A Good Man is Hard to Find
Seven
Merlin was about to turn off the road onto the overgrown path leading to the lake when a soft, female voice behind him said, "Stand and deliver. Your money or your life."
Merlin spun round. "Gwen!" he yelled happily. Then he scowled. "Where the hell have you been?"
"I could ask you the same question," she replied primly.
"Looking for you! I thought you'd been trampled in the riot! Why didn't you go back to Mary's house?"
She told him briefly about the key, the window, Gwaine and Elyan and her plan to breach the castle's defences from within.
"Really? You did all that on your own?" Merlin demanded, incredulous. Gwen looked offended.
"Well, what was your plan, precisely? 'We'll all go to the castle and somehow it'll all be alright?' Somebody had to come up with something. But, since you mention it... I kind of made it up as I went along," she finished, blushing.
Merlin was impressed, despite himself. "Maybe you should do it more often. Remind me to tell Arthur."
Gwen smiled weakly, but blanched a bit at the name. "Did you... speak to him, Merlin? Was he..."
"He was bossy, noble and annoying. Like usual," Merlin said bracingly. Gwen looked close to tears.
"He was unconscious when I spoke to Gwaine," she said very quietly.
Merlin put a hand on her shoulder. "He needs to rest. He'll be alright." He hoped he sounded more convincing than he felt.
Gwen chewed her lip, shaking her head. "You – you should not have left him like that, Merlin."
Merlin was startled. He gaped.
"I know," she interrupted, before he could protest. "I know you didn't have a choice, I know there was nothing you could have done. I know... I just... wish he wasn't alone. We just – keep – abandoning him." Her voice, which had been so steady, at last broke. "He's not as strong as people think."
Tentatively, Merlin reached for her, and she pushed him away half-heartedly before yielding and sobbing into his shoulder.
"I've seen him in danger so many times. And there was always some last-minute miracle to come to the rescue. It was all so lucky, and unlikely. I should have known that one day, that eleventh-hour stroke of luck would fail."
Merlin's intestines seized so violently that they seemed to be strangling his stomach. That was it, after all. He wasn't the man who could lead the avenging army and save the kingdom. He had always been Arthur's eleventh-hour stroke of luck, and now he had, finally, failed.
"You're right," he said abruptly. "I'm going back."
"What?"
"You're right. So I'm going back."
"No, I heard you, but, Merlin..."
"You're the military strategist here, Gwen," he said, with a smile. She shuffled her feet. "You can find Leon, Tristan and the others. Tell them your plan, and bring them all back to Camelot. I'll see you there."
"And what are you going to do, exactly?" she said sceptically.
"Well," he replied. "I think I'll start with an apology."
~/~/~/~/~
Reluctantly, Gwaine waited until after the guards had completed their nightfall checks, as Elyan pointed out that it would be disastrous if they found him in the wrong cell. It was almost full dark when they finally came, left stale bread and a pitcher of water, and stomped off. Before their footsteps had faded, Gwaine had both arms through the bars, holding the key Guinevere had nearly brained him with. It took him several seconds of fidgeting and cursing to get the door open. When he finally managed it, he crowed softly in victory and scurried out of sight. Elyan followed more slowly.
Arthur was lying on his side, facing the wall, his legs curled awkwardly and one arm crushed beneath his body. He wore only trousers and boots, though the torn remains of his shirt were on the floor near him. His back was a mess of welts, cuts and bruises, smeared with dried blood; fresh blood still gleaming in one or two gashes. He was as still as a corpse.
At length, Gwaine gathered his wits and unlocked the door (he'd have a word with the king another day about the wisdom of duplicate locks.) "Elyan... wake Gaius? And bring the water in here," he whispered.
He knelt next to Arthur and wondered where he could touch him without causing pain. He settled for part of his shoulder which looked more or less intact. His skin was freezing.
"Arthur?" he tried, to no response. He shook him gently, grimacing at the way his skin looked, close up. Arthur groaned quietly and shifted as though to turn onto his back. Gwaine tightened his grip in alarm, holding him in place. "Don't do that; that isn't a good idea."
Arthur blinked slowly. "Gwaine? How did you...? Never mind. Help me sit up, then."
Gwaine considered refusing, but then conceded that it didn't look pleasant to have one's nose crushed into the filthy straw. Surely the fact that Arthur wanted to sit up could only be a good thing.
Gwaine shifted, taking hold of both Arthur's shoulders because he didn't want to touch his back.
"You neglected to mention that this riot was a result of you being publicly shredded, then?" he said, conversationally. "It's odd; I'm pretty sure I would have remembered that."
"I've been trying to forget that part," Arthur growled, heaving himself off the floor. "How long was I out this time?"
"Two or three hours? You fell asleep while we were in the middle of a chat. I thought you were raised with better manners than that."
Arthur snorted.
"Guinevere was here," Gwaine added casually. "She dropped a key on my head."
"Guinevere was here?" Arthur repeated, with a mixture of horror and fierce pride.
Hesitant footsteps made Gwaine turn his head as he gingerly supported Arthur's weight. Gaius was looking horribly frail, leaning heavily on Elyan's arm, and yet a kind of grim resolution in his eyes made his face look more animated than it had in some time. Arthur steepled his knees and rested his arms on them, trying to relax the spasming muscles in his back. He had a hint of the guilty child in his expression when he looked up at Gaius, and the healer answered it, appropriately enough, with a sigh of long-suffering exasperation.
It took a while to work out the logistics of the situation. Eventually, Gwaine fetched a chair from outside the cell, and the old man sat and watched attentively, supervising Elyan as he washed Arthur's wounds, and muttering constantly about the various medical supplies that he did not currently have access to. When that was done, he tortuously bent his old knees to inspect the damage himself, tutting ferociously and fetching breath with some difficulty. He eventually conceded that the wounds were not deep, the blood-loss not catastrophic, but the bruising was severe. His real concern was the chill in the king's skin, and the trembling that he seemed unable to still. Fever had not yet set in, but surely could not be long in coming.
Arthur stayed fairly quiet through the whole process, his tired mind slowly catching up to events. He focused his energy on breathing as slowly and evenly as possible. "Guinevere," he said at last, looking at Gwaine. "Was she... well?"
"She was magnificent. And my head is fine, now, since you didn't ask."
Arthur smiled wearily. "I told them both to stay away from here. Guinevere and Merlin. Rank insubordination."
"With all due respect, your highness, nobody pays much attention to your orders around here. They've all got your best interests at heart, though."
Arthur raised an eyebrow at him and flicked his eyes towards the ceiling. Somewhere above them, his sister was presumably still plotting his death.
"Yeah," Gwaine conceded. "There might be the odd exception to that."
When he had finally satisfied himself that Arthur's wounds were clean and not in need of stitching, Gaius pulled the king's left hand unceremoniously toward him. "I'm going to straighten these fingers, sire," he croaked. "If I don't they will not move properly again. They'll heal crooked."
Arthur nodded apprehensively. "I know."
"Without any herbs or potions... it will hurt badly. Gwaine, Elyan – you may need to hold him still."
Arthur nodded again and gritted his teeth. Gwaine knelt in front of him and held his feet in place, and Elyan held his left arm at shoulder and elbow. His hand rested in Gaius' lap. The old physician worked as quickly and accurately as he could, pulling hard on the abused fingers and forcing the bones back into alignment. When the two knights released Arthur he was panting as though he'd run a marathon, and his face was the grey of the castle's pale walls. Without warning he retched to one side, though there was nothing in his stomach to expel. When his guts stopped rebelling he finally slumped, shaking.
Gaius bound his hand carefully with the remains of Arthur's shirt.
The four men sat awake together for most of the night, talking little, while outside, the rain started again.
