Merlin - Seventeen Days: Part 2
Title: Seventeen Days
Rating: R
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Length: ~ 22,700 words
Spoilers: Vague for 2.03
Warnings: Dark themes. Highlight to read specific warnings: non-con, attempted non-con, abuse, allusions to slavery, allusions to drug use
Synopsis: After seventeen days, Merlin is finally rescued, but is he truly free?
Author’s Notes: This is rather different than my usual style. It is dark, and the rating is based on the dark themes, not because of graphic sexual content. Huge thanks go out to the wonderful
emeraldteal and anon for the beta. Any and all remaining errors are mine alone. Thanks also go out to the cheering section over at
camelot_fleet who helped and encouraged me to just finish the thing already. *g*
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
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~~~~~~~~~~
Merlin had nearly made it down to the water by the time the others awoke. Arthur always chose a camp near a fresh source, and this one was no exception. A tiny brook with barely a current coursed through, splitting the woods in two. The sun had not yet fully risen, but Merlin could not wait, needed to be here, now, with or without the knowledge and the assistance of his prince and friend.
“What are you doing, Merlin?” Arthur asked from several paces behind him.
Merlin was nearly to the edge, swore he felt the splash of water against him already. “Bathe,” he said, cursing the way his voice had yet to fully return. “Stench off,” he continued, hoping he would understand.
Arthur squatted down next to where he knelt, shaking his head, and for a moment, Merlin was afraid he would try to stop him. “Only you,” Arthur muttered under his breath instead. Louder, he sighed, “And I supposed you crawled all this way?”
Merlin glanced down at his muddy palms and blackened knees and found that part was rather self-evident. His legs shook too much to stand when he tried, so he had found another solution.
He looked up to find Arthur’s eyes raking over him, pausing at the points where he knew the damage was the worst. “And your injuries? Did you think of those?” he asked.
Merlin wanted to scream that those were all he thought of, that even in the nightmares disguised as dreams they were all he saw and all he knew. The words would not come and he didn’t even try. Instead, he pulled at the bandages on his wrists, fingers clumsy and fumbling, until Arthur took pity and helped him.
“We can always re-wrap them,” Lancelot’s voice came from the trees. “Let him wash; maybe it will help.”
Arthur sighed dramatically and continued to strip Merlin of both bandages and the oversized shift he had been given to sleep in the night before. “Fetch some soap and something for us to dry him off with?” he asked more than ordered.
The soap was handed to him nearly immediately, and passed on to Merlin just the same. Lancelot left to find something dry, and possibly disposable, leaving just Arthur and Merlin at the water’s edge. “You sure you want to do this? The sun’s barely up and the water’s far from warm.” In contrast to his words, he had already toed off his boots and was in the process of rolling up his trouser legs.
Merlin simply nodded and let him guide him into the water. Arthur made a face as his bare feet entered the water, but Merlin paid it no mind. Arthur always hated the cold, especially with regards to bathing, and insisted on either nearly scalding water or a fire bursting from the fireplace next to him if that was not available. He stopped, surprised he remembered such a little detail. He turned his head to find Arthur watching him quizzically. “Don’t have to stay,” he told him. “Too cold for you.”
Arthur surprised him by chuffing out a laugh. “If it’s too cold for me, it’s far too cold for you,” he argued, tugging him lightly as if to bring him back to shore.
Merlin shrugged, muscles protesting the movement but doing as he willed anyway. “Don’t feel it,” he replied honestly.
Arthur stood there for a moment longer, unreadable look upon his face, before he lead Merlin out enough that the water passed his grubby knees and helped him to sit down. “Do you need help?” he asked.
Merlin shook his head. “Been washing myself for some time now,” he replied. It wasn’t meant as a cut at the offer for assistance, only a statement of fact, but he wasn’t sure Arthur took it as such. Besides, he rather wanted a moment alone, without prying eyes, or at least the feel of them, and knew Arthur would grant him at least that much.
Arthur nodded shortly, his face a mask once more. “Let me know if you need anything,” he called as he splashed his way back to shore.
Merlin did not bother responding, just started lathering up the soap and trying to avoid ripping open the worst of the wounds while doing so. He heard bits of Arthur and Lancelot’s conversation, hushed as if trying to keep their worry from him. They needn’t have bothered; their tone if not their words were enough to let Merlin know what they thought of him. Too fragile, too thin, too weak, possibly rescued too late.
He dunked his head under water to rinse himself, revelling in the silence it granted. Sparing a glance towards shore, he found them still dictating his near future to fit their plans and expectations. They appeared to be debating what he should eat and how much and he doubted they would understand his lack of appetite. He leaned back a bit, let himself half float and half sit, the water lapping at his ears granting him a moment of peace. He closed his eyes and tried to find that place inside his mind; find the place that was quiet and private and his. It was harder now, as if the absence of the collar and the dwindling of the drugs took it away. Maybe they had granted him a gift after all; at least then he could find his nothingness, and not care if he did not.
He was nearly there, almost to the restful state of oblivion, when he heard, “Oh for... Merlin!” There was splashing and hands grabbing at him and water pouring from his mouth and throat when he was pounded soundly on his not quite numb enough back.
Arthur was in front of him now, hands on his shoulders, shaking lightly but looking like he wanted to do more. His mouth was moving and Merlin blinked the water from his eyes, watched the lips move and tried to figure out what he was ranting about this time.
“What do you think you were doing?” Arthur demanded in a voice that was nearly a scream.
Lancelot had found a piece of linen and was patting him dry so his voice reverberated slightly as he answered, “Peaceful.”
“What?” Arthur asked incredulously. “Nearly drowning yourself is ‘peaceful’? Is that what you are searching for right now? Because we did not save you just to watch you kill yourself through stupidity.”
“Didn’t drown,” Merlin protested, not seeing what the problem was.
The hands shook him again. He remembered Arthur saying once that he fully believed it was possible to shake some sense into someone; perhaps that is what he was trying to do now. “You very nearly did,” Arthur insisted.
Merlin looked to Lancelot for confirmation, and his friend nodded his head. “It was a close thing, if we had not seen you go under...”
Arthur’s hands had stilled, but remained resting on his shoulders. Merlin reminded himself the contact was welcome, not offensive. Calmer now, Arthur repeated, “What were you thinking?”
Merlin blinked up at him, trying to find the words. “Just wanted some peace,” he insisted. The water in his eyes now could not be blamed on the brook. “Wanted quiet, no yelling, no screaming, no people telling me what to do or what I’m good for, no hearing others go through what I’m going through, what I went through already. Just... quiet. No demands. Just peace.”
Arthur had been kneeling next to him and now sat down fully in the dirt, pulling him close. Merlin could not see his face, was not sure he wanted to. “I’m sorry,” Arthur kept repeating, voice not much more than a whisper. His hand carded through Merlin’s wet hair to settle lightly at the nape of his neck, rubbing gently, just the way he liked. “I’m so sorry,” Arthur said again, and Merlin was fairly certain he did not just mean for interrupting his bath.
Merlin pulled back slightly, patted at the wet spots he had left on Arthur’s clean shirt. “Sorry,” he apologised. “Now you’re wet too. Going to get cold.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Arthur told him, pulling him close once more. “You’re safe and alive and we’re going home and that, that is what matters right now.”
Merlin let him tuck his head under his chin, felt a blanket wrap around them both before he heard Lancelot’s footsteps fade away. “Arthur?” he asked, not sure if he was loud enough to be heard. “I love you too.” The way the arms around him tightened was more of an answer than any words could give him.
~~~~~~~~~~
When Arthur finally let him go, it was only to pull him to his feet and practically carry him back to the camp. Merlin cursed his own weakness, that a simple walk was too much for him and that he needed to be coddled of all things. Arthur paused though, turned him slightly so they were face to face once more, and repeated, “It doesn’t matter.”
Merlin pursed his lips together to stop himself from protesting that yes, it did matter. That he needed to be strong again, himself again, and he would rather that this would happen right now, right this moment, and not have to wait for whenever fate or destiny deemed him worthy. He was about to let the thought go, let it loose with everything else he had given up thus far, but found Arthur’s hand on his chin, directing his focus on whatever words of wisdom he currently insisted on sharing.
“I know someday I’ll regret this, but never be afraid to say what’s on your mind, not with me. We know each other far too well for that.” He released his grasp and waited expectantly.
Merlin huffed and tried his best to stand on his own for a moment, his body struggling to stand straight, but managing it through sheer determination. “It matters to me,” he said carefully, enunciating each word clearly. He fought the urge to flinch at whatever rebuttal awaited, proud when he kept it to a blink and a slight wobble.
“Why?” Arthur asked simply, wisely not commenting on the tell.
Merlin thought about it for only a moment before he spoke, giving voice to his current frustrations. “Because this is not me. This is not who I am or what I am. I’m not some damaged goods looking for a place to take me in. I’m more than that, or at least should be.”
“You are,” Arthur agreed. He took Merlin’s arm and led him over to the blankets still laid out from the night before. He sat across from him, less than subtly wrapping one of the layers around him. “You’ve been through something horrific and need time for your body and your mind to recover. I’ve seen it happen to knights in battle and that is exactly what happened to you.”
“Not exactly battle,” Merlin scoffed. His fingers reached out and traced the red velvet of the cloak still gathered beside the makeshift bedding.
Arthur stilled his hand, but did not remove it from the symbol of home. “It was a battle of the very worst kind,” he promised. “You survived. You continue to survive. That means you won and they lost, do you understand?”
Merlin tried to wrap his mind around it, could see the pieces, but could not quite make the connections. Perhaps, in time, they would come. Maybe he needed his body to be whole for it to happen, which meant it would be a long time coming. “Would still feel better if we could set that place alight,” he admitted grudgingly.
“It’s a sentiment I wholly agree with,” Arthur smiled, a light from within showing for the first time since their meeting in the woods the day before.
Merlin tried to grin back, but found the action too foreign. “I am serious, you know,” he said instead. “A couple of torches, maybe some flying arrows or a lightning storm or two, we could take that place out, make sure they never did anything to anyone ever again.”
Arthur chuckled and shook his head. “Now that sounds more like the Merlin I know,” he said. The unspoken “and love” hung at the end, but Merlin swore he heard it anyway.
“Does it?” Merlin asked, then wished he could take it back when the smile dimmed a bit.
Arthur cleared his throat and reached for the bag of supplies from the night before. “Let’s get those wounds dressed again before any infection sets in,” he said, back to business once more.
Merlin did not offer a response, knowing none was warranted. He pushed off the blanket and held out his arms, watching as bitter red was soothed with balm and swathed with white. Part of him looked on with a disinterested eye, seeing the wounds, but not yet feeling as though they truly belonged to him. Part of him simply marvelled at the fact he was sitting, in middle of the woods, naked save for a piece of linen draped loosely over his lap. He was never one for exhibitionism, and wondered at his sudden lack of modesty. Was it due to a more intimate knowledge of his own body, or to the fact he now knew privacy was a privilege he had not earned for far too long?
Arthur had finished with his arms and torso, and was moving on to his legs, wrapping cuts and massaging bruises that varied from darkened black to healing green. The intent had been that Merlin would be unable to fight back, but that his legs would remain untethered for ease of access. Even then, bruises or no, they had oft times found reasons to bind him to certain positions, and his ankles were nearly as mangled as his wrists.
“I think we’re almost done,” Arthur told him, tying one last bandage into place. He wiped his hands on the linen Merlin had been using to dry himself with, and reached for a bundle of cloth behind him.
“What’s that?” Merlin asked, not recognising the bag or its contents.
“Hopefully something that will fit you,” Arthur replied. He shook out a tunic and trousers and something that looked suspiciously like a ball of stockings rolled to the side. “You’ve lost quite a bit of weight though, more than I thought possible, so they might be a bit large.”
Even though Merlin had just been thinking about his own nudity, the gift of clothing startled him. He obediently raised his arms to slide the tunic on, hanging his head to hide a blush as Arthur fussed with the laces on both it and the trousers, the cord hanging far further down than he remembered ever seeing before.
“I have something to help with that,” Lancelot announced from his place near the fire. He hefted a pot and lifted the lid to offer, “Breakfast is ready.”
This time when Merlin turned his head, it was to fight the bile that rose in his throat. “I... I don’t know if I can yet,” he muttered honestly.
“You need to eat,” Lancelot chided. “You had nothing this evening past and I doubt they were generous where you were held. I swear I’m not that awful of a cook, really.”
Merlin made a face and swallowed heavily. “I’m sure it’s fine, really, it’s just... I really do not know if I can yet.”
“Why?” Arthur asked. The look he gave him was carefully schooled to be one not of judgment, but of curiosity.
Merlin sighed, figuring now was as good of time as any to let them know. “The food they gave me, when it didn’t make me outright sick, made my head feel... dim, hazy. I don’t know if it was the food itself, or the collar, or the drugs or...”
Lancelot put down the pot and seemed to contemplate something for a moment. “How often did they give you that concoction? The one to make you compliant?”
Merlin bit his lip, then licked the swelling away as he tried to remember. So many hands were on him at any given time, some for feeding, some for dosing, and some for pleasure. The times they outright forced that vile mixture down his gullet, the food was nearly tolerable in the evening. He had thought it was because the experience had been dimmed like everything else. It was possible he was wrong.
“You think they drugged the food?” Arthur supposed.
Lancelot nodded. “Why go through the hassle twice when you could do it once?” He turned to Merlin and asked, “What did they feed you there?”
“Porridge, mostly. Soft foods I wouldn’t choke on.” He did not elaborate to the reasoning, knowing they understood.
Lancelot looked to the pot he had just made and pushed it further to the side. He stood and walked over to the saddlebags, pulling out a small pouch. He tossed it to Arthur who opened it and offered it to Merlin. “Try this instead.”
Merlin peered into it, finding good old-fashioned trail rations in all of their dry and bland glory. He chose a bit of dried meat and took a tiny bite, chewing gingerly in case it too rebelled. He swallowed and waited for a moment, but it seemed to stay put.
Arthur pulled out a few more pieces and laid them on the blanket beside him, Lancelot offering a cup of water that Merlin eyed wearily until Arthur himself took a sip to prove it was safe. The two men divided up the porridge between themselves and ate in silence as they watched Merlin hesitantly work his way through the lot, stopping when only a piece remained.
“I don’t think I can do much more,” he admitted. The food was not rebelling, yet, but it had been far too long since he had anything of substance, and he did not want to take any chances.
“You did good,” Lancelot assured him.
Merlin watched as both he and Arthur began to pick up the camp. “Are we leaving?” he asked around a yawn. He would have accused them of drugging the food after all, but his head felt clear and it was a bone-weary exhaustion setting in, not the haziness of the herbs.
“Soon,” Arthur told him. He tucked a blanket around him and bade him to lie down. “Try to rest before we leave though. It’s not going to be an easy journey, I’m afraid.”
“Didn’t think it would be,” Merlin mumbled. He waited until Arthur turned his back to crumple the blanket up into a makeshift pillow, wrapping himself in the red cloak instead. Then and only then, did he let himself drift off to sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~
He next awoke to the sound of voices, but had the sneaking suspicion that it was not the noise that had woke him. His head was still foggy from exhaustion and more, but he swore there was something else tickling the edge of his senses. Not certain what else to do about it at this point, he listened to what he could instead.
“You have to give it time,” Lancelot was saying.
“How much? And will it truly make a difference anyway?” Arthur replied. There was the sound of a boot against the dirt, followed by, “Look at him, really look at him and tell me you think everything will be back to normal. He even sleeps as though he is still bound; how do we suggest we break through that?”
Merlin missed the first part of Lancelot’s reply as he realised he was exactly as Arthur had said. He had curled up under his makeshift blanket, wrists flat together and angled away from his head, just like he had when bound in his cell. He would have moved, but it would have alerted them to his awareness of it all. Instead, he continued to listen.
“... been less than a day, sire. Perhaps when he’s back in Camelot, back in his bed with his belongings and things are presented to him on his terms, he will be more like himself again,” Lancelot insisted.
“But you cannot guarantee it,” Arthur pointed out.
“No, I cannot,” came the sighed response.
There was a pause, and the faint feeling of being watched before Arthur spoke again. “He’s so frail, and his wounds... I’m not certain if they will kill him first, or if his own absentmindedness will instead.”
Merlin resisted the urge to close his eyes tighter, to try to shut out the sorrow he heard in the voice he knew so well. He had not meant to nearly drown but, then again, he had not meant to be captured either, so his intentions were apparently moot at this point.
“Gaius will heal what he can, and his home will do the rest.”
“I hope you are correct,” Arthur replied.
He knew Lancelot was speaking again, but the words faded to the background as the feeling that had been niggling at the back of his mind since he awoke spiked into full awareness. There was something pressing, gently for now, against the barriers he had placed around himself and the clearing when he had realised his magic had fully returned. They were not enough to actually stop anyone from trespassing, but they were enough to serve as an early warning system, if nothing else. He would have done more at the time, but it was all he had the focus and energy for and, even now, he was still too weak to reach out and investigate without being discovered. Instead he sat up, knowing the action would garner his companions’ full attention and announced, “Someone is coming.”
The two men were in motion immediately, each reaching for a sword even as Lancelot asked, “Are you certain?”
Merlin cocked his head to the side and felt the presence grow closer, stronger, far too difficult to ignore. “Listen,” he urged.
They paused to do just that, and the slight echo of hoof beats drifted to the clearing, just barely audible against the rustling of the leaves.
“Horses,” Arthur agreed quietly. He crouched beside Merlin and pressed a small blade into his hand. “Do try not to do something stupid with it,” he smirked, though the underlying tension to his words was still there.
“He could hide in the cart,” Lancelot suggested. He swung his sword in a wide arc as if loosening his muscles in preparation for battle.
“And be trapped there should we be overpowered,” Arthur countered.
“Don’t think I could make it there on my own anyway,” Merlin admitted. His muscles ached too much for him to trust his weight on them and he did not wish to think about his coordination skills given that he could feel small tremors in the hands that he wrapped around the hilt of the knife.
“Then we best not be overpowered,” Arthur told him with the same quirk to his lips, though his eyes betrayed his concern at Merlin’s words.
The hoof beats grew closer, but noticeably slowed. Merlin had the distinct suspicion that whoever or whatever he was sensing was now sensing him as well. It was entirely possible that they smelled the remnants of the fire, or heard Arthur and Lancelot’s conversation, but something told him that at least one of the people approaching was more than what they first seemed.
He drew on reserves of energy that he did not know he had, feeling as if the very earth he lay upon was granting him what little it had to spare should he need it. His grip on his weapon tightened and his crouch steadied, something he knew was noticed by the others as well. No one had time to comment on it, however, as the encroachers, as he was now certain it was more than one, would be visible in a matter of a few breaths time.
The earth had granted him strength and he granted it his attention, listening as branches and twigs cracked and leaves were brushed aside. There was another noise, something that sounded like steel against leather, and he knew a sword had been unsheathed, their opponent now armed as they were.
The feeling pressing against him changed though. It was still foreign, but did not feel malevolent. He lowered his blade slightly, refusing to lighten his grip, and waited to see just what had found them.
A sound rang out across the clearing, like a bird yet not quite found in nature. He watched as Arthur straightened slightly, a look of near surprise crossing his features. Arthur returned the call, only to have it echoed back at him once more.
“Sire?” Lancelot whispered in obvious confusion.
Arthur ignored him though and shouted, “Show yourself.” Merlin would have commented about the lack of subtlety, but realised that they were still in the middle of a clearing with a banked fire and only half their gear packed, so really, hiding was not really an option.
There was the sound of a rider dismounting, of soft boots crunching against the fallen leaves. The footsteps approached, nearly but not completely concealing the sounds of a second rider doing the same. He watched as a cloaked figure appeared between the trees far to his left, then as the figure resolved itself into something far more familiar.
“Morgana,” Arthur sighed, lowering his sword.
The figure stepped forward and threw the hood of the cloak back, revealing a very determined looking Lady Morgana. She was dressed just as Arthur had predicted in trousers and a tunic, long dark hair wrapped up into something elaborate that was more for function than style for a change. In her hand was a sword, a scabbard belted to her side with a dirk balancing the weight on her slim waist. She did not lower her weapon, something that could technically be seen as an act of treason given she now knew it was her prince before her, but simply demanded, “Where is he?”
“See for yourself,” Arthur replied. He gestured towards where Merlin crouched on the blankets and stepped back out of her way.
“Oh, Merlin!” she cried, barely sheathing her sword before she was upon him. She knelt beside him, ignoring the dirt, and wrapped her arms around him. “We were so worried,” she whispered into his ear, hugging him tightly.
“Can I assume you did not come alone?” Arthur asked, eyeing her entrance point warily. From his tone it was difficult to tell if he was concerned more for her safety, or for having to deal with an unknown contingent of people descending upon their little camp.
“Gwen, it’s okay, he’s here,” Morgana called. It was the only warning they got before her maidservant came bustling from the woods, similarly dressed and similarly armed, barely stopping to offer a rough curtsey to Arthur before joining Morgana at Merlin’s side.
Merlin struggled to find his voice, managing a weak, “Gwen,” and offering an arm out to her. He realised he still held the blade in his hand and hastily dropped it as he felt warmth and strength wrap around him.
The next few moments were a mixture of voices and touches and were more than a bit too overwhelming for him to handle. He caught snippets of the two women commenting how good it was to see him whole, but that he was too thin by far and they weren’t hurting him were they and they brought some of Gaius’ healing supplies and that he would be right as rain soon enough.
“I’ll just go fetch their horses then,” Lancelot offered with a hint of a grin.
“There’s no need,” Morgana called over her shoulder. She looked to Arthur and explained, “It would appear that several of your knights are both extremely loyal and extremely determined that we should not travel alone. We tried to lose them, but eventually just shared camp with them each night.”
“Leon?” Arthur guessed.
“And Marcus and Belvedere,” Morgana agreed. “You can come out now,” she called into the woods before returning her attentions to Merlin.
Merlin sensed more than heard the trio of knights entering the clearing from all sides. He tried to listen as they reported to Arthur and he gave them orders, but it was difficult when he could barely keep his eyes open. He stifled a yawn and felt the energy he had borrowed return to the earth once more.
“Are you all right, really?” Gwen asked from his side.
He noticed he was leaning into her more than was strictly proper, but did not want to move quite yet. “No,” he answered honestly. He looked over her shoulder at the knights, saw only their leather and armour and weaponry and could not fully repress the shiver that wracked his body. It was too many people, too soon, and too similarly dressed to what he had just faced.
Her chin jerked in Morgana’s direction and he barely caught the responding nod. “Give us space,” Morgana ordered primly though the knights were already several paces away.
Leon seemed to understand though, and gestured to the others. Arthur stayed close, as was his wont, but Lancelot followed the trio to the far side of the fire, showing them where they could tie their mounts and rest for a while.
“Better?” Gwen asked, voice no more than a whisper. He nodded, but did not try to leave the support she offered. “What can we do?” she offered.
There were so many answers on the tip of his tongue, but he knew none were possible nor feasible at the time. He wanted that wretched place destroyed and burnt to the ground. He wanted his wounds healed and his body and soul whole again. He wanted the past horrific days scoured from his memory and he wanted to never even be forced to think of such things ever again. Instead, he just said, in a voice far more of a plea than he originally intended, “Bring me home?”
“Gladly,” Morgana assured him. She rested her hand on his shoulder, but removed it quickly when he jerked away. She narrowed her pale eyes at him and demanded, “How bad?”
He flinched from her tone, but dutifully opened his mouth to respond. The answer stuck in his throat, and he was inordinately grateful to Arthur for answering for him with a simple, “Bad.”
Faster than he could stop her, she peeled back the edge of his tunic, revealing the welts and still healing gashes on his shoulder and upper back. He knew it was only her protective instincts, but he could not help but feel betrayed and slightly used that she had not even bothered to ask permission first.
“I am sorry,” she told him. He had no idea if she meant for the infraction or the wounds, but the way she eased the fabric back into place with a gentle touch lessened the feelings that had flared at her actions. She then turned to Arthur, anger evident in her clipped tones as she demanded, “Please tell me whoever did this suffered greatly before their death.”
“I cannot,” Arthur admitted. Merlin wondered if Morgana and Gwen could hear both the guilt and the grief in his tone.
Morgana stood abruptly, hand on the hilt of her sword. “Then we go to wherever he was held now and raze it to the ground,” she declared.
“Morgana...” Arthur sighed. He sounded so tired, and Merlin knew he had already had this battle with himself, and lost. Now it seemed he was about to have it out all over again but doubted the resolution would change.
“If you refuse to go, than I shall,” she declared.
Arthur had his hands on his hips and when he spoke, it was not as a friend, but as a prince and future king. “You will do no such thing,” he ordered, for the attitude that came with the words was no less than that.
Merlin spared a glance at the knights, and saw them all perk with attention. They had followed Morgana this far, but Arthur was their sovereign and it would be his word that they followed. He saw Leon’s eyes dart towards him, before volleying between Morgana and Arthur. It warmed his heart that there was no derision, only a sort of sadness that he had been caught in the middle of it all.
“My Lady,” Lancelot bade as he stepped between the two nobles. Morgana glared at the interruption, but relented when he held up a placating hand. “That place... to say it was vile would be an understatement of vast proportions. No one, woman nor man, should be subjected to the horrors it held within.”
“Merlin was,” she countered with a raised eyebrow.
“And we were thankfully able to offer him escape,” Lancelot replied. “It is heavily fortified and defended by those I do hope you never have the displeasure of meeting. Even with the knights that have accompanied you, should they choose to join us, we would be far too small of a contingent against such a force.” He turned to the trio of men who looked nearly offended that they were not sufficient and offered, “I mean you no disrespect, but I know of your capabilities and must say, based on numbers alone, we will fail unless more join the cause.”
The trio of knights looked reluctantly accepting of his words, but that may have had to do with the fact all three had both trained with him during his brief tenure as a vassal of Camelot. He ran a hand through his hair and turned back to face the one person who would be harder to convince than even the most loyal of Arthur’s men.
Morgana lowered her sword, but not her temper as she huffed, “Then what would you have us do? Allow these fiends to continue their practises, destroying lives and making profit and going about their merry way?”
“It was a matter of infiltration, not force, to free him,” Arthur spoke. “Lancelot was able to enter and obtain valuable information as well as Merlin himself. That information indicates it would be suicide at best to attack now.” Merlin knew how much it cost him to admit that, just as he knew how much it hurt Arthur that he could not be part of the original rescue.
Gwen hugged Merlin closer, his wounds pulling and muscles protesting, but he did not mind. “I think you are far more valuable than any information,” she whispered.
He offered her what he could manage of a smile, not certain if she could see it or not, and adjusted his head where it lay on her shoulder. He felt her hand stroke through his too-long hair and let himself accept the comfort she offered. Somehow, it was different than before. Perhaps he had adjusted with Arthur and Lancelot, or perhaps he was now more aware of simply knew who his friends were and that they meant him no harm, but he did not feel like flinching away, but more like burying himself in any embrace they had to offer. Morgana and Arthur continued to argue, with the knights and Lancelot offering input when they dared, but he let their words wash over him, content to just be for a moment.
~~~~~~~~~~
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This entry was originally posted at http://cat-77.dreamwidth.org/259763.html. Current comments
Rating: R
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Length: ~ 22,700 words
Spoilers: Vague for 2.03
Warnings: Dark themes. Highlight to read specific warnings: non-con, attempted non-con, abuse, allusions to slavery, allusions to drug use
Synopsis: After seventeen days, Merlin is finally rescued, but is he truly free?
Author’s Notes: This is rather different than my usual style. It is dark, and the rating is based on the dark themes, not because of graphic sexual content. Huge thanks go out to the wonderful
emeraldteal and anon for the beta. Any and all remaining errors are mine alone. Thanks also go out to the cheering section over at
camelot_fleet who helped and encouraged me to just finish the thing already. *g*
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
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~~~~~~~~~~
Merlin had nearly made it down to the water by the time the others awoke. Arthur always chose a camp near a fresh source, and this one was no exception. A tiny brook with barely a current coursed through, splitting the woods in two. The sun had not yet fully risen, but Merlin could not wait, needed to be here, now, with or without the knowledge and the assistance of his prince and friend.
“What are you doing, Merlin?” Arthur asked from several paces behind him.
Merlin was nearly to the edge, swore he felt the splash of water against him already. “Bathe,” he said, cursing the way his voice had yet to fully return. “Stench off,” he continued, hoping he would understand.
Arthur squatted down next to where he knelt, shaking his head, and for a moment, Merlin was afraid he would try to stop him. “Only you,” Arthur muttered under his breath instead. Louder, he sighed, “And I supposed you crawled all this way?”
Merlin glanced down at his muddy palms and blackened knees and found that part was rather self-evident. His legs shook too much to stand when he tried, so he had found another solution.
He looked up to find Arthur’s eyes raking over him, pausing at the points where he knew the damage was the worst. “And your injuries? Did you think of those?” he asked.
Merlin wanted to scream that those were all he thought of, that even in the nightmares disguised as dreams they were all he saw and all he knew. The words would not come and he didn’t even try. Instead, he pulled at the bandages on his wrists, fingers clumsy and fumbling, until Arthur took pity and helped him.
“We can always re-wrap them,” Lancelot’s voice came from the trees. “Let him wash; maybe it will help.”
Arthur sighed dramatically and continued to strip Merlin of both bandages and the oversized shift he had been given to sleep in the night before. “Fetch some soap and something for us to dry him off with?” he asked more than ordered.
The soap was handed to him nearly immediately, and passed on to Merlin just the same. Lancelot left to find something dry, and possibly disposable, leaving just Arthur and Merlin at the water’s edge. “You sure you want to do this? The sun’s barely up and the water’s far from warm.” In contrast to his words, he had already toed off his boots and was in the process of rolling up his trouser legs.
Merlin simply nodded and let him guide him into the water. Arthur made a face as his bare feet entered the water, but Merlin paid it no mind. Arthur always hated the cold, especially with regards to bathing, and insisted on either nearly scalding water or a fire bursting from the fireplace next to him if that was not available. He stopped, surprised he remembered such a little detail. He turned his head to find Arthur watching him quizzically. “Don’t have to stay,” he told him. “Too cold for you.”
Arthur surprised him by chuffing out a laugh. “If it’s too cold for me, it’s far too cold for you,” he argued, tugging him lightly as if to bring him back to shore.
Merlin shrugged, muscles protesting the movement but doing as he willed anyway. “Don’t feel it,” he replied honestly.
Arthur stood there for a moment longer, unreadable look upon his face, before he lead Merlin out enough that the water passed his grubby knees and helped him to sit down. “Do you need help?” he asked.
Merlin shook his head. “Been washing myself for some time now,” he replied. It wasn’t meant as a cut at the offer for assistance, only a statement of fact, but he wasn’t sure Arthur took it as such. Besides, he rather wanted a moment alone, without prying eyes, or at least the feel of them, and knew Arthur would grant him at least that much.
Arthur nodded shortly, his face a mask once more. “Let me know if you need anything,” he called as he splashed his way back to shore.
Merlin did not bother responding, just started lathering up the soap and trying to avoid ripping open the worst of the wounds while doing so. He heard bits of Arthur and Lancelot’s conversation, hushed as if trying to keep their worry from him. They needn’t have bothered; their tone if not their words were enough to let Merlin know what they thought of him. Too fragile, too thin, too weak, possibly rescued too late.
He dunked his head under water to rinse himself, revelling in the silence it granted. Sparing a glance towards shore, he found them still dictating his near future to fit their plans and expectations. They appeared to be debating what he should eat and how much and he doubted they would understand his lack of appetite. He leaned back a bit, let himself half float and half sit, the water lapping at his ears granting him a moment of peace. He closed his eyes and tried to find that place inside his mind; find the place that was quiet and private and his. It was harder now, as if the absence of the collar and the dwindling of the drugs took it away. Maybe they had granted him a gift after all; at least then he could find his nothingness, and not care if he did not.
He was nearly there, almost to the restful state of oblivion, when he heard, “Oh for... Merlin!” There was splashing and hands grabbing at him and water pouring from his mouth and throat when he was pounded soundly on his not quite numb enough back.
Arthur was in front of him now, hands on his shoulders, shaking lightly but looking like he wanted to do more. His mouth was moving and Merlin blinked the water from his eyes, watched the lips move and tried to figure out what he was ranting about this time.
“What do you think you were doing?” Arthur demanded in a voice that was nearly a scream.
Lancelot had found a piece of linen and was patting him dry so his voice reverberated slightly as he answered, “Peaceful.”
“What?” Arthur asked incredulously. “Nearly drowning yourself is ‘peaceful’? Is that what you are searching for right now? Because we did not save you just to watch you kill yourself through stupidity.”
“Didn’t drown,” Merlin protested, not seeing what the problem was.
The hands shook him again. He remembered Arthur saying once that he fully believed it was possible to shake some sense into someone; perhaps that is what he was trying to do now. “You very nearly did,” Arthur insisted.
Merlin looked to Lancelot for confirmation, and his friend nodded his head. “It was a close thing, if we had not seen you go under...”
Arthur’s hands had stilled, but remained resting on his shoulders. Merlin reminded himself the contact was welcome, not offensive. Calmer now, Arthur repeated, “What were you thinking?”
Merlin blinked up at him, trying to find the words. “Just wanted some peace,” he insisted. The water in his eyes now could not be blamed on the brook. “Wanted quiet, no yelling, no screaming, no people telling me what to do or what I’m good for, no hearing others go through what I’m going through, what I went through already. Just... quiet. No demands. Just peace.”
Arthur had been kneeling next to him and now sat down fully in the dirt, pulling him close. Merlin could not see his face, was not sure he wanted to. “I’m sorry,” Arthur kept repeating, voice not much more than a whisper. His hand carded through Merlin’s wet hair to settle lightly at the nape of his neck, rubbing gently, just the way he liked. “I’m so sorry,” Arthur said again, and Merlin was fairly certain he did not just mean for interrupting his bath.
Merlin pulled back slightly, patted at the wet spots he had left on Arthur’s clean shirt. “Sorry,” he apologised. “Now you’re wet too. Going to get cold.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Arthur told him, pulling him close once more. “You’re safe and alive and we’re going home and that, that is what matters right now.”
Merlin let him tuck his head under his chin, felt a blanket wrap around them both before he heard Lancelot’s footsteps fade away. “Arthur?” he asked, not sure if he was loud enough to be heard. “I love you too.” The way the arms around him tightened was more of an answer than any words could give him.
~~~~~~~~~~
When Arthur finally let him go, it was only to pull him to his feet and practically carry him back to the camp. Merlin cursed his own weakness, that a simple walk was too much for him and that he needed to be coddled of all things. Arthur paused though, turned him slightly so they were face to face once more, and repeated, “It doesn’t matter.”
Merlin pursed his lips together to stop himself from protesting that yes, it did matter. That he needed to be strong again, himself again, and he would rather that this would happen right now, right this moment, and not have to wait for whenever fate or destiny deemed him worthy. He was about to let the thought go, let it loose with everything else he had given up thus far, but found Arthur’s hand on his chin, directing his focus on whatever words of wisdom he currently insisted on sharing.
“I know someday I’ll regret this, but never be afraid to say what’s on your mind, not with me. We know each other far too well for that.” He released his grasp and waited expectantly.
Merlin huffed and tried his best to stand on his own for a moment, his body struggling to stand straight, but managing it through sheer determination. “It matters to me,” he said carefully, enunciating each word clearly. He fought the urge to flinch at whatever rebuttal awaited, proud when he kept it to a blink and a slight wobble.
“Why?” Arthur asked simply, wisely not commenting on the tell.
Merlin thought about it for only a moment before he spoke, giving voice to his current frustrations. “Because this is not me. This is not who I am or what I am. I’m not some damaged goods looking for a place to take me in. I’m more than that, or at least should be.”
“You are,” Arthur agreed. He took Merlin’s arm and led him over to the blankets still laid out from the night before. He sat across from him, less than subtly wrapping one of the layers around him. “You’ve been through something horrific and need time for your body and your mind to recover. I’ve seen it happen to knights in battle and that is exactly what happened to you.”
“Not exactly battle,” Merlin scoffed. His fingers reached out and traced the red velvet of the cloak still gathered beside the makeshift bedding.
Arthur stilled his hand, but did not remove it from the symbol of home. “It was a battle of the very worst kind,” he promised. “You survived. You continue to survive. That means you won and they lost, do you understand?”
Merlin tried to wrap his mind around it, could see the pieces, but could not quite make the connections. Perhaps, in time, they would come. Maybe he needed his body to be whole for it to happen, which meant it would be a long time coming. “Would still feel better if we could set that place alight,” he admitted grudgingly.
“It’s a sentiment I wholly agree with,” Arthur smiled, a light from within showing for the first time since their meeting in the woods the day before.
Merlin tried to grin back, but found the action too foreign. “I am serious, you know,” he said instead. “A couple of torches, maybe some flying arrows or a lightning storm or two, we could take that place out, make sure they never did anything to anyone ever again.”
Arthur chuckled and shook his head. “Now that sounds more like the Merlin I know,” he said. The unspoken “and love” hung at the end, but Merlin swore he heard it anyway.
“Does it?” Merlin asked, then wished he could take it back when the smile dimmed a bit.
Arthur cleared his throat and reached for the bag of supplies from the night before. “Let’s get those wounds dressed again before any infection sets in,” he said, back to business once more.
Merlin did not offer a response, knowing none was warranted. He pushed off the blanket and held out his arms, watching as bitter red was soothed with balm and swathed with white. Part of him looked on with a disinterested eye, seeing the wounds, but not yet feeling as though they truly belonged to him. Part of him simply marvelled at the fact he was sitting, in middle of the woods, naked save for a piece of linen draped loosely over his lap. He was never one for exhibitionism, and wondered at his sudden lack of modesty. Was it due to a more intimate knowledge of his own body, or to the fact he now knew privacy was a privilege he had not earned for far too long?
Arthur had finished with his arms and torso, and was moving on to his legs, wrapping cuts and massaging bruises that varied from darkened black to healing green. The intent had been that Merlin would be unable to fight back, but that his legs would remain untethered for ease of access. Even then, bruises or no, they had oft times found reasons to bind him to certain positions, and his ankles were nearly as mangled as his wrists.
“I think we’re almost done,” Arthur told him, tying one last bandage into place. He wiped his hands on the linen Merlin had been using to dry himself with, and reached for a bundle of cloth behind him.
“What’s that?” Merlin asked, not recognising the bag or its contents.
“Hopefully something that will fit you,” Arthur replied. He shook out a tunic and trousers and something that looked suspiciously like a ball of stockings rolled to the side. “You’ve lost quite a bit of weight though, more than I thought possible, so they might be a bit large.”
Even though Merlin had just been thinking about his own nudity, the gift of clothing startled him. He obediently raised his arms to slide the tunic on, hanging his head to hide a blush as Arthur fussed with the laces on both it and the trousers, the cord hanging far further down than he remembered ever seeing before.
“I have something to help with that,” Lancelot announced from his place near the fire. He hefted a pot and lifted the lid to offer, “Breakfast is ready.”
This time when Merlin turned his head, it was to fight the bile that rose in his throat. “I... I don’t know if I can yet,” he muttered honestly.
“You need to eat,” Lancelot chided. “You had nothing this evening past and I doubt they were generous where you were held. I swear I’m not that awful of a cook, really.”
Merlin made a face and swallowed heavily. “I’m sure it’s fine, really, it’s just... I really do not know if I can yet.”
“Why?” Arthur asked. The look he gave him was carefully schooled to be one not of judgment, but of curiosity.
Merlin sighed, figuring now was as good of time as any to let them know. “The food they gave me, when it didn’t make me outright sick, made my head feel... dim, hazy. I don’t know if it was the food itself, or the collar, or the drugs or...”
Lancelot put down the pot and seemed to contemplate something for a moment. “How often did they give you that concoction? The one to make you compliant?”
Merlin bit his lip, then licked the swelling away as he tried to remember. So many hands were on him at any given time, some for feeding, some for dosing, and some for pleasure. The times they outright forced that vile mixture down his gullet, the food was nearly tolerable in the evening. He had thought it was because the experience had been dimmed like everything else. It was possible he was wrong.
“You think they drugged the food?” Arthur supposed.
Lancelot nodded. “Why go through the hassle twice when you could do it once?” He turned to Merlin and asked, “What did they feed you there?”
“Porridge, mostly. Soft foods I wouldn’t choke on.” He did not elaborate to the reasoning, knowing they understood.
Lancelot looked to the pot he had just made and pushed it further to the side. He stood and walked over to the saddlebags, pulling out a small pouch. He tossed it to Arthur who opened it and offered it to Merlin. “Try this instead.”
Merlin peered into it, finding good old-fashioned trail rations in all of their dry and bland glory. He chose a bit of dried meat and took a tiny bite, chewing gingerly in case it too rebelled. He swallowed and waited for a moment, but it seemed to stay put.
Arthur pulled out a few more pieces and laid them on the blanket beside him, Lancelot offering a cup of water that Merlin eyed wearily until Arthur himself took a sip to prove it was safe. The two men divided up the porridge between themselves and ate in silence as they watched Merlin hesitantly work his way through the lot, stopping when only a piece remained.
“I don’t think I can do much more,” he admitted. The food was not rebelling, yet, but it had been far too long since he had anything of substance, and he did not want to take any chances.
“You did good,” Lancelot assured him.
Merlin watched as both he and Arthur began to pick up the camp. “Are we leaving?” he asked around a yawn. He would have accused them of drugging the food after all, but his head felt clear and it was a bone-weary exhaustion setting in, not the haziness of the herbs.
“Soon,” Arthur told him. He tucked a blanket around him and bade him to lie down. “Try to rest before we leave though. It’s not going to be an easy journey, I’m afraid.”
“Didn’t think it would be,” Merlin mumbled. He waited until Arthur turned his back to crumple the blanket up into a makeshift pillow, wrapping himself in the red cloak instead. Then and only then, did he let himself drift off to sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~
He next awoke to the sound of voices, but had the sneaking suspicion that it was not the noise that had woke him. His head was still foggy from exhaustion and more, but he swore there was something else tickling the edge of his senses. Not certain what else to do about it at this point, he listened to what he could instead.
“You have to give it time,” Lancelot was saying.
“How much? And will it truly make a difference anyway?” Arthur replied. There was the sound of a boot against the dirt, followed by, “Look at him, really look at him and tell me you think everything will be back to normal. He even sleeps as though he is still bound; how do we suggest we break through that?”
Merlin missed the first part of Lancelot’s reply as he realised he was exactly as Arthur had said. He had curled up under his makeshift blanket, wrists flat together and angled away from his head, just like he had when bound in his cell. He would have moved, but it would have alerted them to his awareness of it all. Instead, he continued to listen.
“... been less than a day, sire. Perhaps when he’s back in Camelot, back in his bed with his belongings and things are presented to him on his terms, he will be more like himself again,” Lancelot insisted.
“But you cannot guarantee it,” Arthur pointed out.
“No, I cannot,” came the sighed response.
There was a pause, and the faint feeling of being watched before Arthur spoke again. “He’s so frail, and his wounds... I’m not certain if they will kill him first, or if his own absentmindedness will instead.”
Merlin resisted the urge to close his eyes tighter, to try to shut out the sorrow he heard in the voice he knew so well. He had not meant to nearly drown but, then again, he had not meant to be captured either, so his intentions were apparently moot at this point.
“Gaius will heal what he can, and his home will do the rest.”
“I hope you are correct,” Arthur replied.
He knew Lancelot was speaking again, but the words faded to the background as the feeling that had been niggling at the back of his mind since he awoke spiked into full awareness. There was something pressing, gently for now, against the barriers he had placed around himself and the clearing when he had realised his magic had fully returned. They were not enough to actually stop anyone from trespassing, but they were enough to serve as an early warning system, if nothing else. He would have done more at the time, but it was all he had the focus and energy for and, even now, he was still too weak to reach out and investigate without being discovered. Instead he sat up, knowing the action would garner his companions’ full attention and announced, “Someone is coming.”
The two men were in motion immediately, each reaching for a sword even as Lancelot asked, “Are you certain?”
Merlin cocked his head to the side and felt the presence grow closer, stronger, far too difficult to ignore. “Listen,” he urged.
They paused to do just that, and the slight echo of hoof beats drifted to the clearing, just barely audible against the rustling of the leaves.
“Horses,” Arthur agreed quietly. He crouched beside Merlin and pressed a small blade into his hand. “Do try not to do something stupid with it,” he smirked, though the underlying tension to his words was still there.
“He could hide in the cart,” Lancelot suggested. He swung his sword in a wide arc as if loosening his muscles in preparation for battle.
“And be trapped there should we be overpowered,” Arthur countered.
“Don’t think I could make it there on my own anyway,” Merlin admitted. His muscles ached too much for him to trust his weight on them and he did not wish to think about his coordination skills given that he could feel small tremors in the hands that he wrapped around the hilt of the knife.
“Then we best not be overpowered,” Arthur told him with the same quirk to his lips, though his eyes betrayed his concern at Merlin’s words.
The hoof beats grew closer, but noticeably slowed. Merlin had the distinct suspicion that whoever or whatever he was sensing was now sensing him as well. It was entirely possible that they smelled the remnants of the fire, or heard Arthur and Lancelot’s conversation, but something told him that at least one of the people approaching was more than what they first seemed.
He drew on reserves of energy that he did not know he had, feeling as if the very earth he lay upon was granting him what little it had to spare should he need it. His grip on his weapon tightened and his crouch steadied, something he knew was noticed by the others as well. No one had time to comment on it, however, as the encroachers, as he was now certain it was more than one, would be visible in a matter of a few breaths time.
The earth had granted him strength and he granted it his attention, listening as branches and twigs cracked and leaves were brushed aside. There was another noise, something that sounded like steel against leather, and he knew a sword had been unsheathed, their opponent now armed as they were.
The feeling pressing against him changed though. It was still foreign, but did not feel malevolent. He lowered his blade slightly, refusing to lighten his grip, and waited to see just what had found them.
A sound rang out across the clearing, like a bird yet not quite found in nature. He watched as Arthur straightened slightly, a look of near surprise crossing his features. Arthur returned the call, only to have it echoed back at him once more.
“Sire?” Lancelot whispered in obvious confusion.
Arthur ignored him though and shouted, “Show yourself.” Merlin would have commented about the lack of subtlety, but realised that they were still in the middle of a clearing with a banked fire and only half their gear packed, so really, hiding was not really an option.
There was the sound of a rider dismounting, of soft boots crunching against the fallen leaves. The footsteps approached, nearly but not completely concealing the sounds of a second rider doing the same. He watched as a cloaked figure appeared between the trees far to his left, then as the figure resolved itself into something far more familiar.
“Morgana,” Arthur sighed, lowering his sword.
The figure stepped forward and threw the hood of the cloak back, revealing a very determined looking Lady Morgana. She was dressed just as Arthur had predicted in trousers and a tunic, long dark hair wrapped up into something elaborate that was more for function than style for a change. In her hand was a sword, a scabbard belted to her side with a dirk balancing the weight on her slim waist. She did not lower her weapon, something that could technically be seen as an act of treason given she now knew it was her prince before her, but simply demanded, “Where is he?”
“See for yourself,” Arthur replied. He gestured towards where Merlin crouched on the blankets and stepped back out of her way.
“Oh, Merlin!” she cried, barely sheathing her sword before she was upon him. She knelt beside him, ignoring the dirt, and wrapped her arms around him. “We were so worried,” she whispered into his ear, hugging him tightly.
“Can I assume you did not come alone?” Arthur asked, eyeing her entrance point warily. From his tone it was difficult to tell if he was concerned more for her safety, or for having to deal with an unknown contingent of people descending upon their little camp.
“Gwen, it’s okay, he’s here,” Morgana called. It was the only warning they got before her maidservant came bustling from the woods, similarly dressed and similarly armed, barely stopping to offer a rough curtsey to Arthur before joining Morgana at Merlin’s side.
Merlin struggled to find his voice, managing a weak, “Gwen,” and offering an arm out to her. He realised he still held the blade in his hand and hastily dropped it as he felt warmth and strength wrap around him.
The next few moments were a mixture of voices and touches and were more than a bit too overwhelming for him to handle. He caught snippets of the two women commenting how good it was to see him whole, but that he was too thin by far and they weren’t hurting him were they and they brought some of Gaius’ healing supplies and that he would be right as rain soon enough.
“I’ll just go fetch their horses then,” Lancelot offered with a hint of a grin.
“There’s no need,” Morgana called over her shoulder. She looked to Arthur and explained, “It would appear that several of your knights are both extremely loyal and extremely determined that we should not travel alone. We tried to lose them, but eventually just shared camp with them each night.”
“Leon?” Arthur guessed.
“And Marcus and Belvedere,” Morgana agreed. “You can come out now,” she called into the woods before returning her attentions to Merlin.
Merlin sensed more than heard the trio of knights entering the clearing from all sides. He tried to listen as they reported to Arthur and he gave them orders, but it was difficult when he could barely keep his eyes open. He stifled a yawn and felt the energy he had borrowed return to the earth once more.
“Are you all right, really?” Gwen asked from his side.
He noticed he was leaning into her more than was strictly proper, but did not want to move quite yet. “No,” he answered honestly. He looked over her shoulder at the knights, saw only their leather and armour and weaponry and could not fully repress the shiver that wracked his body. It was too many people, too soon, and too similarly dressed to what he had just faced.
Her chin jerked in Morgana’s direction and he barely caught the responding nod. “Give us space,” Morgana ordered primly though the knights were already several paces away.
Leon seemed to understand though, and gestured to the others. Arthur stayed close, as was his wont, but Lancelot followed the trio to the far side of the fire, showing them where they could tie their mounts and rest for a while.
“Better?” Gwen asked, voice no more than a whisper. He nodded, but did not try to leave the support she offered. “What can we do?” she offered.
There were so many answers on the tip of his tongue, but he knew none were possible nor feasible at the time. He wanted that wretched place destroyed and burnt to the ground. He wanted his wounds healed and his body and soul whole again. He wanted the past horrific days scoured from his memory and he wanted to never even be forced to think of such things ever again. Instead, he just said, in a voice far more of a plea than he originally intended, “Bring me home?”
“Gladly,” Morgana assured him. She rested her hand on his shoulder, but removed it quickly when he jerked away. She narrowed her pale eyes at him and demanded, “How bad?”
He flinched from her tone, but dutifully opened his mouth to respond. The answer stuck in his throat, and he was inordinately grateful to Arthur for answering for him with a simple, “Bad.”
Faster than he could stop her, she peeled back the edge of his tunic, revealing the welts and still healing gashes on his shoulder and upper back. He knew it was only her protective instincts, but he could not help but feel betrayed and slightly used that she had not even bothered to ask permission first.
“I am sorry,” she told him. He had no idea if she meant for the infraction or the wounds, but the way she eased the fabric back into place with a gentle touch lessened the feelings that had flared at her actions. She then turned to Arthur, anger evident in her clipped tones as she demanded, “Please tell me whoever did this suffered greatly before their death.”
“I cannot,” Arthur admitted. Merlin wondered if Morgana and Gwen could hear both the guilt and the grief in his tone.
Morgana stood abruptly, hand on the hilt of her sword. “Then we go to wherever he was held now and raze it to the ground,” she declared.
“Morgana...” Arthur sighed. He sounded so tired, and Merlin knew he had already had this battle with himself, and lost. Now it seemed he was about to have it out all over again but doubted the resolution would change.
“If you refuse to go, than I shall,” she declared.
Arthur had his hands on his hips and when he spoke, it was not as a friend, but as a prince and future king. “You will do no such thing,” he ordered, for the attitude that came with the words was no less than that.
Merlin spared a glance at the knights, and saw them all perk with attention. They had followed Morgana this far, but Arthur was their sovereign and it would be his word that they followed. He saw Leon’s eyes dart towards him, before volleying between Morgana and Arthur. It warmed his heart that there was no derision, only a sort of sadness that he had been caught in the middle of it all.
“My Lady,” Lancelot bade as he stepped between the two nobles. Morgana glared at the interruption, but relented when he held up a placating hand. “That place... to say it was vile would be an understatement of vast proportions. No one, woman nor man, should be subjected to the horrors it held within.”
“Merlin was,” she countered with a raised eyebrow.
“And we were thankfully able to offer him escape,” Lancelot replied. “It is heavily fortified and defended by those I do hope you never have the displeasure of meeting. Even with the knights that have accompanied you, should they choose to join us, we would be far too small of a contingent against such a force.” He turned to the trio of men who looked nearly offended that they were not sufficient and offered, “I mean you no disrespect, but I know of your capabilities and must say, based on numbers alone, we will fail unless more join the cause.”
The trio of knights looked reluctantly accepting of his words, but that may have had to do with the fact all three had both trained with him during his brief tenure as a vassal of Camelot. He ran a hand through his hair and turned back to face the one person who would be harder to convince than even the most loyal of Arthur’s men.
Morgana lowered her sword, but not her temper as she huffed, “Then what would you have us do? Allow these fiends to continue their practises, destroying lives and making profit and going about their merry way?”
“It was a matter of infiltration, not force, to free him,” Arthur spoke. “Lancelot was able to enter and obtain valuable information as well as Merlin himself. That information indicates it would be suicide at best to attack now.” Merlin knew how much it cost him to admit that, just as he knew how much it hurt Arthur that he could not be part of the original rescue.
Gwen hugged Merlin closer, his wounds pulling and muscles protesting, but he did not mind. “I think you are far more valuable than any information,” she whispered.
He offered her what he could manage of a smile, not certain if she could see it or not, and adjusted his head where it lay on her shoulder. He felt her hand stroke through his too-long hair and let himself accept the comfort she offered. Somehow, it was different than before. Perhaps he had adjusted with Arthur and Lancelot, or perhaps he was now more aware of simply knew who his friends were and that they meant him no harm, but he did not feel like flinching away, but more like burying himself in any embrace they had to offer. Morgana and Arthur continued to argue, with the knights and Lancelot offering input when they dared, but he let their words wash over him, content to just be for a moment.
~~~~~~~~~~
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