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Fire scorched under his skin.
Crawling. Burning.
It tore the flesh from his bones. Stole the thoughts from his mind. The rocky ceiling high above melted and melded with the dark spots stealing his vision.
“Who is Emrys?” A voice boomed for the third time. Demanding. Begging to be answered.
And the answer was right there, on the tip of his tongue.
Me! I’m Emrys. I’m the one you’re looking for.
But then—
Another voice joined in. Forceful. Angry, almost. “Your magic is a secret to be guarded with your life!”
Except— No. There was no other voice. Not there, anyway. Not now.
But there it sat at the back of his mind, biting his tongue. He should listen to that voice.
It had only taken a day for the rumours to spread.
Did you hear about the court physician?
That the King brought him in for questioning?
That he fled in the middle of the night?
That he left that poor boy without so much as a goodbye?
That he’s guilty. Guilty, guilty, guilty.
It left an ache in his chest, a sour taste in his mouth, and he couldn’t bear to see anymore pitiful eyes looking his way. How could they all turn on Gaius so quickly? After everything he had done for them, after the years of sacrifice and service to keep them all well?
He was furious at Agravaine for the false accusation. For the blatant lies and deception the man spread without care or consequence. But more than that, his heart hurt by how easily Arthur had believed them. Without a second thought, Arthur had trusted his uncle’s word unequivocally, and Merlin didn’t have it in him to forgive that.
If it wasn’t for his duties, he’d lock himself away from them all until Gaius returned.
But despite it all, he still took his job very seriously. Very reluctantly, he might add, as he made his way to the armoury by way of the more discreet servants passages. His King was in need of a dagger so off he went, doing as he was told. Much to his regret when he overheard the unbridled chatter from inside the room.
“I just can’t believe it. He’s been nothing but kind to me since I arrived.” That was Percival, considerate as ever. It was obvious who he was talking about and honestly, Merlin was unsurprised that the gossip had managed to reach the knights so quickly. “How could anyone think him capable of that?”
“I don’t know. I heard that he used to hang around with sorcerers. And that he used to use magic…” Gwaine replied.
Gwaine. His friend.
“…I’m not saying they’re right, but there might just be some truth in it.”
Chainmail rattled. Blades clinked. Merlin still waited, just outside the room.
“Do you really think?” Percival continued with genuine confusion. “Because, I know Arthur seems certain. But Merlin—”
“Merlin’s too trusting for his own good…”
His ears pricked up and he stepped into the doorway, unable to hide away any longer.
“…too naïve to consider that maybe Gaius did leave without saying goodbye. Especially if he’s—.”
“Gwaine—” Percival, now wide eyed with embarrassment, cut off the man’s ramblings just a second too late. Merlin saw the moment that Gwaine realised he was there, but he was just too numb to care. He grabbed the closest dagger and left, ignoring the desperation in his friend’s voice as he called out his name.
He couldn’t catch his breath.
Somewhere between the fire and the agony and the need to keep his mouth shut, his lungs had forgotten how to work. They were screaming at him to inhale, exhale, inhale—
But he couldn’t. Because if he did, who knew what kind of secrets would spill out along with it.
It had taken hours to get through his chores. Hours of mindless sweeping and polishing and picking up after someone else, working on muscle memory as his thoughts wandered elsewhere. And by the time he was finished, he just happened to be outside Agravaine’s quarters. And he just happened to open the door and saunter inside. And he just happened to find a potential clue on the sole of one of his boots.
Dirt. Red and dusty and unlike anything found around the grounds of Camelot.
He swiped some with his thumb and rushed back to his chambers, only to pause in the doorway when he found an intruder inside.
“What are you doing here?” He asked, voice harsher than he intended, even in his anger.
Gwaine was perched on a stool near the middle of the room, one arm leaning back against the table behind him. Maybe he had been waiting for hours too.
“Merlin.” He said, standing up and looking over with such remorse that Merlin almost forgave him there and then.
But he didn’t have time for that. He glanced down at his hand, his wrist bent at an awkward angle and his thumb sticking out to ensure that none of the dirt escaped before he could study it. Gaius had plenty of books around and he hoped that one of them contained enough about minerals to point him in the right direction.
“You need to leave.” He told Gwaine, too tired to put any real power behind his request.
But still Gwaine persisted. “I want to help.”
“I don’t want your help. Get out.”
Merlin stepped past the threshold and opened the door wide. If his words weren’t clear enough, his actions drove the point home. And a part of him hated that Gwaine complied so easily.
A hand touched his forehead and a pair of cold eyes bore deep into his soul.
Alator, the sorcerer – the Catha – stared down at him as he spoke. Whispered words that Merlin felt more than heard as they buzzed behind his eyes and down into his chest. He’d been told of the Catha, heard stories from Gaius about their abilities and their influence over the very air around them. How they trained for years to hone this special gift they wielded.
Merlin had a gift too. But right now, he couldn’t quite remember how to use it.
Iron ore. That’s what Agravaine had brought back to Camelot on his boots after treading through it in the mountains of Chemary.
At least, that was what Gaius’ books had told him.
Iron ore, of dusty clay-like appearance, can be found in only a handful of mines across the five Kingdoms, most commonly in the Ridge of Chemary located in Camelot.
So, he made quick work of saddling a horse from the stables and taking off into the night, riding for hours without stopping until he reached what he was looking for.
The entrance to the caves was dark and dingy and coated with iron ore, and the suffocating emptiness of the place seemed to call him forward. Because if Agravaine was involved — which he was certain that he was — then Morgana was involved. And if Morgana was involved then magic was involved. And well, if magic was involved then he wasn’t going to stop until Gaius was found.
"Leoht", he whispered into the palm of his hand and a small orange glow flickered to life, guiding him through the cavernous maze until he spotted movement up ahead. He quickly doused the flame and crept closer, taking extra care to keep his footsteps light.
Peering around the corner, he felt his stomach drop at the sight before him. Gaius, laid out on a stone plinth, surrounded by fire and groaning in anguish. But before Merlin could take another step closer, the ground beneath his feet disappeared and the darkness greeted him with open arms.
Time had lost all meaning. And his mind had lost all sense.
The voice was back again, enticing him with promises of silence, of calm. Of an end to this endless suffering. Fire raged all around him and left an unwelcome stickiness to his skin; sweat coating his forehead and seeping into his hair.
He couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t even know why he was there. This trial by fire for a crime he couldn’t remember committing.
He felt his lips begin to move, words stumbling on his tongue as they rolled out without pause, falling on his own deaf ears as he could no longer make out a single sound over the pounding in his head. He hoped he was doing the right thing, that he wasn’t saying anything he shouldn’t.
And then, when he was done, the pain was gone.
This dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach was not exactly an unfamiliar sensation for Gwaine. It came in many forms, all of which he was intimately familiar, from the aftermath of his regular ale-overconsumption to the bashes and brawls that he was too-often involved in.
This immense guilt, though. This was a new one.
He should never have doubted Gaius like that. The physician had helped him numerous times since his arrival in Camelot. In fact— he likely wouldn’t be alive if Gaius hadn’t willingly patched him up after the first tavern fight that brought Gwaine to his doorstep.
And Merlin. His best friend. He didn’t know what possessed him to speak like that, voicing his thoughts as if it was meaningless gossip. Demeaning words that he wished he could take back.
And he had tried. An hour he’d waited in Merlin’s chambers for the boy to return, only to be kicked out before he could utter a single word of apology. Not that that had dissuaded him. He had paced the courtyard after that, still in his chainmail, waiting for an appropriate amount of time to pass before trying again. Percival had joined him halfway through, intent of making amends himself, which was how they had both witnessed Merlin’s escape.
“Maybe he’s worked out where Gaius is.” Percival suggested, and that was all it took for them to follow him deep into the forest. It wasn’t as if they were going to let their friend go off alone in the middle of the night.
They were, however, surprised by Merlin’s speed on a horse. By the time they’d fetched their own, he was long gone, leaving only a faint trail for them to follow. It led them through the trees and across the river and along the mountain ridge line until finally they spotted his horse outside the opening of a cave.
They drew their swords and entered with care. If Merlin believed that this was the place to be looking then Gwaine accepted that wholeheartedly— if not slightly uneasily. Because why would Gaius be here of all places? In a cave, in Chemary, miles outside of Camelot.
He pushed away the thoughts that he’d shamefully voiced earlier; that maybe Gaius had run away, that this was where he was hiding. Instead he focused on not stumbling into a rock face as they searched for the physician. The bumpy wall beneath his palm was his only guide in the darkness, the shuffle of Percival’s feet behind him his only companion, until just up ahead he spotted the first sign of light, of life, here in the caves.
Percival’s hand grabbed lightly at his shoulder, wordlessly commanding him to take it slow. They had no way of knowing what was waiting for them and they already felt off-guard in the obscurity of the shadows. But still, they stepped closer, slowly, hearing nothing but the crackle of a flame from inside the chamber.
Gwaine raised his sword in preparation and stepped through the cavernous entryway, only to have Percival crashing into him with a grunt.
“What—” Percival started, before cutting himself off, realising exactly why Gwaine had stopped.
There, in the centre of the room, was the man they’d been looking for— well, one of the men. Laid out on a stone table, eyes closed and body still, the knights couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead. They both rushed forward, one shaking the man’s shoulders whilst the other placed an ear to his chest, hoping to hear a heartbeat.
“He’s alive.” Gwaine sighed with relief despite the guilt from earlier making a reappearance. There they’d all been, making comments and spreading rumours and believing this made-up narrative that the physician had fled to save himself. When in reality, he’d been alone and abandoned and in desperate need of rescuing.
“Gaius.” Percival tried again to wake the man, to no avail. Unsurprisingly. He looked in rough shape; waning complexion and struggling breaths. They needed to get him out of there before whoever did this returned. Except—
A scream echoed in the distance that sent a shiver up Gwaine’s spine and his head whipped round to try and work out where it came from. There were probably miles of tunnels under the mountain and it could have come from any direction.
“Was that Merlin?” Percival asked in a whisper, looking just as troubled as Gwaine felt.
Gwaine’s feet began to move before he even had a chance to think. His friend was in trouble and he wasn’t going to let him down again. “I’ll find him.”
Percival’s hand reached out, too far away to grab him this time. “Wait— Let’s just think about this for a moment.”
“We don’t have time! Whoever did this to Gaius is—”
Another scream drifted through the air.
“We can’t both go.” Gwaine glanced down at Gaius. They really should have brought another knight or two to back them up. “Get Gaius out. I won’t be far behind.”
He grabbed one of the torches that lined the wall as Percival eyed him pointedly. “Just, be careful.”
“Aren’t I always?”
It had taken Gwaine too long to find the correct tunnel. Too many minutes of walking; of waiting for another light to show up in the distance; of letting faint whimpers of pain guide his way. Every noise was like a punch to his stomach; a reminder that he should have been with Merlin from the start, that he should have been right beside him on his search for Gaius instead of letting him go alone and unprotected.
But he was there for him now. And finally, after going in too many circles, he found it. Another large chamber with fire crawling the walls. He left his own torch further up the tunnel, not wanting it to give away his presence.
Keeping his feet light against the dusty ground, he inched closer until he could peer inside without being seen, close enough that the flames bordering the room warmed his skin. In a near-mirror image to Gaius, Merlin was lying on a block of stone, gasping in pain. But he was not alone.
Looking down at him was an older man, dressed in robes and lacking in both hair and a sense of humanity. He was pacing the space next to the stone table, watching Merlin intently like a bird surveying its prey. With every word that passed the man’s lips, the flames around them seemed to tremor and grow.
“Lig-fyr onbrne swithe!” The man spoke, looking on without emotion as the flames rose higher, and Gwaine recognised the dark language for what it was. Magic.
This man— this sorcerer, had been torturing his friends with magic.
It made his blood boil and his stomach twist with ire. He and Percival hadn’t been that far behind, surely? Yet Merlin looked terrible, wide eyed and sweat-gleaned and writhing in distress.
Then, the screaming stopped. And somehow that was worse.
Gwaine held his breath, brows bunching at what he saw. The man was bent low, his head turned away from Gwaine as he listened closely to Merlin’s whispered words. Words so quiet that Gwaine wouldn’t have known he was speaking if he couldn’t see the minute movement of his friend’s lips.
Now was his chance, whilst the sorcerer was distracted.
And maybe it was cowardly to attack a man from behind but Gwaine knew his own strengths and, despite his hardy self-confidence, he was all too aware that he was no match for those with the ability to wield magic.
In the blink of an eye he raised his sword, rushed into the room, and—
He couldn’t move.
The sorcerer was looking at him now, splayed fingers outstretched in his direction. Gwaine’s feet were fixed to the ground and an unwelcome numbness worked its way up his legs and across his arms as he lost control over his own limbs.
He squirmed against the invisible bonds. The hilt of his sword was still clenched between his fingers and he put all his remaining strength into forcing his hand to regain control. If this was how he met his end, he refused to go down without a fight.
The man spoke and Gwaine prepared himself for the incoming wave of agony, but instead, the flames that encircled the room lowered, dousing themselves into a subdued simmer.
“You’ve come for him?” The man asked, his gaze fierce and unrelenting and Gwaine forced out a “yes” through gritted teeth.
Merlin was silent now, half-lidded eyes blinking tiredly at the ceiling as he lay motionless against the stone. A white-hot rage fuelled Gwaine’s actions as he bucked against the magic once more. This sorcerer was standing between him and his friend and any fear he had of being torn apart by the dark magic seemed to just disappear; he was furious.
“Let me go.” He commanded.
“If I let you go, you will help him?” The sorcerer asked, his words curious but not demanding. He didn’t need to demand anything, they both knew he already held all of the power. “You will take him back to Camelot?”
Gwaine raised his chin in defiance while his body tensed in preparation. It was obvious why he was there, just like it was obvious how this was going to play out. The sorcerer was just having his fun with him while he had the chance. He just wished he could have gotten Merlin out before the end.
Percival was going to kill him. So much for being careful.
But then, all life rushed back into his limbs and air filled his lungs and his legs wobbled as the magic binding them faded and the power to stand on his own two feet was returned to him. What on earth—
Every instinct was screaming at Gwaine to raise his sword and try again. This man was a sorcerer, a being of pure evil that had been torturing his friends; it was his duty to save Camelot from any further hurt this man would cause. And yet, he wasn’t moving to attack Gwaine, or even defend himself. Instead, he simply took a step back to allow Gwaine access to his friend.
And Gwaine wasn’t about to waste this unforeseen, very confusing, opportunity.
Especially not when the man could probably snap his fingers and tear him apart at a moment’s notice, should he so wish.
Merlin’s head had rolled to the side to watch Gwaine’s approach, though he appeared too far gone to be taking anything in. Gwaine was happy to see him awake, at least, but there was no way Merlin was going to be walking out of there, so he grabbed the boy’s arms as carefully as he could and hoisted him over his shoulder, his legs instantly feeling the strain of the extra weight as he headed back into the tunnels.
But before he could leave, he paused, not wanting to push his luck but needing to know what caused this sudden change. He turned his head slightly to half-look over his free shoulder.
The sorcerer was still standing there. Still watching.
“What did he tell you?”
“He told me who he was.”
Gwaine’s head knocked lightly against the wall as he leant backwards on the chair. Dawn was fast approaching but he was too tired to move and too wired to sleep.
The boy in the bed had had no issues dozing off, however. In fact, he’d been out ever since Gwaine had managed to get him onto the back of his horse, Merlin’s entire weight resting heavily against the knight as they made the journey home.
They’d passed Arthur on the stairs of the castle; him, Percival and a bunch of guards they’d commandeered on the way through to help them out, Merlin and Gaius in tow. Although he had been too concerned about the state of his friends to take any satisfaction in the disbelief that crossed Arthur’s face. At least the King could see firsthand that Merlin had been right in his suspicions all along.
It didn’t make the waiting any easier though.
“Gwaine?”
The softly spoken word made him jump, his body leaning forward in surprise as all four chair legs returned to the floor instead of the two he’d been balancing on. Glassy eyes stared up at him, illuminated by the nearby candle, and Gwaine smiled back comfortingly.
“Good morning,” he teased, hands flying out instantly to steady the boy when he shot upright with a gasp. “Woah— take it easy.”
Merlin tried to push his hands away frantically, his mind still racing to catch up. “Gaius—”
“—is fine.” Gwaine reassured him, his words firm as he guided Merlin back down until his head met the pillow. His own head tilted over to the door, towards the rest of the physician’s chambers. “Gwen’s with him now. Arthur, too, I think.”
“He’s okay?”
“He will be.” Gwaine nodded. “And so will you.”
That was all Merlin needed to deflate completely against the bed, his sudden burst of energy quickly depleted and his chest still heaving from the exertion. He wiped clumsily at the wetness that had appeared down his cheeks, offering a small “I’m fine” as he tried to turn his head away. It broke Gwaine’s heart. He’d seen the pain Merlin had been in; the torture he’d been put through. He wasn’t fine, and Gwaine hated that his friend couldn’t be honest with him about it.
And he hated that he knew why.
Merlin had gone off alone last night because he didn’t think he could turn to any of them for help. And Gwaine was more than aware that he was at least partly responsible.
He placed a hand on Merlin’s arm, waiting for the boy’s gaze to creep over in his direction before he spoke. “I’m sorry, about before. About what I said. Clearly I couldn’t have been more wrong.”
Merlin swallowed hard against the lump in his throat as his gaze slipped away again to stare at the opposite wall. Gwaine couldn’t blame him. And if Merlin needed time to accept his apology, then he’d happily give it. Besides, he looked exhausted and Gwaine wanted to tell him to go back to sleep, that they could talk again at a more reasonable hour.
In fact, after a minute of silence, he was convinced the boy had drifted off, until he spoke up again.
“Was that you, in the cave?” Merlin asked quietly, turning back to face him. Tears were pooling in the corner of his eyes. “Did you get us out?”
“Yeah.” Gwaine smirked, leaning back to give a playful shrug. “Well, Percival was there too, but I’m happy to take all of the credit.”
He was more than thrilled to receive a weary chuckle in return.
“Thank you, for saving us.” Merlin sighed, swiping at his eyes once more as the tiredness crept back in, and Gwaine’s heart warmed at the forgiveness he saw shining back at him. Merlin really was too good for them.
Which was exactly why he kept his mouth shut each time Arthur popped into the room to check on the sleeping boy. The King didn’t need to know that when Gwaine had found Merlin he had been speaking to the sorcerer; that whatever words were whispered between them were the only reason that all four of them escaped; that the sorcerer hadn’t just backed down from the fight, he’d, for some unknown reason, waited until he was sure that Gwaine would take care of Merlin before he let them go.
He didn’t need Arthur jumping to conclusions before he had all of the facts. And he certainly wasn’t going to start spreading gossip about a dear friend.
He’d learnt his lesson there. Some secrets didn’t need to be shared.