smiled, and slid forward across the rocky shore like she was sliding on a piece of ice. When she stopped, she was standing right in front of him.

"I did," she said. "But I lied."

Before he could move, she'd grabbed his neck in her fist and started to squeeze. He scrabbled at her hand, but it was like trying to bend metal. She'd cut off his voice, his ability to spout spells. He felt his magic surge inside him, fighting against her hold, and, from the frown on her face, he knew it was the only thing preventing her from just crushing his neck.

"You're too dangerous to keep alive," she said, tightening her grip against his magic, and he could feel the bones in his neck on the verge of snapping. "I'm going to ravage this land, starting with the peccant slime who dared bind me, and you cannot be allowed to stop me."

Black spots filled his vision, and he felt his magic flagging as he weakened from lack of air. He dug his nails into her wrist, but it was like pressing them into a sponge—it just yielded without substance.

"You can't win this fight," she whispered as his hands lost their grip. "And when they see your dead body, they'll know they won't be able to stop me either." His arms fell by his sides, as if boneless, and her lips peeled back from her green teeth in a smile. "Mercia is mine to destroy," she hissed.

Merlin's legs gave way at the last, and his eyes rolled back in his head…

Suddenly, she jerked and let go, and he fell to the ground in a heap, choking and gasping.

"Fool!" she snapped, and Merlin heard Gwaine grunt in pain. Blinking away the spots in his eyes, Merlin could just make out Gwaine standing a few feet away, holding the sword Peg had given him back that campsite. "You can't hurt me," Peg snarled.

"I can try," the knight said, crouching into a fighter's stance and bracing himself. "You're weaker when you're away from the water. If I can keep you separated long enough, then you won't be able to close your wounds."

Merlin looked up at Peg, facing away from him now, and saw a black gash down her back quickly knit with a flush of water from out of her skin. She twisted to look at the healed skin, showing it to the knight at the same time, and then smiled at Gwaine.

"I am water, you idiot," she jeered. He paled but didn't move, just lowered his head and looked even more determined.

Suddenly she leapt at him, and Merlin could only watch as Gwaine turned out of the way, his sword slicing sideways, barely missing her as she literally flowed around him. But Gwaine wasn't any less skilled, continuing to spin and bringing his sword around again, catching a part of her leg as she jumped away. She screeched, a harsh sound, and charged at him, her fingers outstretched like claws. Gwaine moved almost as fast, expertly ducking down and bringing his sword up in a sweeping arc, nearly taking off one of her hands at the wrist. But it was like slicing through water. If the limb separated, it immediately connected back together, and she slammed her other arm across his chest, sending him flying backwards.

Before either she or Gwaine could recover, Merlin grabbed a tree limb with his mind and threw it at her back, the thick piece of wood slamming into her back and knocking her almost to her knees. She regained her balance and turned to glare at him. She then picked up a sharp stick and threw it at him, the stick moving as fast as a javelin. Merlin barely had time to roll out of the way.

Then Merlin caught something flash out of the corner of his eye, and Pieter was stabbing at Peg's back with a flaming brand. She howled and leapt in the air, landing almost next to the river. Breathing heavily, dried blood on his face, Pieter shifted to stand between her and Merlin, holding the flaming torch before him.

Gwaine got to his feet as well, and held up his sword, and Merlin picked up the stick she'd thrown at him, stumbling to his feet to stand on Pieter's other side. Belatedly, he remembered the dagger stuck in his belt, and he withdrew that as well.

Peg stared at the three of them, and then tilted her head.

"I do not have time for this," she said roughly, her voice lowering. "I have an appointment with another prince to keep first." Her gaze narrowed. "You will not be spared if you follow."

She slithered backwards into the wide river and instantly sank into its depths, disappearing from view. The three of them jogged up to the shore, but there was nothing to see except water, plants and rock. Within seconds, even the ripples of where she'd entered into the water were gone.

Pieter sighed and straightened, lowering the torch.

"Where did you get that?" Gwaine asked, pointing at it. Pieter shook his head, and gestured behind him.

"There's flint over there. I put the brand together when I saw you and her fighting. I figured, the only thing that might hurt her is fire."

"Water also puts fires out," Gwaine noted. Pieter gave him a dark look.

"And you were doing so well with your sword?"

Gwaine just shrugged, and shoved the sword back in his belt.

"We need to go after her," Merlin said, still staring at the water and rubbing at his neck. His voice was rough in his ears.

Pieter frowned. "Part of me doesn't really want to stop her, if she's going after my brother."

Merlin gave him a pained look. "She's not just going after your brother." At Pieter's questioning look, Merlin grimaced. "Before you woke up, she told me—"

"That she's going to destroy all of Mercia," Gwaine supplied. He frowned at Merlin. "I heard that part."

Merlin nodded and Pieter paled.

"All of Mercia?" the prince repeated, weakly. "Why?"

Merlin just shook his head—he didn't know. Pieter closed his eyes for a moment, but when he opened them again, they were clear. He lifted his head to look at them again.

"This isn't your fight. The two of you should get away while you can."

"Not our fight?" Merlin repeated, rubbing at his throat again. "Are you kidding?"

"She's attacking Mercia," Pieter said, shaking his head. "Not Camelot. You know as well as I that Camelot would be stronger if she succeeds. You should…you should go. This is my battle to fight, not yours. But I…I thank you for everything you've done up to now. I will not forget it."

Merlin just blinked, and turned to Gwaine. His friend just gave a wry smile.

"Yeah," the knight said. "Peg was right about one thing. We don't have time to fight about this." He looked around. "Fact is, we'll never catch up with her on foot. I don't think we're far from that fishing village that supplies Corin with its fish. They have horses."

Pieter frowned. "Sir Gwaine, you're not listening. I'm trying to—"

"It's not even dawn, who is going to lend us horses in the middle of the night?" Merlin asked. "And looking like this?"

Gwaine grimaced. "Then we'll steal the horses."

"Steal?"

Gwaine shrugged. "We'll leave them a note."

"Please," Pieter said, "Stop. I can't ask you to continue to risk yourselves for me or my kingdom. I don't want either of you to suffer any further harm."

Gwaine pointed north. "I think it's this way," he said, and started jogging. Merlin smiled softly, and ran after him.

"What is wrong with you two? You're protecting the wrong kingdom!" Pieter called, but he was quickly running to catch up.

Chapter Text

They reached Thiernan's camp just before the sun rose, cold white light blanketing the hushed space. Half the rhododendron bushes had been flattened, the ground churned into mud, and at least a dozen bodies were spread across the ruined hilltop. Every single one of them looked bloated and popped, as if they'd been burst from the inside out.

Merlin pressed his sleeved arm to his mouth and nose, trying to block out the smell, while Pieter and Gwaine did a quick sweep. He'd been left with the horses, and he was having a hard time keeping them calm. Dragging them around by the reins, he tried to see if any of the mercenaries near him were still alive. He knew, pretty quickly, that it wasn't worth checking.

Gwaine ran up to him, his face pinched. "Thiernan's not here. Neither is Scarface. They must be retreating. My guess is, as soon as you freed Peg, Thiernan knew. He left these men behind to slow her down, while he and a handful of others ran away."

"Ran away where?"

"To where he feels safest," Pieter said, joining them. "He'll go home."

"Home," Merlin repeated, eyes widening slightly, handing each man the reins to their horses. "You mean, his castle?" He looked at Gwaine. "Elyan and the others are still there."

"As is Clara," Gwaine said darkly. "We have to warn them. Get them out of there somehow."

Merlin frowned and looked up at the silvering sky, judging the time. "If we leave now, on horseback, we might just make it ahead of them."

"Even if we do get there first," Pieter said, "we're not going to be able to defeat both Peg and Thiernan by ourselves. We couldn't even take on one of them."

"What do you suggest?" Merlin asked.

"You two head to Thiernan's castle. Get as many people out of there as possible—if you're lucky, you'll manage it before either Peg or my brother shows up. Then it's just a matter of getting them across the border into Camelot. If Peg and Thiernan are distracted trying to kill each other, you should have enough time to do it. I'll ride as fast as I can to my father, to gather an army. If I head straight east from here, I should be able to get to the citadel in Mercia within a day and a half." He frowned. "I won't let my kingdom fall without a fight."

Gwaine nodded, swinging up into the saddle. "Sounds like a plan." He reached out to shake Pieter's hand. "Good luck."

"You too," Pieter replied, taking it warmly. "And don't do anything stupid, like trying to take either of them on without me."

Gwaine smirked. "Us? We never do anything stupid." He looked at Merlin. "Do we?"

Merlin just shook his head.
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They were about halfway back to the castle, the sun just cresting the top of the trees, when Gwaine pulled up short on the road they'd been following. A stream snaked across it, emptying down into the valley to their right, and the mud surrounding it was filled with footprints.

"We're only a little bit behind them now," he said, pointing to the marks on the road that, frankly, were fairly uninformative to Merlin. "Those prints are fresh—less than an hour, probably a lot less." He peered down the ridge road. "We don't want to catch up with them."

"Can't disagree with that," Merlin said.

"Thiernan and his men are on foot, so they'll be taking the most direct route—this road along the ridge. Peg will likely be right on their heels."

"So what do we do?" Merlin asked.

"If we want to avoid them both…we have to avoid the road." He nodded towards the valley. "There's really only one option."

Merlin frowned, shuddering slightly. "You want ride through the valley of the black dogs?"

"It's the quickest way. On horseback, at a gallop, we should easily outstrip their pace."

"And if the dogs take offense?"

Gwaine shrugged. "We know approximately where they are, and we're a few miles from there yet. We just have to avoid where they live, cut up before we get that far down. With any luck, we'll have passed by both Thiernan and Peg, sliding past right under their noses."

Merlin lowered his head. "Risky."

"I know," Gwaine said. "Always is." He shrugged. "Come on. We can follow this stream down to the valley floor."

Merlin sighed, and turned his horse off the road, sending him down the hill after Gwaine.
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The horses crashed along the river bed, the water shallow enough to make a decent roadway. Gwaine was low over the saddle, intent on the yellow turrets of his sister's castle in the distance. Only when he could see all four turrets would he start looking for a way out of the valley, but he promised himself that they'd go no further than that. If they did, they'd be too close to where the black dogs were, and also where the walls of the valley would be too steep for the horses to climb out.

He was so focused, he didn't notice until it was too late that the water in the river was getting increasingly shallow.

"Hey, what's going on with the water?" Merlin shouted at almost the same time as Gwaine realized that the river had all but disappeared in front of them, leaving fish and other creatures flopping in its wake.

"It's behind you!" a voice cackled from behind them, and Gwaine looked over his shoulder just in time to see the wave of water surging towards him. It slammed into them both, throwing them off the horses and onto the grassy meadow next to the river, the mud and dirt softening the impact as they bounced and slid.

This is getting a little old, he thought miserably as he pushed up on shaking arms and pulled out the sword in his belt. Next to him, Merlin was coughing, looking like he was having a harder time getting up than Gwaine was.

"You should not have followed me," Peg hissed.

She stood in the river, which was flowing again, staring at them coldly. The horses they'd been riding were already gone—probably tearing away through the woods in terror.

Gwaine finally managed to stand fully upright. "You gave us no choice."

"You had a choice. You could have returned to Camelot." Her gaze narrowed. "Now I will have to kill you along with everyone else." As she spoke, she stepped out of the river, walking to stand just a few feet away from Gwaine. Merlin was still on his knees, but his coughing was finally subsiding. Peg looked down at him before looking again at Gwaine. "You must know that you have no chance of defeating me."

Gwaine just smiled.

"Fine," she said. She jumped up suddenly into the air, and water flowed around her hands, forming an almost perfect sword. Gwaine had just enough time to get his up when she brought the watery weapon slamming down on top of him.

It shattered his borrowed sword into a dozen pieces and drove him down into the mud.

"Gwaine!" Merlin called out, alerting Gwaine enough to roll out of the way as Peg slammed her water sword into the ground where he had just been lying. He rolled further and up onto his feet, backing away to get around Peg's back.

"Heads up!" Merlin shouted again, and Gwaine snatched the dagger out of the air that Merlin had just thrown to him. He threw his body backwards as Peg slashed in his direction with her sword, feeling the dampness of it slide past his head as he bent almost in two to avoid it. Turning around under the blade, he managed to get around her side as she suddenly staggered forward, as if tripping on something, giving him an opening he hadn't expected. Getting inside her reach, he sliced down, cutting through her side and part of her hip, spinning out of reach as she cursed in pain.

The water sword vanished in her hands as Peg pressed them to her wounded side, stepping away from him. Her eyes almost seemed to glow as the skin Gwaine had cut simply closed back up again, as if it had never been split. Before he could react, she suddenly threw a fistful of water at his face, like being hit by a snowball made entirely of ice, the impact staggering him to his knees. He tried to bring up the dagger, but she was suddenly right in front of him; she brought two fists down, catching him on the left shoulder and driving him down into the mud again. His entire left arm went numb, the limb not responding at all as he scrambled out of her way.

And she laughed.

Struggling to get back to his feet, mud and blood sloughing off of him as he moved, he turned the dagger in his hands into a more defensive position. Without his left arm, he felt imbalanced, but he could still fight.

"All you are doing is delaying me," Peg said, stalking him. She had the water sword again, and he realized horribly that she was using it to mock him. Beating him at his greatest strength, and she wasn't even trying very hard.

"There has to be a way to kill you," he whispered, backing up on shaky legs.

She snorted. "It will take a lot more than one man to kill me."

Suddenly, she stumbled, as if something had shoved into her from behind. She whipped around, and Gwaine spotted Merlin on his feet behind her, hefting a rock in his hand. There was another by her feet—he must have thrown it at her. As Gwaine watched, Merlin drew his arm back to throw the second rock at her, and she reared up, the sword disappearing, the water swirling around her upraised arms like a monsoon.

Gwaine took advantage of the only distraction he knew he was going to get, and ran at her. At the last second, he leaped, planning to drive the dagger right through where her heart might be.

She twisted at the last second, flowing around him as he flew through the air, and he felt her get around his back and slam something hard against the side of his head. Pain flashed behind his eyes, worse than he had ever felt. And then there was nothing.
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"GWAINE!" Merlin shouted, dropping the rock he was about to throw and running forward as Gwaine collapsed to the ground, lifeless. "No!" he yelled at Peg, who was still leaning over Gwaine's body where she had hit him with a rock – the first one he'd thrown at her – and, with a blast of magic, he just shoved.

She gasped, flying backwards away from Gwaine in a swirl of green and yellow. Before she could recover, Merlin was on his knees next to his friend, checking for a pulse, letting out a relieved breath when he felt it there…weak, but there.

"Is that all you can do?" Peg asked, the sneer in her voice clear as she stood up. "You think you can simply keep pushing me back? It didn't help your friend much, did it?"

Merlin shook with rage, looking up at her. "No," he said. "It's not all I can do." Gritting his teeth, he got to his feet, fighting the pain from the sprained ankle he'd gotten when she'd thrown them from the horses.

"I'm not going to let you kill anyone else," he warned.

"Oh? Not even Prince Thiernan?" She smiled again, eyes gleaming with the tease.

"If you'd just wanted to kill him, you likely could have done it by now. But you're down here in this valley, almost hiding from him. Why?"

She flexed an eyebrow. "I told you," she said, lowering her head. "Because it's not enough for him to die. All of Mercia must suffer."

"But why? Why all of Mercia?"

"A Mercian believed he could shackle me, bind me to his will, and use me to make this kingdom powerful. For that, Mercia must be punished. Once I blight this kingdom, killing everyone and everything in it, all the people of Albion will know the price for trying to control Peg Powler. I am more powerful than any mere kingdom, and if any of them ever tries this again, they will suffer the same fate." She swept an arm out. "I am going to poison this river, poison every source of water in this kingdom, so that nothing will survive here for the next hundred years until I deign it worthy enough to let it return to life." Her lip curled in disgust. "And your magic is not strong enough to stop me."

"Maybe not," he snarled. "But something has to be." He pointed a hand at the grass along the riverbank. "Forbearnan." Instantly, the riverbank lit on fire and he used his mind to drag the fire across the entire bank, blocking her from reaching the water.

"You think that's enough?" she asked.

"I think Gwaine was right," he replied. "When you're away from a source of water, you're weaker."

She shook her head. "You don't understand, child. You think the river is the only source of water? Look around you. There's water in the air, in the grass under my feet, in the plants and trees around us." She twisted a hand in the air, forming a fist, and water dripped down her arm. She then threw an arm towards the fire, and water whipped out of her palm and put out a healthy section of Merlin's firebreak. He snarled, gestured at the fire, and it quickly reformed. She stared at him, and then started to run towards the fire, obviously intending to jump over it and into the river.

"Bæwylmas læcaþ!" he shouted, and the flames instantly rose higher, flaring well over her head, and she skidded to a stop, moving back. Snarling, she stood tall and Merlin could see the water rising up out of the wet, green earth to swirl around her.

He lifted his arms. "Lyfte ic þe in balwen ac forhienan se wideor!" A hot, desert wind suddenly surged through the valley, fanning the flames he'd created, and driving a burst of hot, dry air over Peg and through her. The water fell from her arms as the grass under her feet browned and withered, and so did the plants within twenty feet of where they were standing. And, for the first time, Peg actually looked pained by something he'd done. He strengthened the surge and she withdrew in on herself, holding her arms to her stomach, and moving back a step against the wind. Flames burst into being in different locations, crackling in the dry air. A single, dead tree in the verdant forest on the far side of them exploded with fire, and Merlin almost shook with the power of it.

When the wind slowed, leaving a nearly desert like world around them, she lifted her head and glared at him.

Then she smiled her terrible yellow-toothed grin, the expression garish in the flickering flames.

"You forgot one thing, warlock," she hissed, staring at him like she was about to eat him. "There is one other source of water, one you can't escape." She stepped towards him, and he suddenly felt his entire body going rigid.

"Over two-thirds of your body is water, and I'm going to pull it out of you." Her smile broadened. "Drop by drop."

He fought against it, tried to use his magic to shove her back, but even without touching him, she seemed to have a grip on him. Horribly, he realized that her mastery over her element might be greater than his over magic.

He could feel the flames he'd set already starting to die, and the wind he'd blown through the valley began to fade.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dagger where it had fallen out of Gwaine's hand. With what was left of his strength, he lifted it up with his mind and threw it her.

It slammed into her side and she shrieked, and he felt her let him go. He staggered backwards, dizziness almost driving him to his knees, but he was clear-sighted enough to see her pull the dagger from her side.

And this time, the wound didn't immediately heal. In fact, it looked almost like it was bleeding. Dark green blood coursed out of the hole it had made, running down her leg. Throwing the dagger away, she stared at the wound, and then turned black eyes on him.

He had just enough time to build the flames back up before she raised her hand towards him. He called the broken sword to his hand that Gwaine had dropped and pointed it at her and knew he'd set her on fire if he had to.

And then a percussive growl echoed through across the valley.

Merlin's eyes widened, and he looked to the trees. Peg looked as well, her gaze narrowing.

The ground rumbled with the force of their growls as the same three black dogs emerged from out of the burning woods, as huge as ever. Winding around the pockets of flames, the massive beasts stalked towards him like three black wraiths, and Merlin shifted to protect Gwaine from their advance.

Peg sneered. "Looks like someone didn't like you burning their valley."

He glared at her, and gathered all his magic inside him, letting the flames grow even higher along the river bank. He pulled his will together, ready to burn more.

"I have no fight with you," he called to the creatures. "But I have to stop her."

Ignoring him, the black dogs kept coming, walking right up to Merlin…only to suddenly turn and face Peg Powler, putting themselves in the middle. Their growls deepened, knife sharp hair ruffed around their necks, teeth bared in full as they stared her down.

Her smile fell. "What is this? What are you doing?" she asked. "You are protecting a human?"

"We are protecting our valley," a different voice said, one Merlin recognized very well. The gray alpha padded coolly up to his side, her green, glowing eyes focused solely on Peg. Like a general surveying her troops, she sat down next to him and behind the three black dogs, and lifted her head. Even sitting, the gray dog was almost as high as his chest, which was beyond daunting.

"I have no quarrel with you," Peg snapped, backing up from the closest black dog. "Leave."

"You would poison all the rivers in this kingdom," the gray alpha hissed. "Those rivers feed more than just the humans."

"Then leave Mercia," she snapped. She threw a hand towards Merlin. "I'm sure Camelot would provide a wonderful new hunting ground for you. Kill him, and it will have no real protection."

The gray one lowered her head. "We will not be forced from our home by a grindylow," she said. "Especially not one as weak as you."

"Weak?" Peg scoffed. "You think I'm—"

"The warlock is powerful. I've never seen anyone take down an elemental so swiftly before. He's rendered you nearly defenseless with just two spells and a dagger." She bared all her teeth, shiny and sharp. "You're vulnerable, Peg Powler. And, because of that, we can take you down."

Peg scowled. "Then you will all die." She lifted a hand, and one of the black dogs howled and went down—she was obviously using the same trick on it as she'd just used on Merlin a moment ago. Instantly, the other two attacked, teeth going for her throat and limbs. She shrieked, letting the first dog go, and punched, kicked, using her incredible strength to throw them off of her. But Merlin knew all too well how indestructible the black dogs were, and soon all three were fully into the fight, attacking her afresh as quickly as she could push them away or knock them down.

"Flames, warlock," the gray alpha warned. Merlin jumped slightly, and realized that his firewall preventing Peg from getting to the river had been diminishing without his attention. He nudged them with his mind, and the flames flared back up. Peg glanced at them and snarled, throwing one of the dogs through it, only to hear it land in the river on the far side. The same black dog leapt through the fire again second later, singed hair smoking mildly, and Peg quickly backed away from the firebreak.

Otherwise, Merlin stood where he was and didn't do anything. He didn't have to. Peg's defensive moves were getting weaker and weaker—he could see more of the dark green blood, and her skin was shifting from green to gray. Like watching a plant dry out.

She punched one of the black dogs, sending it flying, but the momentum staggered her close to the burning tree. Merlin broke off a flaming branch with his mind, and she screamed in obvious agony as it landed on her, setting part of her on fire. The dogs took immediate advantage, circling and snapping and tearing as she tried to get out from under them. She gave a mighty shove and ran forward, going once more for the river, but Merlin gestured and the flames along the riverbank simply grew higher.

"Whoa," Gwaine whispered, and Merlin looked behind him. He grinned when he saw Gwaine struggling up on his arms, blinking rapidly. Blood was caked on the side of his face, his black hair on that side matted down on a blood-covered ear. The knight was watching the fight between the black dogs and Peg, his lips parted in obvious wonder. "Where did they come from?"

"Apparently, they weren't too keen on the idea of Peg poisoning their river," Merlin said, quickly moving to kneel by his side. "You alright?"

"No," Gwaine admitted, still focused on the fight. He flinched, and Merlin looked towards the melee. He felt the bile rise up as he realized that one of the dogs had managed to rip one of Peg's arms off above the elbow, the limb instantly withering, until it looked like no more than a dead, dried out reed. She was shrieking constantly now, in pain, but she was still fighting tooth and nail, trying to stay alive.

Merlin turned his head away. He didn't want to watch anymore.

"Ow…" Gwaine said, obviously not suffering the same revulsion. "She just lost a lot of middle. Hell, she's nothing but mud and water in there…"

Merlin shuddered.

"And…there," Gwaine whispered. "It's…it's got her neck. She's done."

The shrieking stopped suddenly, and so did the sounds of fighting.

Afraid of what he would see, Merlin looked back again towards where they'd been, and saw the three black dogs backing away from what looked like a steaming puddle of water with a few sticks, seaweed and broken reeds in it. All three bowed their heads towards it, almost in respect, and then turned and padded away, melting back into the trees without looking back.

Merlin frowned in confusion.

"They're just leaving?" Gwaine asked softly.

"Peg Powler is no more," the alpha said, still sitting next to them. She looked at them both. "She is gone, and so should you be. You will find your horses at the base of a path a few hundred yards that way—it leads up out of this valley." She gestured with her head toward the valley wall, and then looked at them again. "Do not return."

Merlin nodded. Letting go of the fire in his mind, the flames along the riverbank and elsewhere around the meadow quickly died, and a cooler breeze blew through the valley. Getting his arm under Gwaine, he tried to pull him up onto his feet. It was like lifting a blacksmith's anvil—the man wasn't as broad as Percival, but all that muscle made him insanely heavy. Gwaine tried to help, but his injuries were such that it was clear he was barely holding on to consciousness. Merlin grunted, feeling all the tendons in his neck and arms straining to get Gwaine upright, and his ankle shifted painfully with the extra weight.

"Wow," Gwaine muttered once he was almost all the way up, one arm hanging heavily over Merlin's shoulder. "The dogs do this?"

"What?"

"Burn the valley?"

"Um," Merlin blushed. "Yeah."

"Good thing they didn't do that when we were down here."

Merlin said nothing to that, just levered Gwaine higher on his shoulder. Taking one last look at the now innocent looking pool of water, the liquid already being absorbed into the damp ground under it, he started pulling Gwaine away from the river's edge, leaving the gray dog still sitting there, watching them leave.

"Human!" she barked out when they were at the trees.

Merlin turned his head.

"We will still hold you to your promise," she said. "But…" Her head bowed respectfully. "Thank you."

He gave her a nod, smiled weakly, and resumed the painful walk to the horses.

Chapter Text

The horses weren't difficult to find, they were nervously waiting exactly where the alpha said they'd be. Merlin somehow managed to get Gwaine on the back of one of them, and then himself on the other, but, after that, things got foggy. He'd started them up the hill, but even kicking his horse to move had sent a shock of pain up his hurt leg that nearly caused him to black out. After that, it was if every ache and pain, every bruise, every cut and break, became magnified a hundred-fold with each step of the horse's hooves.

Gwaine was bowed low over his horse, eyes closed and barely holding on, and Merlin found himself getting lower and lower as well, blinking every more slowly, hands shaking from exhaustion.

He knew he couldn't stop. Thiernan would to be at the castle by now, preparing for a siege. Who knew what he might do to Elyan and the others, or to Gwaine's sister and her children. It was up to Merlin and Gwaine to rescue them, to save them before Thiernan could do anything to harm them.

But Merlin knew he was barely holding on, and Gwaine….

A soft thump turned Merlin's head. Gwaine had slipped off his horse into a thick bed of moss and plants, out cold. Merlin frowned.

Without grace, he dismounted, or, more accurately, collapsed off his own horse and stumbled to Gwaine. Kneeling down next to him, he gave the knight a shake. Gwaine didn’t even stir.

"Gwaine," he said, shaking harder. "Gwaine, wake up."

Nothing.

Merlin settled next to him, and gave him another shake. Nothing. He lay down, his head slipping onto a cushion of moss.

"Gwaine," he called. But his friend's eyes remained closed. It looked nice.

Maybe he could just close his eyes for a minute. They weren't going to be able to help anyone in this shape anyway. He wouldn't sleep, not really, just close them for…

"Just for a minute," he mumbled out loud, feeling the fog deepening insider his mind. "Then we go."

Then we go….
_____________________________________

Something snuffled by his head, and Gwaine frowned, batting it away. The snuffling became an annoyed snort, and got closer. He could also hear something chewing loudly, gums smacking and…ugh…what was that smell?

Cracking open an eyelid, Gwaine found himself looking up at a snoutful of horse, its nose buried in the plants by his head, noisily chewing away. It saw him and breathed on him…ugh. What the hell was it eating? Onions? Skunk?

"Get away," he snapped, pushing the horse's head away from his own. It ignored him and snuffled his hair like a dog. "Off!" Gwaine said, putting more force behind the shove this time. The horse snorted again, blasting another noxious bit of air into Gwaine's face, but shifted away, chomping loudly on some leaves hanging from a young tree a couple feet away.

Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Gwaine slowly sat up, trying to get his bearings. His head pounded unmercifully with the movement, worsening as he grew more wakeful, and he pressed a hand to his forehead in a vain attempt to lessen the pain. They were clearly lying on the side of a fairly steep hill, probably about halfway up to the ridge from the valley of the black dogs. The sun was slanting heavily through the trees—it was either going down or rising, depending on the direction—and from the heat still contained within the air, it was probably going down. How did they end up sleeping here?

He found Merlin asleep a couple feet away, pale and bruised, dark circles under his eyes. His shirt was open, and his neck and chest were still nearly black from the beating he'd taken from Peg. He wondered if he looked as battered as that.

He rubbed at his forehead and pushed up onto his knees. When he didn't immediately topple over, he risked getting the rest of the way to his feet. He blinked some more and tried to remember better what had happened.

The black dogs had attacked Peg, fighting her, ripping her apart. The alpha had saved his and Merlin's lives. Again. He huffed. Guess Merlin was right—not all monsters were evil. Unfortunately, Peg had been nothing but. He shuddered at the memory of waking to see her with a hand wrapped around Merlin's throat, moments from snapping his neck. Was that just this morning?

Speaking of monsters….

Thiernan still had to be dealt with. He looked up the hill, and tried to gauge how far they were from the prince's castle. If they were close to where Peg had attacked them, it may only be a mile or two away.

He still had his sister, his niece and nephew, and the other Camelot knights to rescue. If they waited for Pieter's army, Thiernan would have time to prepare for a siege, and it might be months before they got inside, plenty of time for Thiernan to hang everyone Gwaine cared about. No…they had to act now, before Pieter arrived. And, if he could kill Thiernan at the same time, that definitely would be a bonus.

He glanced at Merlin, still sleeping soundly. His friend needed sleep. And he'd be safer out here, away from danger. Maybe he should leave him.

"Don't even think about it," Merlin said, and opened his eyes to look blearily up at Gwaine. "We're in this together."

Gwaine couldn't not smile.
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They waited until the sun was fully down but the moon still low in the sky before attempting to scale the wall on the east side of the castle. It was in near perfect darkness—and with Gwaine in his black leather jerkin and Merlin in his dark blue shirt, they were nearly invisible. Gwaine had considered going in through the caverns, but realized that, if Thiernan was expecting an attack from Peg, he'd expect her to come into the castle by that way first. So, it was probably barred and guarded. Similarly, all the gates and wells would be manned. That left climbing the walls.

The yellow stone was dry and soft, and it was easy to find handholds. He'd heard the guards moving along the battlements, but they hadn't raised the alarm, so he was fairly confident when he finally reached the crenellations that they hadn't seen him. Swinging an arm up, he grabbed a metal bar in the machicolation, probably used to balance buckets of boiling oil on, and, finding a couple of solid footholds, took a moment to rest and listen. Merlin joined him a moment later, settling himself under a machicolation a couple feet away, giving Gwaine a curious look. Gwaine gave a soft head shake, and motioned for him to settle there for a moment.

They didn't have to wait long. The guards were alert, walking in patterns, but focused on watching for movement farther away than where he and Merlin were perched.

"…clear as day," he heard a guard say as he got closer. "Something set the forest on fire down there, near the river."

"Think it was the black dogs?" another guard asked.

"Or people. If Peg was in the valley, they might have tried to defend against her with fire. It's what I'd do."

"It'd take more than that to take her down, and those fires didn't last long."

"I know. Think the prince's plan will work?" The first guard sounded nervous.

"We have enough oil cooking to boil every living thing in that valley," the second guard replied. "It's got to hurt her at least, if she tries a frontal assault."

"Yeah," the first guard sighed. "If she doesn't just poison the river and kill us all that way."

Gwaine smiled thinly at Merlin. His friend gave a dark nod.

Finally, the guards were well past their position, and Gwaine swung himself up onto the battlement, keeping his attention on their backs as they walked away. Smiling softly, he dropped onto the wall-walk and went to help Merlin, who came over the wall far less gracefully. When Merlin was on his feet again, only rubbing at his hurt ankle once, Gwaine arched a finger for him to follow, and then ran in the opposite direction of the guards, aiming for the stairs leading to the floor of the courtyard.

With the guards all turned outwards, it didn't take them long to navigate the outer bailey. They came across only one mercenary near the inner gate, whom Gwaine quickly dispatched with a handy rake-pole. After relieving him of his weapons and his keys, they hid the body inside a disused livery. Gwaine took the man's sword and knife, which Merlin clearly had no issue with, and Merlin took the dagger. After covering him as best they could with moldy hay, they crept around the courtyard to the westernmost tower, unlocking the door at the base with the stolen keys.

The smell of sweat and blood assaulted his nose immediately, and Gwaine grimaced as Merlin shut the door behind them. If Thiernan had hurt Elyan and the others….

A spiral staircase led up, and the smell was definitely coming from above. Gesturing for Merlin to stay put, he tiptoed up the stairs, listening for anyone that might be coming down. Eventually, he realized he could hear voices, and he thought he could discern Elyan's, but it was too muffled to be sure.

Reaching the first landing, he stared at the small wooden door. If there were guards on it, they'd be on the other side, watching the prisoners. Well, no time like the present.

He knocked.

"Who's there?" a voice called through the door.

"I have new orders from the prince," he replied. "He's going to need all hands to help with the oil."

There was an audible sigh from the other side, followed quickly by the bolts on the door being slid back. Gwaine smiled and drew the knife. As the door opened, revealing a frowning guard, he stabbed the man in the heart and shoved him backwards with a kick. Slamming the door open the rest of the way, he drew his sword and had the blade pressed against the throat of the other guard before the other man could even blink.

"Gwaine!" Elyan called from somewhere behind him, the joy in his voice evident. Gwaine looked over his shoulder and grinned at his friend. Three other Camelot knights were in the room with him, including Sir Clay, who was gamely trying to push up off his cot. He also spotted Hildy leaning her back against the far door, her eyes wide.

"Scream, and I finish this one off," Gwaine warned her. "And then I'll kill you."

Hildy shook her head.

"No," Elyan said, standing up and waving his good hand. "Don't. She's not the bad guy here."

"She gave me up to Thiernan," Gwaine snarled. And his eyes flashed back to the guard he was holding, spotting him trying to reach for his knife. "I wouldn't. Drop all your weapons and get on the ground, hands behind your back."

"Are you going to kill me?" the guard asked weakly.

"Not if you behave."

The guard nodded, and when Gwaine pulled the sword away from his throat, he dropped all the weapons off his person and then dropped to the floor, putting his hands behind his back.

"Hildy, tie him up with some sheets. Gag him as well."

She nodded, quickly moving to do as she was told. Merlin appeared in the room as she was doing so, glancing at the dead guard only briefly, before quickly heading over to check on the injured knights. As soon as the guard was bound, Gwaine lowered his guard and looked to Elyan.

"What do you mean, she's not the bad guy?"

"I mean, she and the other servants, and all the villagers that feed this castle, are terrified of Thiernan," Elyan said. "He'd captured some insanely powerful magical creature, a water demon, and Thiernan demonstrated her power by killing off everyone without a family, and any guard that didn't swear undying fealty. Apparently, she did it so easily, it completely cowed them." Elyan frowned. "He basically held their families lives over them. They had no choice. But even so, Hildy's the only reason we're still alive up here. She managed to convince Thiernan not to kill us this afternoon when he rode in, saying we might be useful to help defend the castle against the water demon, now that she's free. We'd be dead, otherwise."

Hildy was crying now, sobbing softly where she sat on the floor next to the now bound guard. Gwaine, against his will, felt some of his rage at her betrayal fading. Merlin's big eyes, where he was checking out Sir Clay's bandages, weren't helping either. Damn it. But even if he was less angry at her, his hatred for Thiernan only grew.

"Well, Peg Powler is no more," he said, and Hildy looked up, her eyes wide. "She's dead, and Prince Pieter has gone to fetch an army to bring Thiernan down." He looked around the room. "I'm here to find a way to get you all out of here, so Theirnan can't use you as hostages."

"They can't leave," Hildy said then, and Gwaine growled at her. She shook her head again, standing up. "No, don't misunderstand me. I'm not saying that because I want to. They're not well enough. Sir Elyan, perhaps, could escape, but these others, and the two upstairs, just moving them out of this room right now might undo any healing they've managed. They're barely being held together as is. You'll kill them if you move them."

Gwaine frowned deeply, and turned to Merlin. His friend simply gave a nod, straightening up from where he was now checking on another knight.

"She's right. They shouldn't even leave these beds."

Gwaine muttered a curse. "Alright," he said, and looked at Elyan. "So what should we do?"

Elyan's eyebrows lifted.

"You mean, that was your whole plan? Break in, and ask us what to do?"

Gwaine just gave him a look, and Elyan huffed a weak laugh. "Right. Not Arthur," he said, as if that explained everything. Gwaine decided to ignore the jibe and looked up at the ceiling.

"Are there guards on the next level as well?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

Elyan shrugged and looked at Hildy. She was standing rather still in the middle of the room, frowning slightly. When she felt their attention on her, she blinked rapidly and looked around.

"Sorry," she said. "What?"

"How many guards are there?" Gwaine asked her.

"In total?"

Gwaine thought about that for a half second, then nodded.

"He returned this afternoon with about two dozen mercenaries," she said. "Add that to the guards he left behind when you left yesterday, half of whom are also mercenaries, it gives him about forty men."

Gwaine looked at Elyan for confirmation of her veracity. Elyan gave a nod. "She's telling the truth. You can trust her." He frowned then, glancing at Hildy. "Forty men. That's more than enough to hold a castle this strong for months against any army."

Gwaine's gaze narrowed. "Well, we can't wait for months."

"No," Hildy agreed. "He'll likely kill all of you and, probably, Lady Clarrisant, long before that."

"But, if you're right, the bulk are mercenaries," Gwaine said, looking at the bound guard on the ground. "Which means, if I cut off their source of pay, they have no reason to stick around." He looked at Elyan. "If I kill Thiernan…."

"But how are you going to get to him?" Elyan asked. "From what Hildy told us a little while ago, he's surrounded himself with so much protection, he's going to be impossible to reach."

"A big enough scare might also send some of the mercenaries running," Merlin said then, a decidedly devious tone to his voice. "Something to convince them to run rather than continue to defend Thiernan. If that happened, it'd leave him with barely a handful of guards…."

"And they wouldn't protect him either," Hildy said, her voice certain. "They hate him almost as much as the rest of us do."

"You have a plan?" Gwaine asked, feeling better already. Merlin arched an eyebrow in his direction, and smiled wickedly.

"I might," he said. "Hildy," he asked her, "is the servants' hatred for Thiernan strong enough for them to overcome their fear and help us in a ruse?"

She stared at him, and bit her lip. "Peg Powler is really dead?"

"She is. Thiernan's just a man again and, trust me, once Pieter reaches Bayard, he won't have his family to protect him anymore."

She looked down at the floor, and when she looked up again, there was a new confidence in her gaze. "What do you want us to do?"
____________________________________________

Hildy led Gwaine and Merlin through the back hallways, keeping them safely hidden behind doorways and curtains as guards and mercenaries marched by. Eventually, they came to a stop around a corner from a stout door with two guards stationed on it, both looking extremely tense.

"This is as close as I can get you," she whispered, peeking around the corner at the guards before turning to look back at them. "I can't help you with the guards."

"That's alright," Gwaine said, smiling at her. "Thank you for this."

Hildy just nodded, and snuck away down the corridor the way she'd come. Gwaine watched her go with an uneasy air. They were putting a lot of trust in her—all based on Elyan's word on her character. He trusted Elyan with his life—he just hoped Elyan hadn't been fooled by her matronly demeanor.

"It'll be alright," Merlin whispered, looking at Gwaine. "This will work."

Gwaine gave a pained smile. "I hope so."

Merlin patted his shoulder, and then peeked around the corner. "So how do we get past the guards?" he whispered.

Gwaine looked around the corner as well, and then gave a shrug. "The same way Arthur normally deals with this sort of situation, how else?" And then he smiled.

Merlin's shoulders drooped. "Really? That's the tactic you want to go with?"

"You have a better one?"

Merlin sighed, straightened his shoulders, threw a glare at Gwaine, and then walked out into the corridor and around the corner.

"Hello!" Gwaine heard him say cheerfully. "I'm sorry, I think I'm lost. Do you know the way to the closest garderobe? Is it down here? Because I had way too much cheese at dinner and—oof."

Taking that as his cue, Gwaine jumped out from around the corner. Both guards were facing Merlin, one of them with a tight grip on Merlin's arm and the back of his neck. Flashing a smile, Gwaine knocked one upside the head, and stabbed the other through before he could cry out. Merlin jumped away as they both hit the ground in a clatter of armor. Gwaine then rounded on the door and knocked loudly.

"Clara! Clara, let me in!"

There was a peep from the far side, then some stumbling and shuffling, then, "Gwaine?"

"Yes! It's us! Let us in?"

"What? But we're locked in! Don't you have keys?"

"Oh!" Gwaine looked around, to see Merlin already ahead of him, ripping a set of keys off one of the guard's belts. He tossed it to Gwaine, and he quickly had the door unlocked. Pushing it open, he spotted Clara in a nightdress a second before she jumped on him, wrapping her arms around his neck. And then she started to cry.

"I…I thought….I thought he'd killed you…." She was sobbing now, and her grip was tightening. "I'm so sorry! I'm so, so sorry! My little brother, I'm so, so sorry!"

He found himself returning the hug, pressing his head into her neck and holding her as tightly as she was holding him.

"Um…" Merlin cleared his throat somewhere behind them. "I don't mean to interrupt but…could we maybe hide the guards inside the room before someone comes along?"
___________________________________________

"And you think the plan will work?" Lady Clarrisant asked, sitting on the edge of her bed, dressed now in a thick bathrobe. "Will the servants really go along with it?"

"You know them better than we do," Merlin replied, watching her carefully. Her fear was plain in how tightly she hugged her daughter to her chest, and the way her son was wrapped around her shin on the floor. "Will they go along with it?" asked Merlin. Will you?

She frowned slightly, but, after a moment, gave a nod. "If the grindylow is dead, yes. I think they will. Thiernan…After he captured her, he was so brutal, so insane, I don't think anyone could be loyal to him anymore."

"That's what Hildy told us," Gwaine said. He was washing some of the dried blood from yesterday off with a towel, and Merlin had to smile at the wide eyed stare Gregory was giving him and the amount of red staining it. Clarrisant gave another nod to Gwaine's words.

"And if anyone can convince them, she can. She's been something of a leader to them these past few weeks, keeping their spirits from completely despairing." She looked at Gwaine. "Of course, I thought I'd convinced her to keep you quiet, but she told Thiernan anyway."

"I was wondering about that."

"But it really was Peg Powler that had them so terrified. Without her…" She licked her lips nervously. "Without her, I think they'll take the chance of defying him."

"Well, we'll see in a few hours at breakfast," Merlin said. "Until then, we need to get you to somewhere else safe."

"Won't someone notice the guards outside our door are missing?"

"Gwaine and I are going to remain here, and pretend to be the guards. If no one looks too closely as they walk past, we'll be fine."

"And then…" Lady Clarrisant looked to Gwaine. "You're going to go after whomever doesn't run and Thiernan, all by yourself?"

Gwaine smiled softly. "Yep."

"But…But how? How can you possibly defeat them all? And Thiernan, he's good, Gwaine. More than good. Don't take this the wrong way, but it would take a master swordsman to face him and win."

"Well, luckily I am one."

"Gwaine, be serious."

"He is being serious," Merlin said.

She sighed. "I'm sure, as his friend, you think that, Merlin, but—"

"I don't just think it, my lady, and I'm not saying it as a friend. " He nodded at Gwaine. "Gwaine isn't just good with a sword, Lady Clarrisant. He is one of the best swordsmen in all of Albion, if not the best. I don't think anyone, not even King Arthur himself, could defeat him in a straight fight."

Gwaine gave him a surprised look at that, but Merlin meant every word. He'd seen Gwaine fight. Arthur was amazing, but Gwaine…Gwaine was exceptional.

"And don't tell Arthur I said that," he added, flashing Gwaine a quick smile. Gwaine returned it, and, curiously, he was blushing a little.

Lady Clarrisant was staring at them both, still clearly worried. "Well, I hope you're right," was all she said.

"I am," Merlin said.

"I believe him, momma," Gregory said, looking up at his mother. "I bet Uncle Gwaine is amazing."

Clarissant smiled more deeply, and gestured to him to stand up so she could hug him along with her daughter. Gregory did, and Merlin could only smile at how close they were.

"Alright then," Clarrisant said, loosening her hold on the children so they could all look up at Gwaine and Merlin together. "What do you want us to do?"
______________________________________________

The remainder of the night passed slowly, and Merlin found himself nodding off once or twice, exhaustion trying desperately to knock him down. He wasn't quite sure when he'd last had a normal night's sleep, one that wasn't induced by injuries or that wasn't interrupted only a few hours after he'd bedded down. It was impossible to think about how quickly this had all happened, that just a week ago he was complaining about having to get up "early" to get to the laundry room to fetch Arthur's socks to pack for the trip. It seemed like eons ago.

"Merlin?" Gwaine called softly from where he stood a couple feet away, looking somewhat ridiculous in the borrowed guard uniform. It was too big on him. Merlin's didn't look much better.

"Yeah?" he answered, keeping his head down and fighting the urge to close his eyes.

"Just in case this doesn't work—"

"It will," he said. Though, frankly, he thought it would take a miracle. So much could go wrong. If just one servant ratted on them….

"Right," Gwaine said. "It will. But, if it doesn't—"

"Don't." Merlin shook his head. "I'm not thinking that way."

"Sure, but…but listen." Gwaine straightened in his too large armor. "If it doesn't, I want to tell you something."

Merlin sighed. "You don't need to."

"No. I do. I…" Gwaine sighed, and he rested more heavily on the halberd staff in his hand, pressing his head against it. "Everything that has happened, it's made me think a lot about family. There's my sister and her kids. There's Thiernan and Pieter, and their father Bayard. There's the servants working here protecting their families in the villages. Even the black dogs, that alpha's only goal was to protect her family. All of this, everything that's happened...family's been at the center of it. And I started thinking about how family can make you crazy, how it can get messed up, and can mess you up…."

Merlin frowned slightly.

"When family is on opposite sides, it just makes everyone weaker and miserable, like Pieter and Thiernan. Or Morgana and Arthur. Or, to a lesser degree, me and my sister…"

Merlin just nodded.

"But when family is on your side," Gwaine continued, his tone changing to something deeper, "when you're fighting shoulder to shoulder, it suddenly all seems worth it, doesn't it? And the strength it gives you—I don't know why anyone would not want that feeling. Look at how strong it made the black dogs. And I think, why would Thiernan throw away something so amazing just for a crown?"

Or Morgana, thought Merlin.

Gwaine sighed. "Funny thing. When I was by myself after my mother died, I was unhappy for a long time, though I didn't really know it. And then I met you and Arthur, and…and that started to change. I found myself happy, genuinely happy, whenever we all got together. I didn't really understand why until now. Finding my sister again, the feeling I get when I'm with her and the kids, I realize now what I'd been missing when I was alone. I'd forgotten what it's like to be part of a family."

Merlin smiled softly.

Gwaine frowned, and straightened up from his lean on the staff. "So I've decided something. Risks be damned, I'm not going to lose having a family again, no matter what. The Gwaine who followed the wind, who wandered from tavern to tavern without any ties, he's not me anymore. From now on, I am going to stand by my family's side for as long as they'll let me, and I will protect it with everything I have."

Merlin frowned again, and glanced at Gwaine. Was he talking about staying with his sister? He'd been worried about that, ever since Gwaine had admitted who Lady Clarrisant was. He'd been afraid that Gwaine might stay here, in Mercia. Or that he'd leave to go somewhere else with Lady Clarrisant. Leaving them. Leaving Camelot. Though he'd never begrudge his friend that chance, the thought felt like a weight on his bones, making him heavier and even more tired.

Gwaine seemed to notice, and he looked squarely at Merlin, a tiny smile on his face. "Hey."

He sighed, and turned to meet his friend's gaze. "Yeah?"

"You're my family. You know that, right?"

Merlin just looked at him, slightly stunned. And then, slowly, he started to smile. "I am?"

"Yeah. You are. You, Arthur and the others. You've been my family since the day I met you in that tavern. And I just wanted you to know that. So, no matter what happens today, we're in it together. To the end."

Merlin just grinned stupidly, and he found himself standing a little straighter as well.

"Gwaine," he asked.

"Yeah?"

"You know how you wanted to know if our plan was going to work?" he asked.

Gwaine smiled. "Yeah?"

"Just thought you should know, it's not just going to work. By the time we're done, we'll have brought this castle down around Thiernan's ears."

Gwaine laughed, and Merlin joined him. And if it was a tiny bit hysterical from exhaustion, stress and madness…? Well, that just made it even better.

Chapter Text

They could almost feel it when it happened, the change in the atmosphere. Merlin was looking out a small window at the end of the corridor, watching the sun cresting the tops of the trees, warming up the air, when he realized everything had gotten a little bit louder. Gwaine had clearly sensed it too, as he was suddenly looking very alert, his eyes narrowed.

Then someone screamed—short and quick—but it made them both jump. It hadn't been a scream of terror, exactly, but something else. A scream of surprise, almost.

"It's time," Gwaine said, nodding at Merlin. Merlin nodded back, and they quickly opened the doors to Clarrisant's chambers and pulled out the body of the guard Gwaine had killed last night. Stripping off their armor, Gwaine quickly dressed the man back into most of it, then left him lying on the ground by the door. They were about to leave, to find Hildy, when the woman in question appeared around the corner and hurried towards them, her face flushed.

"Hildy?" asked Gwaine. "What's going on?"

She flashed a grim smile. "Just what you wanted," she said. "I couldn't get all of the servants to agree—many were just too scared—but I convinced at least half of them to play along. The other half we sent home." She looked at Merlin. "Your mentor's sleeping draught is working perfectly. The servants who took it started dropping like flies, falling into a death-like sleep wherever they'd been standing. The lower corridors look like they're covered in bodies. I started bustling around them, pretending to be suffering myself, and making a lot of noise about sleeping sickness and poison and how whatever the affliction is, it might be contagious, but that it's clearly magical." She smiled more fully then. "I've already watched a few of the mercenaries make a run for it—heading out through the caverns so Thiernan wouldn't find out. Most of the mercenaries are still here, but I don't think it'll take much more to convince them to all leave."

"Then they think Peg Powler has poisoned the water," Merlin said.

She nodded. "You were right—they were already expecting it to happen, and none of them want to die."

Merlin flashed a smile at Gwaine. "It's a start."

"I've been summoned to the Prince to tell him what's going on," Hildy said then, rubbing at the back of her neck.

"We knew you would be," Merlin said.

She nodded again, nervously. "I know."

"Are you sure you can do this?"

She blew out a steadying air, and then looked up at him, her gaze determined. "I can."

"Is there a place we can listen without being seen?" Gwaine asked. She frowned briefly, but inclined her head.

"Come with me," she said, indicating that they follow.
__________________________________________

She hadn't been exaggerating; down in the lower levels they found themselves constantly stepping over servants lying on the floors or sitting on stairs, all looking pale and deathly still. Hildy adjusted a couple of them, putting their heads in more comfortable positions, and then continued on, walking ahead of Merlin and Gwaine by about ten feet so she could warn them if she came across any of the guards or mercenaries.

They had just reached the same floor as the Great Hall when she rounded a corner and suddenly went completely still. Taking the cue, Merlin and Gwaine ducked behind a couple of tapestries on the walls.

"Sirs," they heard her say, and a shuffle of fabric—she was curtseying.

"What is going on, Physician?" a man asked, his voice tense. "The servants, they—"

"They're sick," she replied. "And before you ask, I don't know the cause, but it has afflicted nearly everyone. I've been trying to find someone to help me move them out of the halls, but it's dangerous work as I cannot promise that the affliction is not contagious."

"I know the cause," a different male voice said, this one higher and more nervous. "It's Peg Powler that's done this. She's poisoned them."

Hildy hummed. "I…I can't say it's not. This sickness doesn't seem to have a natural cause, to have hit so many, so quickly and all at once."

"And you think it's contagious?" the first voice asked.

"No, I…I said I don't know." She sighed heavily, and then added. "I'm sorry, sirs. I don't feel all that well myself. I'm just trying to solve this for the prince before—"

"Before she comes in and finishes us all off!" the second voice snapped. Then, "Why are we still here, Matt? This is stupid. No purse is worth this. How can you fight something like her?"

"We have a contract, we can't—"

"Like hell. Fighting mortal men, no problem. Fighting a demon? No way."

"Well, I'm no coward. I drank last night, and I'm perfectly fine. She can't poison us if we don't let her."

"Oh, you really want to test that theory? Because I don't. You saw how she manipulates water—all she needs is a puddle on the ground and she can drown you!"

Merlin's eyes lit up at those words. Taking a chance that neither man had made it around the corner or was looking down the corridor, he crept out of the tapestry. One of the servants nearby had fallen asleep next to a bucket of water, where they'd obviously been using it to clean the floor, and it was just too good an opportunity to miss.

Pulling the bucket from the man's hands, he crept up the corridor and knelt down so he could gently tip it over, creating a puddle on the ground. Once done, he lowered a hand towards it. "Forþfléw meresteall." The water immediately started to flow, trickling towards the other corridor. Grinning, he jogged back and hid behind the tapestry again and listened to the two men still arguing.

"…let the water witch scare me off. You can run if you like, but—"

"Matt! Look!"

"What? I…oh. Christ. Where did that come from? Maybe…maybe a servant knocked over a bucket? I…yes, look. It's from a bucket."

"That just spontaneously spilled in the middle of the hallway with no one near it? And is flowing towards us? I don't feel a slant in the floor. Do you feel a slant? If anything, it should be going the other way!"

Merlin held his breath as the other man didn't immediately reply.

"To hell with this," the same man said. "I'm outta here, Matt. You do what you want. I'm not fighting mythical creatures for two pieces of gold a day." And, quite clearly, Merlin heard the sound of footsteps running away.

"Did, um…" Matt was still there, but the certainty in his voice was gone. "Did you knock that over, Mistress?"

"I've been standing here the whole time, sir. You know I did not."

"Then…um…right. You, uh…you should have someone look into that." And a second set of footsteps ran off. "Tom! Hold up! I'm coming with you!"

Merlin held a hand to his mouth to stop from laughing.

"Please tell me one of you did this," Hildy said, her voice shaking. Merlin popped his head out, and grinned.

"That would be me."

She had her hands on her hips, giving him what was probably her sternest look. "I nearly fainted, young man. That was mean."

Merlin just kept smiling. "But it worked!"

"I was wondering what you were up to when I heard you padding up and down the corridor," Gwaine said, grinning down at the bucket. "You are one devious crazy man, Merlin."

"I like to keep people on their toes."

"Well, I'm glad I don't work with you," Hildy said, shaking her head. "I'm pretty sure, once this day is done, I'll have used up all my luck." She gave them both weak smiles, and cocked her head towards the Great Hall. "Coming?"
__________________________________________

She left them kneeling next to a grate, one through which they could feel a lot of heat emanating from the Great Hall on the other side. The boiling oil—Thiernan had apparently filled the Hall with steaming hot cauldrons of it to throw at Peg should she attack. It was his main line of defense—that and the mercenaries.

As they bent to hear better through the grate, they could hear Thiernan discussing the "sickness" with whomever was in the room with him.

"…certain it's some kind of poison?"

"What else could it be?" a man replied. "Did you tell the servants not to drink the water?" Gwaine arched an eyebrow at Merlin, recognizing the voice. Merlin gave a nod. It was Scarface.

"I would have thought they'd have been smart enough not to, once they knew she was no longer under my control," Thiernan replied.

"No one can accuse servants of being intelligent," Scarface replied. Gwaine smirked slightly at Merlin's scowl. "All I can tell you is—" He stopped talking abruptly at the same time as the sound of the main doors opening echoed through the grate.

"Ah," Thiernan said, his voice lifting a touch, "Hildy. Thank goodness. What can you tell me about what is happening?"

"Your highness," she replied, a little breathlessly, probably because she was curtseying. "I am afraid I cannot tell you much. All of the servants have been afflicted with some sort of sleeping sickness, one that, I fear, may kill them."

"All of them? At the same time?"

"No. Some were ill earlier this morning, and I let a few go home to their families, since they were clearly too ill to work and I didn't know if it was contagious. But, by now, everyone has been affected. I myself am finding it harder and harder to stay awake."

There was a distinct set of shuffling feet in the room, and Gwaine grinned, imagining that it was probably all the mercenaries in the room moving away from her.

"Can you tell me," Thiernan asked, "this sickness… Have all the servants been drinking water?"

"Water?"

"This morning."

"I do not know, my lord. I do not believe so. Some were afeard that Peg Powler might poison the water, so I know many were avoiding it. But many illnesses, once contracted, can be spread by other means. If a few have been poisoned by drinking the water, they may have spread the illness through contact."

"Contact."

"If it is waterborne, then it could be in the sweat on our skins, or in our blood. Even a small scratch might spread the disease."

"Oh hell," someone muttered in the room.

"So all the servants are down?" Thiernan said.

"Yes. And a few of the guards. And I also saw one of your mercenaries lying on the ground outside of Lady Clarrisant's chambers."

There was a long moment of silence, then, "Thank you, Hildy. You may go."

"Your highness, before I do, may I have help moving some of the servants to the upper rooms? I don't want to leave them out there, on the floors. If I could—"

"You say it can be spread through contact?"

"Yes, but, if the men wear gloves or—"

"No."

"But I can't treat them like this, spread out all over the castle, and, surely, if we're trying to prevent contagion, you'd want them out of—"

"Damn it. Fine. Jacques and Maynard, you two—"

"No way," someone said.

"I'm with him," another voice said. "I'm not touching someone who is contagious."

"I'm not asking. I'm telling."

"And you can keep on telling. We're not doing it."

"Fine. Ghuron, could you--?"

"No," Scarface replied. "Do it yourself."

"How dare you speak to me like that!"

"Like what?"

"I am a prince of Mercia, you—"

"I'm pretty sure, after today, you're not going to be a prince of anything, so, no."

"I will have you flogged for that!"

"By whom? Them? I'm pretty sure most of them agree with me."

There was the sound of consensus in the room.

"In fact," Scarface continued, using that same condescending tone he'd used on Pieter out on the trail, "I'm fairly certain that most of us are thinking that staying here any longer would be a very bad idea. We can't fight something we can't see, Thiernan. If this is Peg's handiwork--"

"It may not be!"

"Then who's is it? Hers? Look at her. She's barely standing and…oh, shit."

Something audibly fell hard to the ground. Gwaine looked at Merlin, his eyes wide, and mouthed, did she take the sleeping draught? Merlin just frowned, obviously not knowing the answer.

"She's out cold!" a voice called, high and shrill. "She's the only healer we have!"

"Don't touch her!" another voice said. "It'll poison you!"

"I'll touch her," Thiernan boomed, and Gwaine held his breath. After a moment, "She's still alive. Like she's sleeping. Someone help me carry her over to the wall." Then, "You are all cowards! She told you that if we wear gloves, we'll be fine." Finally, "Fine! I will do it myself."

"That's it," someone said. "I'm not sticking around to end up like her, or anyone else."

"What?" Thiernan sounded surprised, though goodness knows why. "What are you saying?"

"That we're leaving," Scarface said. "Good luck."

"Stop! Wait! I am your prince, you can't just leave!"

"Watch us."

"I'll pay you double!"

That stopped the parade of footsteps out of the room.

Then, "Triple," someone said.

"Triple," Thiernan agreed. "Tell the other mercenaries. I will triple your pay."

There was a pause, then, "Some have already left."

"How many?"

A longer pause. Then Scarface replied, "At least half since the sickness started. And a few went missing last night when they saw those campfires on the horizon." Gwaine gasped and grabbed Merlin's arm, but his friend just looked puzzled, obviously not understanding the import of what Scarface had just said.

Thiernan exhaled heavily. "So how many men are left?" he asked quietly.

"With your guards? Twenty at best."

"Hell and damnation."

"It's enough to hold this castle…at least, against mortal men."

"Provided we're not already poisoned," someone else muttered.

"Go tell them of the new pay. Make sure the ones that are left stay."

"How do you want them to arrange themselves?"

"Same as now. A group at the cavern entrance, and a handful by the front gate and on the walls. The rest…in here with me."

Gwaine had heard enough. He beckoned to Merlin that they get away from the grate, and soon the two were a ways down the hall.

"Now what?" Merlin asked, frowning worriedly. "That's still a lot of men."

Gwaine shrugged. "Better than forty," he said, grinning.

"So what should be our next move?"

"I'm going to make my way down to the caverns, to that door that marks the entrance, and lock the men in who are down there."

"And me?"

"Get Elyan. He's almost as good a swordsman with his left as he is with his right. Between the two of you, think you can get past the guards at the gate and get it open?"

"Why?" Merlin asked. "There's no way Pieter could have found help that quickly."

"Didn't you hear what Scarface said?" Gwaine asked, barely containing his excitement. "They saw campfires on the horizon."

"So? We're not far from the travelers road between Mercia and Camelot. There's bound to be--"

"Merlin," Gwaine said, pressing a hand to his arm again to stop him talking. "The only thing that could make a bunch of mercenaries nervous in the middle of night is a lot of campfires."

Merlin stared at him a moment longer, before his eyes widened. "Oh! Those sorts of campfires."

Gwaine punched him in the arm. "So, I'm thinking the gates should be open wide enough to let them in, don't you?"

Merlin smirked. "And after that?"

"Then, we'll see."

Merlin's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze examining. "You're not going to try and attack Thiernan on your own, are you?"

"Of course not. I'm not crazy."

Merlin studied him a moment longer. Finally, he gave a nod. "Promise?"

Gwaine tilted his head. "You don't trust me?"

Merlin snorted. "Not when you ask me if I trust you."

Gwaine shook his head. "I'll meet you here," he said. "I promise."

Merlin smiled crookedly, but nodded. "Alright." He took a step away, and looked back at Gwaine. "Be careful."

"You too."

Merlin nodded, and then shambled off, running at his limping gait. Gwaine's smile fell, and he looked at the wall that was between him and the men in the Great Hall.

He'd not lied to Merlin. He was going to meet him here. Just after he'd killed Thiernan.
_________________________________________

He'd not lied to Gwaine, exactly, but Merlin had no intention of waking Elyan. He didn't need to.

Climbing over the sleeping forms of servants, Merlin crept out the main doors into the shadowed inner courtyard, which was empty of life other than some servants sleeping by a wagon of produce near the entrance to the kitchens. Looking up at the blue sky, he knew the sun was up, but it was still low enough that it hadn't made it over the top of the walls, bringing a decidedly cool air to the parade grounds. It added nicely to the creepiness.

Staying to the darkest shadows, he made his way around to the inner gate, took one quick look around, and slid through the open doors to the outer bailey. At the sound of voices, he quickly ducked behind a wagon near the inner gate. He could smell the oil cooking in spots around the courtyard, and more sitting in bucks on the wagon, the stench causing him to curl his lips in disgust. He mapped out the locations around the bailey with fires and cauldrons, the heavy looking tar-like substance boiling away, trying to decide if he could use them.

"Guards! Attend!" A voice shouted nearly on top of him. He ducked further into the wagon's shadow, as Scarface strode out of the same inner gate doors Merlin had just slipped through, clearly just moments behind him. It was amazing Scarface hadn't seen him. Probably because he hadn't been looking for him.

Merlin frowned, taking a moment to just listen and watch.
_________________________________________

Gwaine ran through the castle to get to the lower levels, not pausing until he reached the doorway leading to the caverns. When he ran into the mercenary Thiernan had sent to tell the men in the caverns of the new deal, he simply knocked him out, jumped over his body, and hit the door full force from behind, slamming it shut. Grinning still, he slid three sets of bolts in place, and then rolled a couple of kegs of some sort of liquid, probably mead from the heavy honey scent, in front of the door.

Standing back, he wiped his hands gleefully, blew a kiss at the door, and then turned and ran back the way he came.
_________________________________________

Merlin's patience was soon rewarded. Scarface had called the men into the open so he could yell the new terms of the agreement to all of them at the same time. From what Merlin could see, there were men on each wall – two on the western wall-walk and two on the eastern wall-walk, all with bows. There were also two men on the ground near the closed and portcullissed front gate, both the size of Percival (in other words, huge). Still, there were definitely far fewer than when he and Gwaine had scaled these walls the evening before. Only six men to hold the main gate? Not a lot.

Merlin glanced up towards the western tower. There were no arrow slits facing into the courtyard – they all faced out, which meant no one in the tower would be able to see him. Good. Feeling a little of his inner-Gwaine come out, he rolled his neck, cracked his knuckles, and stepped out from behind the wagon, careful not to put too much weight on his still sore ankle.
__________________________________________

Gwaine looked down at the doors to the Great Hall, panting heavily. Two mercenaries were dead on the ground by his feet. He wasn't sure how many that left, but he almost didn't care.

Gripping his sword loosely, he grabbed the lock on the door and pushed it open. Instantly, he was assaulted by the oppressive heat in the room. He'd felt it earlier, when they'd been by the grate, but walking into it was like walking into an oven, one that smelled entirely of burning oil. It was sickening.

Inside, the room had been stripped completely of furniture. Instead, he found himself facing about ten heavily armed men standing around a dozen cauldrons, all bubbling away with oil over open flames, and, at the far end, by the largest of the cauldrons, was Prince Thiernan. The mercenaries had all tensed up at his arrival, but, upon seeing him, they all relaxed and Thiernan actually grinned.

"Gwaine!" he boomed, walking towards him. "Look at you! We thought you dead!"

"Not so much," he replied, hefting his sword up. "But you soon will be."

Thiernan's eyebrows lifted, and then he laughed. "By whose hands? Yours?"

Gwaine smirked. "Well, it's not going to be Peg Powler's. She's keen on poisoning you slowly, based on what I've seen. I prefer a quicker route."

Thiernan's smile faded slightly. "Well, you're not going to succeed anymore than she is. As you can see," he gestured to the vats of boiling oil in the room, "we're ready for the water witch. You know the old adage about oil and water, don't you?"

"Clever," Gwaine said. "But it won't be enough to stop me."

"Oh," Thiernan said, his gaze narrowing, "we don't need it for you. We need to save it for Peg. You…we'll just kill."

Gwaine grinned and crouched down, tracking the movement of the mercenaries as they approached him from all sides, swords drawn.
__________________________________________

"Ghuron!" one of the mercenaries on the ground called, pointing at Merlin. Scarface turned around, and, upon seeing Merlin limping towards him, actually smiled.

Merlin raised a hand. "Hi. I need to open that gate. Probably shouldn’t try to stop me."

"Well, look at that," Scarface said, the smile deepening into a smirk. "The servant boy's come back for another beating."

"No," Merlin said, stopping a few feet away from him. "But if you don't get out of my way, I'm going to give you one."

Scarface's eyes widened, and then he laughed. "Oh yes? And how are you going to do that?"

Merlin raised his hands up, as if to shrug. "Well, see…" He lifted his hands, palms towards them. "Pretty much like this."

"Oferswingaþ!" He shoved at Scarface and the mercenaries on the ground, sending them flying backwards ten feet into the dirt and cobblestones of the yard. Spinning around, he threw a hand up towards the bows held by the guards on the eastern wall.

"Forbearnan!"

Instantly, the weapons burst into flames, and the mercenaries yelped in fear. Merlin felt the hairs on his neck prickle, and he jumped to the side as the men on the western wall shot a pair of arrows at him, the shafts barely missing him. He pointed a hand towards the wall-walk under their feet.

"Áhríes ætforanweall!"

The walkway crumbled in a fantastic cascade of mortar and stone, the two men standing on it yelling in terror. One tumbled with the fall, the other jumped to safety, barely managing to scramble back onto the wall-walk. Merlin shoved a hand in his direction, at the bow and arrow he was still carrying. "Forbearnan!" And grinned as his weapon burst into flames, the mercenary throwing it away with a horrified cry.

Movement out of the corner of his eye showed that Scarface and the others were back on their feet, all with their swords drawn, and Merlin threw a hand towards them. "Hleap on bæc!" This time, they flew backwards even further, one of them hitting a wall and the other smacking into a cauldron of oil, toppling it and setting his trousers on fire. Merlin knew, as soon as they hit the ground, that the two of them wouldn't be getting back up again. Scarface, though, had somehow avoided being knocked out by rolling with the strike--he was the only one still moving, already struggling to get back to his feet. Merlin flipped a hand, and their dropped swords flew well out of Scarface's range.

Something hard hit Merlin hard in the shoulder, and he turned a glare to the man on the eastern wall. One of the two mercenaries whose bows he'd burned first had clearly fled, but the other was gamely throwing rocks at him.

"Really?" Merlin asked the air. The next rock, Merlin grabbed with his mind and threw it at the guard still on the western wall, who looked like he was about to join the rock throwing game. It hit him squarely in the middle of his forehead, and he toppled face first off the wall into a wagon at the base, smashing dozens of pots of oil. The first guard stopped, eyes wide, obviously uncertain of what to do next. Merlin quirked a smile—he could help with that. He raised a hand towards him, and the first guard instantly raised his hands in surrender, dropping another rock he'd been holding…and took off running down the wall walk towards the east tower.

Merlin grabbed him with his mind when he was almost at the door, and shoved him into it with a hard smack. The man collapsed into an unconscious heap on the wall-walk.

Which just left…

Merlin turned to face Scarface, who was swaying drunkenly on his feet, blinking dazedly. The mercenary glared at Merlin, breathing hard.

"What…" he demanded hoarsely, "are you?"

"Just a stupid serving boy," Merlin replied, "teaching you a lesson in how to respect your betters."

Scarface scowled. "I'll make you pay for that."

Merlin snorted. "How, exactly?"

Scarface just yelled and ran at him, hands raised into fists.

Merlin called a sword to his hand from one of the fallen mercenaries, raising it in front of him. Scarface ran right into it, the blade stabbing him straight through the middle with a horrific squelching sound. The pain of the hit jolted Merlin's shoulder and back, and he slipped back a few inches on his heels. After that, he just held on, his arms straining as Scarface's entire weight pressed down on the sword.

The dying mercenary stared at him, eyes wide. "What…?"

"I warned you," Merlin whispered. "You should have left when you had the chance."

Scarface huffed a last breath, blood spitting out of his mouth and down his chin. Then he grinned a sickly smile.

"I'll be waiting when you die, boy," he croaked.

"Doubtful," Merlin said, letting the sword go and backing up. Scarface fell the rest of the way to his knees, and then into a heap on his side, eyes still wide open in death. "I'm not planning on going where you're going," he said coolly.

Stepping back another step, he looked around the lower bailey. Except for the men he'd killed and the one he'd knocked out on the western wall, it was empty. He didn't know where that last mercenary had gone – the one that had run from the eastern wall at the beginning – and he didn't care. As long as he never saw him again, he'd be a happy man.

Shaking his head, he limped over to the switch controlling the gate, feeling the adrenalin that had been fueling him for the last hour quickly dissipating, leaving only a painful full body ache behind. Shoving the lever down, he shivered impatiently as the portcullis slowly lifted up. Once cleared, he limped the rest of the way to the doors and got his shoulder under the beam barring it. With a grunt, he lifted the solid wood, feeling every muscle in his body protesting at the motion. The heavy beam nearly toppled him when he got it free, but he managed to throw it down and away before he collapsed. Rubbing at his shoulder, he grabbed the lock on the gate and twisted, pulling the first door open.

He stopped dead cold when he saw who was on the other side. And Arthur looked just as surprised, sitting astride his horse about ten feet away, the animal dancing slightly. Behind him, the rest of Camelot's knights, and a large contingent of blue caped Mercian knights waited at attention. A ragged looking Pieter was sitting astride his stolen horse to one side, next to a handsome man who looked enough like him that he could only be his brother, Prince Renaud. Pieter's expression opened into a wide grin when Merlin met his eyes.

"Look who I ran into!" Pieter said, gesturing around him.

And Merlin started to laugh, hard enough that he started to cry.
________________________________________________

Gwaine dove forward as boiling oil was thrown over his head, droplets hitting his head and neck as he rolled into a somersault and popped back up onto his feet. Twisting in place, he flipped the stolen knife in his hand and threw it with all his strength at the mercenary by the cauldron. He heard it hit with a sickly punch, the man gasping in pain, but he had no time to check that it was a fatal blow. Ripping a sword out of the body of another mercenary, he deflected a sword point inches from piercing him through. Spinning in place, he angled the bloodied sword up and cut down, slicing the man from shoulder to hip. Still turning, he ducked as a dagger narrowly missed lodging between his neck and ear, the blade skimming over his hair and taking a few locks with it. The mercenary who had thrown it, a bald-headed man twice his height, bellowed in annoyance and charged at him like a bear, sword raised over his head. Gwaine jumped over a body on the floor and over to a cauldron, grabbing the handle of one of the ladles, and threw a pint of boiling oil at the mercenary's face. The man screamed, dropping his sword in order to bring his hands up to his burning skin, and Gwaine followed through by stabbing deep into his heart.

Pulling the sword out with a grunt, Gwaine stepped back, letting the behemoth fall to the floor in front of him, and looked around.

Ten mercenaries had been guarding Thiernan. Now there were none.

They lay scattered about the floor, the stones around them a mess of blood and cooling, black oil. The whole room smelled like death. Only Hildy, propped up against the wall in a shadowed corner, a small smile on her sleeping countenance, looked well.

Gwaine turned to face the head of the room, to where Thiernan stood, his eyes wide. The prince was gripping a sword and a main gauche, but both were loose by his sides, as if he wasn't sure what to do with them. When he met Gwaine's gaze, he simply blinked.

"You…you killed all my men," Thiernan said, his voice soft, disbelieving.

"Not all of them," Gwaine answered. "I left a few for the Camelot knights in the tower. But, yes. They're all dead."

Thiernan shook his head. "But…you don't understand what you've done. Now there will be no one left to defend the castle when Peg Powler comes. She'll kill everyone, your sister, the servants, everyone!"

Gwaine just smiled and took a step towards him, hefting his sword. "Oh, Peg? Yeah, we killed her yesterday."

If possible, Thiernan's eyes grew even wider. "What?" He stepped backwards, away from Gwaine.

"Down in the valley. Turns out, water witches don't like fire…or big black dogs." He smiled. "Oh, and as for your servants? They're all fine, including brave Mistress Hildy sleeping over there. They turned on you, because they didn't like working for such a cretinous weasel."

Thiernan exhaled heavily, and took another step back, rubbing a sleeve over his sweating forehead. "I don't understand this. They turned….How? How did you—?"

"By being better a better man than you," Gwaine replied, smiling coldly, following Thiernan as he continued to try to back away from him, getting closer with each step.

Thiernan's eyes turned wild, and he raised his sword, setting his jaw. "So this is it, then? It comes down to you and me?"

Gwaine nodded.

Thiernan lifted his chin. "Well, we'll see who wins this final fight. I'm still fresh. Whereas you, you're--"

"Furious," Gwaine finished, lowering his head to glare at him. "And still better than you."

Thiernan snorted, hefted his sword and dagger, and crouched down. Gwaine gave a tiny smile…and attacked.

Thiernan deflected the first few blows, his strength still at its peak, and, for a minute or two, Gwaine let him think he was doing well. He backed up, letting Theirnan rain down blows, metal clashing against metal, driving Gwaine into the center of the room. But Thiernan was also tiring himself out, and Gwaine could feel the other man shaking in each crash against his own sword. A few times, Thiernan tried to follow through with the main gauche, aiming for Gwaine's middle, but Gwaine simply jumped out of the way.

Not that it was easy. He was sweating heavily, the heat in the room cooking them, and Gwaine could feel he was on borrowed time. His brain and body was operating on some sort of higher plain, where he could barely feel his pain and his speed was insane. If he hadn't known for a fact that there was no magic around, he'd almost wonder if he hadn't been enchanted. But one thing he knew—he was not going to lose this fight.

When they reached the middle, bodies of mercenaries boxing them in, the boiling cauldrons still popping and bubbling on all sides, Gwaine decided he'd had enough. Time seemed to slow as he watched Thiernan's swing go too wide, and the main gauche come in too weak to even break the leather on his jerkin. He didn't bother to move out of the way, instead he ducked, twisted and slid into Thiernan's space, throwing an elbow into his sternum and standing up to crack Theirnan's chin with his head. The prince staggered backwards, wide open, and Gwaine turned the rest of the way around, sword knocking the main gauche out of his left hand (along with a couple of fingers), and cutting a dark slice across his stomach.

Thiernan howled, bowing in half and backing up, pressing his left hand to his bleeding stomach. It wasn't a mortal wound. Not yet.

The prince tried to bring his sword back into play, to keep Gwaine at blade's length, but Gwaine snagged it with his own, spun the blades together, and pulled it out of Thiernan's grip, sending the sword flying into one of the boiling cauldrons with a heavy splash. Unarmed, Thiernan just fell to his knees, hand still pressed to his bleeding middle, and lifted his chin to stare unguardedly at Gwaine.

He was terrified. And Gwaine wanted to say, now you know. Now you know how my sister has felt for the last fifteen years.

Taking the hilt in two hands, he drew his sword back over his shoulder, eyes focusing on Thiernan's neck, at the rapid pulse beating under the skin.

"GWAINE! Stop!"

His arms froze. He was too well trained not to obey that voice, despite the fact that every fiber in his being wanted to finish this. Now.

"Gwaine!" Arthur's voice boomed. "You've won! You can stop fighting!"

Gwaine almost folded in on himself, feeling all the strength and power inside him suddenly wash out of him like flood over a dam. He looked over his shoulder, through the arms still holding the upraised sword, and stared at his king.

"Arthur?" he asked, his voice almost a croak. Still on his knees, Thiernan groaned and cowered, his back bowing around his wound like a captured beetle retreating into its shell.

King Arthur moved into the room, Merlin, Percival and a dozen more on his heels, the king's eyes never leaving Gwaine. When he reached his side, he rested a hand on his arm.

"You've won," the king promised him, his voice rich with pride. "It's done. You've saved a great many lives today. You don't have to kill him to prove it."

"Place Prince Theirnan in irons!" a new voice snapped, someone Gwaine hadn't heard before. The owner of the voice moved into Gwaine's eyeline, and Gwaine finally lowered his sword as he recognized Prince Renaud. Thiernan's older brother gave him an examining gaze, before inclining his head in almost a bow.

"Thank you, noble knight," he said, his tone respectful. "But King Bayard would like to be the one to deal with my brother's treachery."

Gwaine simply blinked once, feeling strangely adrift. He thought about protesting, about punching this new Royal, about saying a great many things….Instead, all that came out was the main.

"He beat my sister," he whispered, almost an appeal. "And he beat Merlin. Almost to death."

Renaud's eyes softened at that. "I know." He frowned. "He also beat Pieter and killed a large number of my friends. But I give you my word he will never be allowed to do anything like this ever again."

Gwaine studied him for a moment longer, searching his features for any sign of trickery or deceit. Renaud met the gaze, letting him take as long as he needed. Eventually, Gwaine lowered his head, resigned, and he felt someone gently take the sword from his hand.

"Let's take you somewhere you can rest," Percival said in his ear. Gwaine nodded, but he stayed long enough to see Mercian knights pull Thiernan to his feet and roughly clap his wrists in heavy, black chains. Only once Thiernan was being led away, the prince's head bowed, did he fully look upon his friends in the room. Arthur was right by his side, as was Percival, both looking ready to catch him if need be.

He spotted Merlin and Pieter standing next to each other a few feet away, the weight of what they had all been through evident in their eyes. Pieter gave a small smile, and Merlin waved.

Gwaine gamely gave them a crooked smile, and looked at Percival. "You know what? It's hot as hell in here. Anyone think to bring a tall, cold cup of mead? Because I could really use a drink. And please to God, don't make it water."

Chapter Text

Merlin woke up first, so he was told, before Gwaine. He didn't remember it all that well, nor the second or third time that he woke up, but he had it on good authority that each time, he was awake for longer. A few images were imprinted, though. He remembered seeing Arthur sitting by his bed, the king, his friend, asleep in an uncomfortable looking chair, head at an odd angle. He remembered it partly because it was strange, but also because he'd imagined the amount of complaining he'd hear the next day when he brought him his breakfast. It hadn't occurred to him that he wasn't in his bed at Camelot, or that he wouldn't be bringing Arthur anything. He also remembered a conversation, hushed and worried, between Arthur and someone he didn't know. It had sounded important, and might mean Arthur was in danger, so he'd tried hard not to fall asleep again. He obviously had. And he remembered someone singing near his bed, a soft, almost mournful tune. He hadn't recognized it, or the singer, just that she'd sounded sad. The person had brushed the hair off his forehead, and he'd hoped it was his mother. It wasn't.

But, for all that, it wasn't until today, the third day (apparently), that he could actually sit up in bed and stay awake long enough to be bear hugged by Percival, arm slapped by Arthur and grinned at by Elyan (who still had his arm in a sling).

He also saw where he was for the first time (again, that he could remember), and it most definitely wasn't Camelot. Or in a servants' quarters. The room was almost as big as Arthur's back home, and he was lying in a massive four post bed, covered in silken quilts. He couldn't help it—he felt uncomfortable, like someone was going to come in any moment and arrest him for impertinence.

"Lady Clarissant insisted," Arthur explained, clearly reading the obvious question on Merlin's face. "She wasn't going to have either you or Gwaine kept anywhere but in the best quarters while staying in her home."

Merlin's eyebrows lifted, and, though he still felt a little like an imposter, he couldn't deny that the sheets were really very soft.

"I really slept for three days?" he asked, still trying to wrap his head around it, and wondering if it wasn't some sort of jest.

"Yeah. Hildy was getting worried, and I almost sent for Gaius. But, apparently, you really just needed the rest."

"It's mostly because, even though you woke up first, Gwaine's recovering faster," Elyan said, sitting on the end of the bed, bouncing slightly. "He actually managed to get out of bed a couple of times yesterday, but he tires easily. It's not too different from how he was after the time Morgana—" He stopped talking abruptly, and glanced at Arthur. "I mean, when he was last…you know…um…."

"I know," Merlin said, smiling indulgently at his friend. "What about the others?"

"Everyone is on the mend, including your new best friend, Prince Pieter," Arthur said, scowling slightly. "Despite still looking like a scarecrow, he's also been up and about since yesterday, and he's nearly as annoying as he used to be. He's also been trying to get in here to see you, claiming that he's going to steal you away from Camelot. You'll make sure to tell him where your loyalties lie, right? I mean, you may have helped save Mercia, but Camelot's still your home."

Merlin grinned. "I don't know. What's he offering? I mean, if it's better hours, better pay, fewer beat downs in the practice yard…."

"Yeah," Arthur said slowly, arching an eyebrow. "Don't even think about it. Now, come on." He plucked at his sleeve. "On your feet. You've been lying around for long enough. Hildy says we need to get you to walk today."

Merlin nodded, and drew his legs up to extricate them from the quilts. He was already missing the bed—it was something sleeping on a real mattress like this. The three of them moved a little closer when he got his feet over the side and stood up…and almost fell on his face. Arthur caught him and steadied him.

"Alright?" the king said as Merlin got his feet under him. Merlin nodded. After a moment, he felt strong enough to let go of Arthur's arm.

"Just needed to get my equilibrium back," he said, taking a couple of steps. He felt normal again fairly quickly, though he was already tired.

"You know," he said, taking a few more steps. "I was wondering…." He looked at Arthur. "How were you still in the vicinity when Pieter found you? I would have thought you would have already reached Bayard."

"Oh. You can thank Prince Renaud for that," Arthur said. "Apparently, border scouts had informed him that I was heading to Mercia, so he came to intercept us. He'd guessed why we'd come—to help with the search—and he wanted to greet us. Or, more likely, size us up—man's got the air of a seasoned general. Either way, he managed to stop us only a day from here. We were meeting to discuss a strategy to help find Thiernan and Pieter when Pieter arrived, looking like something the cat dragged in. He was barely coherent, but we figured out enough to know that we needed to get back here and help you."

"Lucky for us," Merlin said. He walked back to the bed and sat down, rubbing at his shaking legs.

"I don't know—looked like you and Gwaine pretty much had everything sorted before we ever arrived," Percival offered.

"And I didn't even get to help," Elyan said, pouting slightly. "Hurt arm or not, Merlin, you could have asked—"

"It all happened too quickly," Merlin said, not meeting his gaze. "Sorry." Elyan's pout just deepened, and Percival smiled at him.

"Buck up, Elyan. I'm sure you'll be able to kill some mercenaries next time."

Elyan threw him a glare, and Arthur smiled, sitting down next to Merlin on the bed.

"So," Percival said, clapping his hands together. "We've heard a lot of the story about Thiernan and Peg Powler from Pieter, but one thing none of us know is how you defeated Peg. Elyan's thinking Gwaine talked her to death, and Arthur thinks you nagged her to death. So, what's the story?"

Merlin gave Arthur a sullen look at the "nagged to death" comment. "Actually, we didn't do it alone. We had help. You remember the black dogs?"

Instantly, all three of them paled, and Percival asked, "They helped you?"

"Peg made it clear that she was going to poison all the rivers in Mercia, starting with the one in that valley. The black dogs didn't want to move."

"They took her down?" Arthur asked, frowning now.

"Well, Gwaine had already taken a few pieces out of her. They just finished the job."

"Huh," Arthur said, eyebrows lifting. "Don't take this the wrong way but, why didn't the dogs kill you afterwards?"

Merlin looked down at his bare feet. "I think…." He shrugged. "I think they let us go because we understood each other. All they were trying to do was protect their family and their home. So were we." He shook his head and looked at Arthur. "All they want is to be left alone."

Arthur stared at him for a long moment. Finally, he flashed a rueful smile.

"Well, I have no plans to hunt them anymore," he said softly. "And, apparently, I owe them for saving you and Gwaine. And probably a lot of other people."

"Yeah, you do."

Arthur patted a hand to Merlin's arm. "Just do me a favor and don't bring one home as a pet."

Percival and Elyan both burst into laughter, and Merlin grinned.

Arthur stood up and held out a hand. "Want to go see Gwaine? He was still sleeping when I checked in on him earlier, but he should be waking soon. And there's a nice big chair in his room near the fireplace that's screaming your name."
___________________________________________

Someone was giggling. That was the first thing Gwaine really understood. A child was giggling, almost laughing, not far from where he was sleeping.

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes to find his sister sitting on a chair next to his bed with Anne on her lap. Anne wasn't the one giggling, though. She was playing with a doll. Clara smiled at him, and Gwaine returned the favor.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. "Better?"

"Yeah," he admitted, pushing himself up into a sitting position. The hammering in his head had finally faded, and he no longer felt like all his limbs were made of jelly. He also felt, blessedly, awake. To be honest, he couldn't remember the last time he had slept this long or this hard. It probably had something to do with the fact that no one was trying to kill him at the moment.

Clara popped Anne off her knee and bent over to speak to her. "Anne, go tell your uncles and King Arthur that Sir Gwaine has awoken."

The little girl's expression brightened, and she ran off to do as she was told, her blond curls bouncing behind her. Gwaine followed her with his eyes, but stopped when he spotted Merlin sitting in a chair next to the fireplace, talking to his nephew. His face split into a grin at the sight of them—Merlin looked almost healthy again. It was obviously Gregory who had been (and was still) giggling, and Merlin was trying to shush him.

"He's awake, see?" Merlin was mock whispering. "Why don't you go say hello?"

Gregory, still smiling brightly, nodded and bounded over to Gwaine's side.

"Hi!" he said.

"Hi!" Gwaine replied. He noticed the boy's fingers were covered in what looked like ink, and there was some on his clothes as well. "What's on your hands?"

Instantly, the boy's eyes widened, and then he all but ran back to Merlin's side, hiding behind the chair and giggling even more insanely, if that was possible. Gwaine lifted his eyebrows towards Merlin.

"He was painting you," Merlin explained, lifting his hands up in a shrug. "I can't say it's flattering."

Ah. Gwaine offered a crooked smile. "I'm sure it's a great picture. I'd love to see it."

Gregory howled with laughter, and Merlin shook his head. "Maybe later."

Gwaine's eyes narrowed as a thought struck him, but before he could voice it, the door opened and Anne stomped inside pulling Arthur by hand, the king looking somewhat bemused by the four-year-old's actions. On their heels were Princes Renaud and Pieter. Arthur and Renaud both paused upon seeing Gwaine (despite Anne still tugging insistently on Arthur's hand), but when Pieter looked at him, he just grinned. He looked far better than when Gwaine had last seen him, though he was obviously still pale and shaky from weeks of abuse, and though he was only a year or two older than Renaud, he looked far older than him now, his face aged with lines that would take a long time to fade.

"Anne," Clara called. "Come back over here." The little girl let go of Arthur and ran to her mom, jumping onto her lap again.

"Well, you finally look better," Pieter said, striding over to stand behind Clara's chair. "Clarissant here was beginning to worry, and my brother Renaud was a basket-case." That earned a pained look from his brother; Gwaine had a feeling their relationship was an interesting one.

"It is good to see you well," Arthur said, standing now next to the bed. "Think you'll be able to get on your feet this afternoon?"

Gwaine's eyebrows lifted and he sat up, ready to throw back the quilts on his legs. "Of course. Whatever you need. Just tell me—"

"No, no," Arthur laughed. "Not right now. My lady," Arthur bowed to Clara, "will you make sure your brother is prepared for this afternoon?"

"Of course," she said, smiling at him as Gwaine frowned at her. "And Merlin as well."

"Wait, what?" Merlin called from where he was still talking quietly with Gregory. Gregory went quiet, and took a step away from Merlin's chair. "What's happening?"

"Lord Bayard arrived this morning," Arthur explained. "He wishes to speak with you both in the Great Hall this afternoon."

"He's here?" Gwaine asked.

"He is," Arthur affirmed. "He came to see me. I did not want to leave while you were laid up, and since his sons were already here with me, Bayard decided to come here in order to meet me and—" He stopped, pressing his lips together, and looked across to Pieter and Renaud. It was Renaud who stepped forward.

"He has come to speak with our brother Thiernan, and to pass sentence," the prince said, standing stiffly. "They're meeting this morning."

"Speaking of, that should be happening about now," Pieter said, solemn now. "We should go."

"My lady," Renaud said, bowing to Clara. "Will you be present?"

She stared at him, and then lowered her head. Anne had buried her head in her mother's shoulder when Renaud had mentioned her father, and Clara was holding her tightly.

"I will be present if the King wishes it so, your highness," she said, her voice tentative. Gwaine frowned slightly, wishing he knew what to say, how to protect her and them. He noticed Gregory had disappeared behind Merlin's chair, as if hiding.

Renaud gave a nod of understanding. "We will only summon you if we need you."

She relaxed slightly in the chair, and kissed the top of her daughter's head. "Thank you, Renaud," she whispered. Pieter gripped her shoulder briefly, and the two princes turned to leave. Pieter flashed Gwaine one more smile before disappearing out of the door after his brother.

A terrible thought came to Gwaine then, in thinking about how Thiernan's trial might go. He looked at Clara, and saw that she was still keeping her head down.

"Arthur," he said, looking at his king. "Could you give us a few minutes?"

Arthur had clearly been expecting this, his face hard as he nodded.

Merlin stood. "Would you like me to take the children as well?"

Gwaine gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks."

Merlin looked behind his chair, and drew out Gregory by his hand.

"Go with Merlin, Anne," Clara said, popping Anne off her lap. But, rather than Merlin, Anne ran around the bed and stood in front of Arthur, raising her arms towards him. Arthur sighed heavily, but bent down and lifted her up, depositing the little girl on his hip. She giggled and rested her head on his shoulder, little arms around his neck.

"We'll be in Merlin's suite," Arthur said to Gwaine.

Once the door shut behind the four of them, Clara sighed heavily.

"I have to thank your friends," she said. "They have kept the children distracted these past few days. Gregory didn't even speak to anyone for the first two, but your friends got him to laugh yesterday, and today, to hear him giggle…. I owe your Merlin a debt." She smiled softly. "And, of course, Anne has a huge crush on Arthur, so has been flirting horribly. I can't blame her." She huffed a laugh. "But the fact that the king indulges a four-year-old girl so sweetly…." She looked at Gwaine. "I see what you mean about him. He is different. The way he cares about all of you…."

Gwaine nodded. "I told you."

"You did." She lowered her gaze to her lap. "I am happy you found someone worthy of your respect, Gwaine."

Gwaine studied her a moment. "What do you think Bayard's going to do to Thiernan?"

Her brow furrowed. "I expect that he will be stripped of his titles and locked away for a very long time. But…" She frowned. "If you're asking if the king will execute him…? No. I doubt it. It's not done."

Gwaine understood that. Bayard couldn't execute his own son—but sticking a mad son in some desolate keep somewhere, probably somewhere up north where it was colder and darker, that was something he could do. But in sending Thiernan away…

"Clara," he asked, "what will happen to you?" Women could not hold land, and with Thiernan jailed and his titles stripped…

She shook her head. "I don't know," she admitted. But then she smiled and looked up. "Strange thing is, it doesn't bother me as much as it should. Well, I mean, it bothers me, even terrifies me a little that I don't know where we're going to end up, but I've been so relieved these past three days, it's sort of overridden everything else. We're finally free of him. It's…" Her gaze drifted away. "I don't think I can express what it's like, having him gone, knowing that I won't ever be terrified if he'll drink too much, or have a bad day on a hunt, or just have a headache. Just not having his eyes on me or the children anymore, it's like…" She gave a shaky laugh, opening her arms wide. "For the first time since I married him, I can choose how I want to spend my day. More still, I realize I can choose how I want to live my life."

Gwaine frowned. Her life? "But—"

"Oh, I know. You think Bayard will still expect to dictate our lives. And you're not wrong. He will want us to stay in Mercia, to live with some relatives, to be some great family's wards. After all, Anne and Gregory are still his grandchildren—that still makes them royalty. And being wards would mean we still live like nobles, with servants and a grand house, everything I thought I wanted even a week ago." She shrugged, and looked at Gwaine again. "But now that Thiernan's gone, I find I like this feeling of freedom too much, far more than I need that grand house or those servants. I don't want to lose it." She shook her head. "I want to be my own master. I want my own home, Gwaine, and since I can't have this one anymore, I want to find a new one on my own."

"On your own," he repeated, his frown deepening. "Then…then you don't want me to—"

"No." Her smile broadened. "I won't take you from your family. And I want to do this. When I find my home, it will be mine to run. No more living under anyone else's roof, beholden to Bayard or his relatives, afraid of being thrown out or tossed aside. I don't want to be kept anymore. My home will be mine and my children's, whether it be stone or thatched. Although…" She winked at him. "I do have enough money set aside for a nice cottage, and a housekeeper and maid. I just have to figure out where."

Gwaine gave her a crooked smile, and reached over to grab her hand. "You are a remarkable woman, sister mine."

"And you are a remarkable man, brother mine. And, as it turns out? You really are phenomenal with a sword. Who knew?"

He gave her a stupid grin, and she leaned in to kiss his face. When she leaned back, he noticed she had black on her upper lip and his face fell.

"Hey," he said, touching his face only to find charcoal stuck to his hands. "He didn't. Merlin! Oy, Merlin! Get back in here!"

Merlin had apparently not gone far. He popped his head back inside the door, eyebrows raised. Gregory was still with him, peeking out around Merlin's waist. When Gwaine thrust his hands at him, to show the charcoal on them, the servant grinned.

"I told you it wasn't flattering," he said. At that, little Gregory fell to the flagstone floor, rolling around in laughter.
_____________________________________________

Thiernan was to be imprisoned in a keep on the northern edges of the kingdom, a hairsbreadth away from the lands ruled by the Vikings. The castles up there were dark and imposing, with walls the width of ten men and almost no windows. No one survived them for long.

Gwaine was told this as he and Merlin were led to the Great Hall by a subdued Pieter. Arthur walked by their side, his head down. Clara also walked with them, touching the hands of the servants as they walked by them, the servants all looking genuinely sad that she would soon be leaving them. Hildy even gave her a tearful hug, and Clara held her tight briefly, before thanking her and insisting that they had to keep moving. The king was waiting.

"You know," Merlin whispered to Arthur as they walked, "he doesn't really need to see me. I could just slip out and—"

"Shut up, Merlin."

"No, really, I—"

Arthur gave him a silencing look, and Merlin sighed heavily. Gwaine wished he could comfort his friend, but he didn't feel much better. For all that he'd saved Pieter, he had also almost beheaded Thiernan. Evil son or not, what father could take such an action well?

Upon reaching the Great Hall, it took Gwaine a moment to recognize it. The cauldrons of boiling oil were long gone, and the windows along the upper wall were all wide open, letting in the cool gray day. The tapestries with Thiernan on them were also gone, leaving bare walls. Only the Mercian knights along the walls, in their bright blue capes, added any color to the room.

Gwaine swallowed nervously upon seeing Bayard standing at the far end of the hall, the king of Mercia looking worn down already by the day. When they walked in, he'd been speaking softly to Renaud, who was standing at attention like any good soldier.

Arthur swept in front of them, walking up to Bayard and giving a slight bow. Bayard matched it, identical in every way—two equals meeting. Renaud bowed a little more deeply, and stepped away.

"Your majesty," Arthur said, gesturing behind him to where Gwaine and Merlin were standing behind him. "May I present Sir Gwaine."

Bayard had a rather inscrutable look on his face as he studied the knight, but it soon passed and the king inclined his head. "Sir Gwaine."

"Your majesty," Gwaine said, bowing low. Next to him, he noticed Merlin was trying to sidle sideways to hide behind Arthur, his head down so that his hair hid his face. Camelot's king simply stepped out of the way and gestured towards Merlin.

"And," Arthur said. "May I present my manservant—"

"Merlin," Bayard finished. Merlin paled to near white, but Bayard didn't seem to notice. Instead, he strode over to the young man and….held out a hand. Merlin, if possibly, paled even further, not taking it. Bayard chuckled, and Arthur cleared his throat. Merlin blushed and took Bayard's arm, which Bayard proceeded to grip tightly, based on how tense Merlin's arm and shoulder went.

"You have no need for concern, son." Bayard promised. "I may not have known your name for a while, but I know who you are. It's not every day I am accused of being a poisoner by a servant." He smirked, and let go of Merlin's arm. Rubbing it a little, Merlin's brow furrowed slightly as Bayard's smile deepened into something akin to respect. "Truth is, while I did not appreciate the accusation, I did admire what you did afterwards. The fact that you willingly drank from the poisoned goblet to save your master was an extraordinary act of bravery and devotion. Believe me, I hold no ill will towards anyone who would do that."

Merlin forced a smile and glanced quickly at Arthur, who simply gave a tiny shrug. Bayard, meanwhile, turned away and indicated to several servants standing by a set of chairs. The servants quickly brought them forward and set them down, forming almost a semi-circle.

"I know that you are also both not fully recovered. Please, sit."

After looking to Arthur for permission, Merlin sat down with Arthur sitting to his left. Gwaine followed his lead, and he felt Clara stand behind him, her hand on his shoulder.

Bayard sat in the largest chair—the one obviously meant for the lord of the castle—and studied them for a long moment, as if sizing them up. Renaud stood behind his father's chair, back stiff with his hands behind his back and his gaze impassive. Pieter sat next to his father and smiled brightly at them both. Finally, Bayard reached over and took Pieter's hand, giving it a squeeze before letting go.

"I wanted to come in and thank you in person for bringing my son Pieter back to me," Bayard said. "From what he tells me, we owe you a debt."

"We were, uh…" Gwaine glanced at Merlin before returning his gaze to the king. "We were honored to aid your son, Sire. And to be of use to Mercia."

"Saved her, more like," Pieter said, grinning.

"Yes," Bayard agreed. "You did. And, as your king knows, it is customary to reward such actions." He looked to Gwaine. "I am told by your king," Bayard glanced at Arthur, "that I cannot make you a knight of Mercia, Sir Gwaine, as Camelot already holds your allegiance. Is that true?"

Gwaine had to nod. "Yes, your majesty, it is."

"Then you may ask a boon. If I can grant it, I will."

Gwaine huffed a breath, but he didn't have to think for very long. What he wanted was obvious.

"Anything?" he asked.

"If it is within my power, yes."

Gwaine licked his lips. "Then, I request an income."

Bayard's eyebrows lifted. "An income?"

"For my sister. Enough for her to own her own land and live comfortably, as her own mistress."

Bayard's eyes widened slightly, and lifted over Gwaine's shoulder to where Clara was now standing very still. Her hand on Gwaine's shoulder had tightened as soon as he made the request. He wasn't sure she was even breathing.

"I assume," Gwaine said, "that, because of what may have happened this morning, that Lady Clarissant will no longer be able to live here. If that's the case, then, she would prefer—"

Bayard held up a hand, his brow furrowed, and Gwaine swallowed nervously. Had he crossed a line asking something for his sister?

"You wish to stay here, is that what he's saying?" Bayard asked, obviously directing the question at Clara. "Even after everything that has happened under this roof?" Gwaine twisted to look over his shoulder at her. She blinked once, slowly, but then nodded.

"I would," she said quietly.

"Then you shall," Bayard said. "I will grant this castle and these lands in the name of your son, my grandson, Lord Gregory. Until he comes of age, you shall manage this castle as its mistress." He tilted his head. "Is that acceptable?"

Her grip on Gwaine's shoulder was so tight now, it was actually beginning to hurt. He held back the wince, and realized that she was pressing so hard because she was trying not to react too broadly…either with happiness or tears or both. The tiniest smile lit at her lips as she stepped forward and curtsied deeply.

"That is acceptable," she said, her voice a little rough. "My deepest gratitude, your majesty."

"And you, Gwaine?" Bayard asked. "Does that satisfy your request?"

Gwaine had no compunction, he grinned happily. "It does. Thank you, your majesty."

Bayard flashed a half-smile, and Gwaine realized that this was likely something Bayard had either planned or wanted to do all along. But this way, he got to seem magnanimous in the gesture.

Bayard's eyes now turned to Merlin. Merlin had gripped his hands into fists, and, for some reason, he seemed to become almost small under the king's gaze. Gwaine's happiness faded somewhat, wishing he knew what was about to happen.

"As for you, Merlin," Bayard began, "I have a little story to tell you. It's one I don't believe Arthur here knows."

Merlin frowned, glancing briefly at Arthur.

"After I learned that you'd survived being poisoned," Bayard began, "I was impressed enough by your actions that I offered to buy you from Uther. Unfortunately, once Uther knew I wanted something of his, he suddenly found you invaluable. Initially, he told me that he could not take you away from Arthur, as Arthur was too fond of you. Then, when I visited, or he visited me, he would tell me stories of what he called your 'uncompromising loyalty' to Arthur, since he knew it would rankle me. I did, of course, take many of these stories with a grain of salt, assuming most were fabrications, since I figured he was telling me them so that he could eventually throw you into some negotiation."

Merlin seemed frozen, as if he wasn't sure what was happening, but, for Gwaine, it was Arthur who was the most interesting to watch. He'd started out confused, but as Bayard continued, a dark scowl had formed that, by this point, could only be termed thunderous.

"Until these events, however, I don't think I truly understood how exceptional you truly are. I no longer believe that Uther was making up his stories about you, not after what Pieter has told me. As a result, I would like to offer you a place in my court, as my own personal servant. The position would entitle you—"

Arthur suddenly stood up. "Bayard!"

Bayard clearly decided to ignore him, still speaking to Merlin. "I would be willing to provide you with an income above whatever you may be getting now, in addition to my personal promise of a small estate when you retire, for your family. Obviously, having those lands would make you, in the august of your life, a Gentleman of Mer—"

"This is out of order!" Arthur snapped.

Bayard held up a hand. "You gave me your word, Arthur." He looked to the King of Camelot. "You told me yourself that you would allow me to offer any gift I chose to your men."

"Not this! It's inappropriate! You cannot—"

"Would you deny him the choice? You told me--"

"I will not let you steal Merlin! My father may have been willing to barter him, but I will not!"

"This isn't a barter," Bayard challenged, eyes narrowed. "It's an offer. To him. If you truly care for your servant, then you will let him decide for himself. Have you given him any promises for his future like I have? Allow him the opportunity to consider—"

"I don't need to consider," Merlin said, his voice soft. Oddly, despite the quiet delivery, it instantly shut up both kings, and Gwaine had to hide a smile. Merlin's hands were gripped so tightly into fists on his lap, that they were almost white. He drew in a steadying breath before speaking again. "While I genuinely appreciate the offer, your majesty, I cannot take it."

Bayard's eyes narrowed. "What if I offer to double your current income?"

"Oh, for God's sake," Arthur muttered.

Merlin, though, just shook his head. "I'm sorry, your majesty, but I promised Arthur that I would remain his servant until I die. I will not go back on that promise."

Bayard stared at him, lips slightly parted. Finally, he huffed. "Uncompromising loyalty," he repeated softly. He shook his head. "You truly are one of a kind, Merlin."

Merlin smiled weakly. "No. There are others like me. I'm just…more well known, apparently."

"I'm not certain that is true," Bayard replied to Merlin. "But I hope it is."

Arthur had sat back down by now, but he was staring unblinkingly at his hands, as if he didn't quite know what had just occurred. Gwaine glanced at Renaud and Pieter, to find Renaud looking vaguely displeased, and Pieter clearly disappointed. Gwaine realized that Bayard had probably made the offer in large part for his son—and probably to test Arthur's loyalty as much as Merlin's. A great deal had just been revealed about how Arthur felt about Merlin, and Gwaine wondered if it had been a good thing.

Bayard sighed and tilted his head. "Well, as I cannot convince you to enter my service, Merlin, then I too offer you a boon. If it is in my power to grant it, I will."

Merlin's brow furrowed slightly, as he looked down at his now unfisted hands. Eventually, he shook his head. "I embarrassed to say that cannot think one right now, Sire. But, again, I appreciate the offer."

"Then," Bayard shrugged. "I suppose I shall simply owe you a favor."

Merlin's head lifted, surprised. Arthur's did as well, but this time, he almost smiled.

"In the meantime," Bayard said, standing up. "I can show my gratitude in one other way." He waved a hand at another servant, who quickly bustled forward with a box in his hands. "I want to let you both know that you are always welcome in Mercia and in my home. As proof, I hereby bequeath my seal to each of you…" The servant opened the box, revealing two small gold seals, and Bayard lifted them out. With a solemn air, he deposited one in each of Merlin's and Gwaine's hands. "This seal will not only grant you passage throughout my kingdom unmolested, but they declare you as heroes of the kingdom, so wherever you go, you will be treated with respect."

"Huzzah!" Pieter called out, jumping out of his chair and bounding over to grasp Merlin's hand to shake it. "That means you have to come and visit! No excuses!" Bayard's entire expression morphed into happiness at his son's obvious exuberance. Arthur stood then, stepped forward and started speaking quickly to Bayard and Renaud, the conversation looking a little tense and obviously not for Gwaine or Merlin's ears. Pieter started talking Merlin's ear off about coming to visit, so Gwaine felt free to turn around and speak to his sister.

She was staring at him, and there were clear tears in her eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He shrugged. "I wasn't sure you would accept. What about not being beholden to anyone? About owning your own roof?"

"That was before you managed to find a way to let me keep my home," she said. "Pretty hard to turn down the chance to stay here, in my own castle. The servants will be very happy as well."

"Well," he shrugged, "I think being a princess looks good on you."

Her smile fell slightly at that. She took his hand.

"About that," she said. "About my wanting to be a princess when I was younger...."

He shook his head. "You don't have to say anything."

"Of course I do," she said. "Because I should have apologized at the same time that you did." She lowered her gaze. "I was a fool to want this more than my family back then, Gwaine. And more the fool that I didn't run away when I could have once it all went wrong." She gripped his hand tightly. "I need you to know how truly sorry I am for what happened between us. I know full well that I was as much in the wrong as you, and that I shouldn't have left you, Gaheris and mother. I paid for that choice. But I can make up for it now. Please know that this castle is as much your home as ours, should you ever need someplace to go. And, even if you don't…" She tilted her head. "Promise me you'll come and visit from time to time anyway."

Gwaine leaned in and gave her a hug. "As often as I can, you old toad."

"I'm keeping you to that, lizard breath," she replied, hugging him just as tightly.
______________________________________________________________

Early the next morning, Merlin was packing his (freshly cleaned and mended) clothes into his bag (he was going to miss having a servant of his own), when there came a knock on the door. He didn't even look up as he called "come in!", assuming that it was the young man that had been serving him.

"Hey," Arthur called, and Merlin turned, not hiding his surprise. Arthur knocked? Arthur never knocked.

"Are you well, Sire?" Perhaps he was ill? Some malady of politeness?

"Am I well, he asks," Arthur muttered, shaking his head. He walked across the room to where Merlin was standing by the bed, only to come to a stop a few feet away, his head down. Merlin frowned.

"Um, perhaps you should sit down. I could get some water—"

"I'm fine," Arthur snapped, his jaw hardening. He glanced up at Merlin, then huffed a sigh, his entire expression falling. Head down, he walked over to sit on the bed next to where Merlin was standing. "I just…I wanted to speak to you about yesterday. I meant to find you last night, but Bayard—"

"I know. He seemed intent to talk your ear off last night." Merlin shrugged. "Me, I was too busy enjoying being served instead of being the one serving, and thinking about how much I was going to miss sleeping on silk." He sighed with yearning, patting the silken quilts. "I have to say, Mercia hasn't been all bad."

Arthur flashed a crooked smile, and finally looked up. "Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. About Bayard's offer, which you rejected…."

"Of course I did." Merlin frowned again, this time in annoyance. Seriously? This is what he was worried about?

"Thing is, I don't want you to feel beholden to me because of that promise you made." Arthur looked down. "I want you to know that I don't hold you to it. If a better opportunity arises, you should properly consider it. I would understand."

Merlin snorted and returned to packing, stuffing the last of the clothes with probably a little too much force. "This conversation is stupid. Let's stop it."

Arthur frowned, and he looked up again. "No, it's not. Bayard was right about one thing—you should be thinking about your future. Bayard offered you land and—"

Merlin shrugged. "That? Come on, that's nothing. You'll give me land someday."

That earned a confused look. "I will? Why would I—?"

"Because I know you. You'll give me land and a title, and you won't give it to me just because I'm your servant." Merlin finished packing by stuffing in the gold Mercian seal and pulling the leather drawstrings tightly closed.

Arthur frowned, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "I won't?"

Merlin rolled his eyes, tying the drawstrings together. "No, you'll give me land for the same reason that I didn't take Bayard's job offer." He tossed the bag aside and looked at Arthur. "Because you know damn well that this isn't just a position to me. This?" He pointed between them. "This isn't a job, it's a friendship. You're my best friend, even though you're a complete prat, and I'm yours. I'm not going to leave you for some thankless job with a jerk like Bayard."

Arthur blinked. "Jerk?"

"Oh please. You think I don't know what that was about yesterday? That whole fiction he created about wanting me in his household and your father talking about me? I know you loved your father, Arthur, but honestly, he had as much time for servants as you have for cowards. I can never imagine him talking about a servant to another king. Uther didn't even know my name for a whole year, remember?"

When Arthur frowned, Merlin almost laughed. "Arthur, come on. You told me yourself not a week ago that Bayard wouldn't remember me. And when he took my arm in that throne room, and said all those pretty things about how he admired what I did? I knew for a fact you were right. He had that searching look in his eyes that people get when they have no memory of your face." He affected a vague expression and a slight squint in demonstration, and Arthur's expression morphed with recognition.

Merlin nodded. "So while I'm sure he recalls vividly being accused of poison, you were right—he didn't recall me at all. Pieter probably had to remind him who I was, because Pieter knows who everyone is. He's that kind of a person, but Bayard? He's exactly like your father, just like you said he was." He shook his head. "No. Bayard made up that story and offered me that job for only two reasons. The lesser reason is probably that Pieter asked him to, because Pieter genuinely does think I'm worth something. But the more important reason was to get under your skin—he was hoping to show you up. He wanted to see just how riled you would get and…well, you pretty much fell for it. He was hoping to make you look like a fool." He smiled ruefully then. "Not that I didn't appreciate how angry you got."

Arthur's brow was still furrowed, but he smiled a tiny bit at that. "I did kind of blow up."

"And that's why you're not going to lose me to someone like that." He shrugged. "Because you didn't get angry just because he was trying to steal me." You got angry because you were afraid to lose me.

Arthur gave a small laugh. "I suppose that's true." He rubbed at his head. "And I probably did look like a fool, and maybe even revealed a weakness."

"Not to anyone who mattered," Merlin replied. "And caring for your friends is never a weakness. Which brings us back to the beginning, wherein I was right, as usual. This conversation is stupid."

Arthur shook his head. "God, you're obnoxious when you're right about something."

"Yeah…that's not the pot calling the kettle black, or anything."

The king laughed, and stood up. "Touché."

Merlin picked up his bag and swung it over his shoulder. "Oh, but you are going to give serious thought to raising my pay. And granting me land at some point in the future."

Arthur's smile widened. "Look who's gotten greedy. I thought you were never going to leave me?"

"Not for Bayard, but I can't promise for anyone else…. Doubling my pay wouldn't hurt, for a start." Merlin grinned at Arthur's glare, and patted his bag. "So, are you packed?"

"Uh…"

"Right. Where are you quarters? I'll take care of it."

Arthur stared at him a moment, the affection clear in his eyes, and then he shook his head. "No, I'll get someone else to do it. You're off duty until we get back to Camelot. How about you and I go find the others and see how they're getting on with their packing?"

Merlin tilted his head. "Really?"

"Really," Arthur said, already walking to the door. "Coming?"

Merlin grinned, and, after casting one last longing look around the plush room, followed him.

"Can I ask you one thing?" he asked as he closed the door behind him. When Arthur raised his eyebrows, Merlin frowned. "Why exactly is it that, when I save a prince's life, and, by the way, a whole kingdom at the same time, my reward is always to be offered the position of a servant? Is there something written on my shirt that says, 'My greatest goal in life is to be a menial laborer?'"

"Nah," Arthur replied, walking away. "It's written on your forehead."

Merlin mocked a gasp, and punched Arthur in the arm, which only hurt his wrist and caused Arthur to burst out laughing.
____________________________________________

A little over an hour later, they were all gathered in the lower bailey to leave, with Bayard, Pieter, Renaud and Lady Clarissant seeing them off. Merlin realized, as Pieter gave him a hug, that he was going to miss the Mercian prince.

"I'll make sure to come and see you both," Pieter promised. "But only if you two promise to show me around the best taverns in town."

"Oh," Gwaine said, grinning by Merlin's side. "That won't be hard. There's only three."

"Only three?" Pieter looked aghast. "Well then, both of you must also come visit me! Mercia has more taverns than you can spit on!"

"We'll do what we can, your highness," Merlin said, grinning as well.

"What?" Pieter said, looking at him sternly. "Now with the titles? You called me Pieter while we were on the road."

Merlin blushed. "I'm…" He licked his lips. "I'm sorry, your highness, you're right, that was inappropriate behavior, and—"

"No," Pieter said, shaking his head. "That's not what I meant. I want you to call me Pieter. It seems…right, somehow. We're friends now. Besides, I get the feeling you're not much one for calling people by their titles unless you're not happy with them."

Merlin flashed a tiny smile. "Maybe."

Pieter laughed. "And King Arthur must love that."

Merlin smiled more. "He's used to my insubordination."

"Gives him an excuse to throw things at him," Gwaine said.

Pieter laughed brightly, and he reached out to hug them again.

"Until we meet again," Pieter said after letting them go. "Which I am determined will only be under better circumstances."

"Sounds like a plan," Gwaine said, bowing slightly. Pieter bowed back and then bowed to Merlin.

"He doesn't deserve you," Pieter said then, in a mock whisper, jerking a thumb at Arthur who was walking over and was clearly in hearing range. "If you ever need me to remind him of that, just send me a letter."

Merlin blushed, and Arthur arched an eyebrow at Pieter. The prince gave the king a bow, a grin, and then strode over to stand with Renaud and Bayard.

"Ready?" Arthur asked. Merlin nodded. Gwaine glanced at his sister, Gregory and Anne, and all three waved. He grinned, and nodded to Arthur.

"Ready."

"Then let's go home."

Merlin sighed—best words he'd heard in a long, long time. Gwaine smiled at him and clapped him on the arm.

"It's going to be a long trip. Still jesters in arms?"

"Jesters in arms," Merlin agreed with a bright smile. "Always."

Chapter Text

Thiernan looked up as the door to his rooms opened, putting the book down on the little table next to his leather chair. Standing, he stretched his back, wincing slightly at the pull on his still healing abdomen, and walked over to the tiny window to look out across the fog covered moors. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the servant—a youngish woman—carry a heavily laden tray into the room. One of Lord Teraill's guards accompanied her, until she put the tray down and started setting out Thiernan's lunch, at which point she gave him a nod and the guard left them. He locked the door behind him.

Thiernan sighed, leaning against the cold, gray stone wall, and watched her set the table.

"What's on the menu today?" he asked, crossing his arms.

She kept her head down, stringy blonde hair hanging limply around her ruddy face from beneath a loose cap. "Lamb," she said softly. "Sprouts and carrots."

"Ah." He patted his belly. "A meal fit for a prisoner."

She snorted softly, and continued to set the table, placing a carafe of red wine in the center.

"You don't believe I'm a prisoner?" he asked, walking over to look over her shoulder. He could see a curve of pale white skin between her neck and shoulder; it looked inviting. She said nothing to his question, so he continued.

"But I am a prisoner," he said, gesturing around him to the large, well furnished set of rooms he was being kept in. "Just because the accommodations are nice doesn't mean that door isn't locked behind you when you leave. Or while you're in here with me." He smiled slightly, and touched a finger to her neck.

She flinched and quickly stepped to the side, shaking slightly when she moved to set out his plate.

"You know," Thiernan said, following her around the table, "I haven't seen you before. Typically, that ass Teraill only sends in hags or men."

"Lord Teraill is a good man," she whispered softly. "He would not take well to you touching me."

Thiernan touched her bare arm, and she flinched again. "You don't have to tell him," he said. She looked up at him then, her gray eyes baring a delicious amount of sheer vulnerability. He stepped closer…and she quickly dodged around to the other side of the table. Grabbing the carafe of wine, she poured a large goblet of it while he watched, enjoying the way her arms moved and trembled. Some of the wine spilled on the table.

He clicked his tongue. "Shame," he said, picking up the goblet. "Waste of what I'm sure is perfectly mediocre wine." He took a large sip. "I may have to report you for that." He smiled. "Prisoner I may be, but I am still royalty. A certain quality is required to serve me, and you seem to be failing at providing me with what I need."

She had stopped moving when he drank the wine, her eyes on the goblet in his hand, and he realized that she no longer appeared quite so vulnerable. Instead, she looked like she was waiting for something.

And then he felt it. The tickle at the back of his throat. He looked down at the goblet. Something white and powdery flecked the surface of the wine. Instantly, he dropped it, the metal goblet bouncing and spraying red wine across the floor.

"What…" He coughed, pressing a hand to his chest, which was starting to burn. In fact, everything had started to burn. "What have you done?"

"You took him," she said then, and her eyes were like stones. "You threatened the life of my baby daughter, unless I let you take him. But even then, I only agreed because you promised….you said you would not harm him. You'd just have him for a few hours, and I'd have my little Galeshin back."

Thiernan backed up, knocking over a chair and then tripping over its legs, landing him on his back. He was struggling to breathe now, hands at his throat, trying to get some air in his lungs. The wine had spread, sliding down the flagstones towards him in tiny rivulets, as if still trying to reach him.

She strode around the table, until she was standing directly over him, staring down at him with disgust.

"You killed my little boy, fed him to that monster so you could capture her. I was told he died screaming and you didn't even try to help him." She knelt into a crouch by his head. "Now you're going to die, and you're not even going to be able to scream."

Thiernan was gasping now, catching slivers of cold, blessed air, but not enough…never enough. Black spots started to fill his vision. He felt the wine splash on his fingers as he flopped about, trying to escape this death.

"You must understand," she said then, her gaze mapping his face, as if needing to memorize it, "I don't take any joy in this, but I had to make sure. I had to make sure that you could never hurt anyone's family ever again."

He closed his eyes, it hurt too much to keep them open.

"And the saddest part is," she whispered, her lips near his ear, "no one will avenge your death, Prince Thiernan. Because no one cares."

In his head, Thiernan screamed and screamed and screamed.