This is a gift fic for Aini NuFire from 29Pieces because Aini needed some Lancelot whump, so how could I say no XD-hope you enjoy this!
Note: This story is set right after the end of Season 3
Noble and Reckless
A Merlin Fanfic
A simple mission ends badly for Merlin and Lancelot when they stumble upon a group of bandits and Lancelot is captured. Good thing Camelot's best warlock is there to help. (Lancelot whump, Merlin&Lance teamup)
It was a beautiful spring day; the air clean and fresh, and the green of the trees whispered in the wind as the ground danced with the dappled sunlight. Merlin tipped his head back and took a deep breath, unable to help the smile on his face.
Lancelot glanced over at him with a smirk. "You look happy."
"I am," Merlin said with a contented sigh. "Haven't been out of the castle for two weeks at least, and Arthur has been insufferable."
"Nothing new there, I suppose?" Lancelot teased.
Merlin grinned. "Well, no, but add to that the fact that Gaius thought it was a good idea to do spring cleaning and I haven't had a quiet moment." He glanced over at his traveling companion, eyebrows raised. "Have you seen how much stuff Gaius has in his rooms? How would you like to clean and sort and categorize all of that?"
"I really wouldn't," Lancelot admitted.
"No, you wouldn't," Merlin replied with a shake of his head at the memory of what he had left behind as quickly as he possibly could.
He'd been really glad when Lancelot had asked him to accompany him on a mission to bring a message to one of the neighboring kingdoms. It was an easy job so didn't require more than two people and the newly knighted Lancelot had shown mercy on Merlin and asked him to go with him.
Merlin hadn't had a lot of time to speak with Lancelot since his return, everyone being busy after Morgana's attempted takeover, working to get Camelot back in order, so it was nice to go on a mission that was just the two of them. He always felt comfortable around Lancelot as he was the only person in Camelot besides Gaius who knew about his magic. It was rather freeing to know that if he had to use his magic he wouldn't have to hide it.
But it looked like no magic would need to be had this mission. Everything was peaceful.
That was until they heard the screams.
Lancelot pulled his horse to a stop and Merlin did the same, the two of them glancing at each other.
"You heard that too?" Lancelot said.
Merlin nodded, glancing around. "Sounds like it's coming from just over there." He nodded off to the left ahead of them just as another scream rose, confirming.
An unspoken decision moved between them, and they urged their horses in that direction, ending up on a rise that looked down into a rocky pass below where a cart was being beset by bandits.
Lancelot pulled his sword and leapt from his horse, Merlin following suit as they skidded down the pass to meet the bandits.
The thugs were currently hauling two women from the cart—the cause of the screams. A man was already on the ground, unconscious, or dead, Merlin couldn't tell, but he was being tied up so he probably wasn't dead yet.
Merlin didn't waste any time. He thrust out his hand and hissed the proper word. Force thrust from his palm toward the nearest bandit and sent him flying backwards.
By then, the bandits had noticed the arrival of Merlin and Lancelot, and turned their attention from the struggling civilians toward the new threat.
Lancelot rushed the men who had been pulling the women from the cart, and swung his sword. One of the men was able to get his own sword up quickly enough to block the blow, but the other Lancelot took out with a second thrust while the first man had staggered to one side from a well-placed kick of the knight's boot.
But the other bandits were rushing in now, and Merlin glanced up at the rocky pass, and swiftly called on his magic to force some of the rocks down on two men who were charging Lancelot from behind.
Lancelot turned and caught his eye, giving him a swift nod of thanks, before he went back to the fight.
Merlin hurried toward the man groaning on the ground, and grabbed one of the fallen bandit's swords to cut his bonds before helping him up.
"Hurry, get to the top of the pass," Merlin urged him before turning toward the women who were huddling together next to the cart, which Merlin could now see had a broken wheel thanks to a large mostly hidden hole. "Come on!"
He pulled the women to their feet and they hurried after the man who waited for them anxiously as Merlin glanced toward Lancelot who was now fighting two men, his back getting closer and closer to the rocky wall. It seemed like those were the only bandits left besides the first one Merlin had knocked unconscious.
"Lancelot!" he called.
The knight looked over at him. "Merlin, get them out of here! I'll hold these men off!"
"I'm not leaving you here!" Merlin called back indignantly.
Lancelot slashed one of the men across the shoulder and he staggered back with a cry. "Go, Merlin! I'll be right behind you!"
Merlin bit his lip as he watched his friend holding his own, and glanced over at the victims of the bandits struggling up the steep rocky side of the pass. He knew what he had to do even though he didn't much care for it. But he had to trust Lancelot would be okay, he was a good fighter.
Merlin rushed off and helped the women up the rocks. "Hurry!" he urged them and practically dragged the younger of the two—probably the daughter—up the last bit where the man was waiting, propped against a tree holding an ugly wound on his head.
"Thank you," the mother said.
"No problem. Come on," Merlin said, taking charge again. "We'll head toward the nearest village, there was one a couple miles back."
He grabbed the reins of his horse and helped the women into the saddle as he glanced back to see if Lancelot was coming yet.
What he saw made his stomach clench.
Across the way, more men were moving through the trees, one with a crossbow, which he was aiming below.
"Lancelot!" Merlin cried, and swiftly cast some magic at the man, severing his crossbow string.
Unfortunately, the man had already gotten the shot off and the only thing that changed from the snapped string was that the bolt struck Lancelot lower than intended.
Merlin watched in horror as Lancelot cried out, the bolt striking him in the leg, which collapsed beneath him.
"Lancelot!" Merlin shouted.
The bandits across the way looked over and saw him. "After them!" one man cried and the bandits started to look for a way across that would get them there in time to cut Merlin and the escapees off.
Lancelot looked up and saw Merlin still standing there. "Merlin, go!" he cried.
Merlin knew he had no choice at that point. He could either stick around and allow them all to be captured or he could get the people to safety. He had to trust that Lancelot could look after himself until Merlin could get help or come back. He hated everything about this impossible situation, and it went against everything he believed in, but with the innocents involved, he knew he couldn't risk their lives too.
He snagged Lancelot's horse as well and shoved the injured man up into the saddle before climbing in front of him and slapping the rump of the other horse to get them started.
The bandits didn't have horses, thankfully, so they got away from them with little trouble. The nearest village also wasn't too far away, and they made it in good time. Merlin stopped at the first inn he saw where he asked for a room for the family, and used the money they'd been given for the mission to pay for it.
"What 'appened here?" the innkeeper's wife asked as she bustled around, fetching warm drinks and bandages for the man.
"We were attacked on the road," the man said, and finally looked at Merlin really for the first time, seeming to come out of his shock a little. "You're from Camelot, aren't you?"
Merlin nodded. "I am, and I will make sure that Prince Arthur hears of this."
The innkeeper made a small humph sound. "Don't know what 'e's going to do about it. Didn't fix it last time."
"What do you mean?" Merlin asked, anxious to get back out and look for Lancelot, but thinking this might be important.
"Those bandits," the innkeeper said as his wife came to stand beside him, arms folded across her ample bosom. "I'd bet they were that lout Jarl's men."
Merlin frowned. "Wait…Jarl? The slaver? But I thought he was dead."
"He is, but his brother is running the operation now," the innkeeper said.
Merlin felt his stomach twist at that news. Arthur would probably beat himself up about not going out and making sure Jarl's group had been completely disbanded. It wasn't like he hadn't had a bunch of other things to see to, but the prince was always sensitive to things like that, especially when people got hurt over it.
"Whereabouts do they make camp?" Merlin asked.
The innkeeper shrugged. "Somewhere in the woods. Probably in the caves to the north. But I hope you're not planning on going there alone."
Merlin forced a small smile but didn't answer him. "Thanks. I have to go. See that they're taken care of."
He left the inn and grabbed his horse, doing some calculation in his head. He could go back to Camelot, get some reinforcements, and come back to save Lancelot and take out the entire operation at the same time but…it was a day and a half's journey back, and he didn't want to leave Lancelot to those men's mercy for that long. He had no idea what they planned to do with him, though he was sure it wasn't good. Especially since Lancelot had been party to making sure their victims escaped. And he had already been injured…
No, it was no hard decision to make. Merlin would go after his friend. He was sure he could figure out some way to get him out of there in one piece. It wasn't like he hadn't had a ton of practice saving Arthur or anything. He just hoped Lancelot would be in one piece by the time he got to him.
Lancelot felt a moment of relief as he watched Merlin ride off with the bandit's intended victims, but that was short lived as he saw the other men coming down from the other side of the pass and surrounding him.
He gritted his teeth and did his best to push himself up onto his feet, back pressed against the rocky cliff as his leg protested violently. He glanced down at the crossbow bolt stuck in it and the growing patch of blood and wished he hadn't.
"Gentlemen," he huffed, raising his sword, readying to fight to the death if he had to.
He didn't get that far. Two men rushed in and he swung at one of them, but the other kicked his injured leg and he fell with a sharp cry, while the first man stomped on his wrist, making sure he couldn't wield his sword.
"You've caused us a lot of trouble," the man said with a sneer. "We could have made a pretty penny on those three—especially the women." The nasty sneer caused anger to flow through Lancelot. So, these men were slavers, not simple bandits like he'd first assumed. That just made the entire situation worse.
"Wulf isn't going to be happy about that," the other man said, shaking his head.
"But he might be a little happier if we bring him your sorry hide—a knight might fetch a decent price as well." The man stepping on Lancelot's arm lifted his foot and simply slammed it into the side of his head.
Lancelot's vision blacked out and he fell into unconsciousness.
He woke to a splitting headache and nausea brought on by movement. Lancelot tried to pry his eyes open, to see what was happening, but the movement didn't last much longer. He felt a weightless sensation before he slammed into something hard, crying out as the breath was knocked from him and pain sang through his leg.
He finally managed to see what was going on, and stared up at three men standing over him.
"This is all you got?" one man demanded angrily.
"He and another man caught us and the other one ran off with our quarry," one of the thugs said. "But 'e's a knight of Camelot, could probably fetch a good price in the mines."
Lancelot struggled to push himself up onto his elbows, but he was kicked viciously onto his face again.
"Get him up," snarled the first man that had spoken who seemed to be in charge. Lancelot swam through memories of what had happened before they had knocked him unconscious. They were slavers, working for someone called Wulf. He would bet that was probably who this was.
Hands grabbed his mail, hauling him painfully onto his knees and one latched onto his hair, yanking his head upright so he was forced to stare at the leader.
Wulf eyed him critically, reaching down to grab his chin roughly, jerking his head back and forth while Lancelot glowered at him for the demeaning treatment.
"He is strong, though we'll have to fix him up before we consider selling him to the mines. Though if he's as good a fighter as you say, I might rather keep him for myself." The nasty smirk on his face told Lancelot that that arrangement wouldn't be much of an improvement on the mines. "What do you think, cur? Could you fight for your keep here?"
Lancelot simply gathered the small amount of saliva he had in his mouth and spat at the man. Wulf slapped him across the face and sent him back to the ground.
"Have Arnulf get that bolt out of his leg," Wulf commanded as he turned around.
Lancelot was grabbed under the arms and dragged to a lean-to nearby and dropped next to a smoldering fire.
"What's this, then?" demanded a thin, mean-looking man.
"He took a bolt before we captured him. He wasn't going down easy."
"And Sean is still trigger happy," the man, who was probably Arnulf grunted. "If I have to dig more bolts out of the goods, I'm going to have a word with Wulf. Puts the price down a good third—'specially if they don't heal properly."
He was already kneeling over Lancelot and reaching for his leg with a knife.
Lancelot struggled, trying to get away, but Arnulf jerked his head toward the two men. "Hold him down, would ya?"
"Stop, don't!" Lancelot gritted out as the man cut the leg of his trousers open and prodded the wound around the bolt. Lancelot saw white, the pain horrible. He could only imagine what was coming next.
Arnulf reached for a jug of something and popped the cork with his teeth, taking a swig before he grabbed Lancelot's jaw and poured some into his mouth.
"You'll thank me later," he said.
"No—" Lancelot's protest was garbled as he choked on the strong, acrid liquor, unable to help swallowing most of it. Honestly, he probably would thank the man for anything that might dull his senses later.
The knife was in Arnulf's hand again and the other men leaned their full weight on Lancelot as the blade descended. Lancelot felt the first cut and after that it was just all indistinct agony.
Arnulf practically hacked the bolt from his thigh. Lancelot screamed, throwing his head back, his body arching off the matt he'd been thrown onto, forcing the men to shove him down more firmly.
He wasn't even sure when the bolt left his leg, at that point it didn't really matter. He could barely breathe for the pain, sweat soaking his body.
Arnulf set the knife to one side, propping it on a rock in the coals of the fire as he reached for the bottle of liquor again. He grabbed Lancelot by the back of the head, raising him up a bit and forcing him to drink several more mouthfuls before he patted his cheek mockingly as Lancelot choked up some of the liquid as it burned the back of his throat.
"Almost done, now," he said then dumped a good amount of the liquor over the wound in Lancelot's leg.
He cried out again, but it still wasn't over yet. The knife came out of the fire, glowing red now, and Lancelot saw exactly where this was going.
"No. No, please, don't…AGHH!" his pleas were cut off by his own scream of agony as the blade met his leg and after a few seconds of the white-hot agony, he mercifully found himself unconscious again.
Lancelot woke an indeterminate amount of time later. There was pain radiating from his leg and even shifting minutely hurt like hell. He took a long moment with his eyes still closed just to breathe as he thought about his situation.
It wasn't good, he knew that much. The only good thing about it was that Merlin had gotten away with the civilians and would certainly bring help, but whether that would be soon enough or not, Lancelot couldn't be certain.
He would rather try to escape himself.
He finally pried his eyes open, realizing that, oddly, he still wasn't tied up. He supposed they probably didn't expect him to go anywhere on his leg. Or, maybe they had their camp secured well enough that they weren't worried about him slipping past.
Still…no one was around, not even Arnulf, though Lancelot was still lying under his lean-to. In fact, most of the men were over by a fire, sharing out soup or something from a pot. Whatever it was, it smelled less than appealing and turned Lancelot's stomach that was already roiling from the liquor Arnulf had shoved down his throat.
Carefully, he pushed himself into a sitting position, which did his aching head no favors. But he could see the camp better now.
He finally caught sight of several other prisoners off to one side, chained in a line and attached to a tree. There were only five of them though, so Lancelot assumed this was a temporary camp the men had set up to do some…hunting, and would then bring the captives back to wherever they made base later.
Besides that, the camp seemed to be clear. If Lancelot was going to attempt an escape, there would probably be no better time than this.
He slowly began to push himself upright, and used that time to study the camp for the best way to escape. The east side butted up against the woods. It was closer to the fire where the majority of the men were standing right then, but the thicker woods would make for better concealment.
He grabbed the pole for the lean-to and finally managed to get upright, gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg. That was only going to get worse as he went and he was going to have to deal with it if he wanted to survive this.
He slipped away, limping badly toward the woods, trying not to attract attention to himself. He should probably pull off his chain mail, but didn't think he had the energy right then. He would just have to make do.
The shadowed cover of the trees beckoned him, getting closer, until he heard voices approaching and attempted to rush as quickly as he was able toward cover.
"…small load this time, but maybe in the next villa—hey!"
He'd been spotted. Lancelot didn't waste time seeing how many, he simply ran. Or staggered, really. Running with his injury was out of the question.
Not that it would have mattered anyway, because one of the men threw a bolo at his feet only a few yards out.
The instrument wrapped around his legs from ankle to knee and he fell heavily, slamming into the ground. He dragged himself forward desperately, but hands were already on him, pulling him backwards by his ankles.
Lancelot cried out, kicking out at them as he was dragged back toward the camp and tossed onto the ground.
He rolled onto his back to see Wulf standing over him. A boot descended onto his chest hard, punching the air out of his lungs as he wheezed.
"Thought you'd be a little runaway, did you?" Wulf growled.
Lancelot heard chains shifting and looked over to see he had been dropped not too far from the other prisoners who were watching anxiously, fear in their eyes.
"I think we need to show him what happens to runaways," Wulf said and turned to sneer at the other prisoners. "And make him an example to any others who might be getting bad ideas."
Lancelot knew he was in trouble, but there was nothing he could say, really. Protesting was cowardly and beneath his position as a knight. But if he were to die, he certainly wasn't going to go down without a fight.
As they yanked the bolo from his legs and pulled him upright, he launched himself forward, butting his head into one of the men's stomachs. The man's air whooshed from him and he staggered backwards as Lancelot slammed his fist into another thug's face.
He got in several more blows before a rope caught him around the throat and he was hauled backwards against a broad chest, choking.
"That's enough," Wulf growled in his ear, pulling the rope tighter. Lancelot scrabbled at it, trying to keep his feet under him so he wouldn't choke to death, but his vision was blackening.
The rope released suddenly and he was no longer able to stay upright, collapsing with a gasp.
Hands grabbed him again, this time dragging him a few feet toward a tree. They pulled his chain mail off roughly, then lashed his hands together with rope. They threw the end of it over the branch and pulled on it until Lancelot was forced to stand up, arms stretched painfully over his head. His bruised ribs were protesting the position and it made it even harder for him to get his breath back.
He saw what was coming as Wulf reached for something hanging from the back of his belt that had previously been hidden under his coat. He pulled out a whip with multiple tails. Lancelot swallowed hard as he saw the darkened tips that were obviously stained from the blood of countless victims.
The men who had tied him up grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked it over his head to expose his back. Lancelot shivered in the sudden coolness as Wulf took up position behind him.
"Let this be a lesson," Wulf said, speaking not only to Lancelot but to the other prisoners as well. "If you think you can escape, you won't get far."
The first blow descended and Lancelot squeezed his eyes shut, nearly biting through his lip as he tried not to cry out. His back arched as the lash struck him again, the pain like fire across his shoulders.
By the third a small whimper escaped his throat, and, seeming to be encouraged by that, Wulf hit him harder with the next one. A small cry was punched out of Lancelot, to his shame. Blood was beginning to flow down his back now and he was no longer able to hold back his cries. He was just all agony.
He lost count of how many lashes he received but it was enough to make him sag in his ropes, vision darkening from the pain.
He was only barely aware of them cutting him down before he collapsed on the ground heavily, a small cry escaping his lips as the fall jarred his injured body.
Someone reached down and grabbed his hair, hauling his head back and Lancelot saw Wulf's face materialize.
"I see you're going to be trouble, but you are a good fighter and that makes you at least of some value to me. Later, when my best warrior comes back I'll let you prove yourself. You'd be wasted in the mines with that attitude."
"I'm flattered," Lancelot grunted, not sure that was a good thing. It wasn't like he was in any shape to fight, but if he could buy his time, then help may come.
His shirt was still hanging from his arms and he struggled to get his head back through the hole as he pushed himself to his knees. The shirt scraped uncomfortably against his back, feeling like knives. He didn't even know what the lash marks looked like, but he was sure they were nasty.
He was grabbed again and this time hauled over to the other prisoners where he was chained into line with them. Lancelot sighed heavily and propped his shoulder against a tree to support his aching body.
The other prisoners looked at him warily and he tried to force a small smile.
"My name's Lancelot," he told them. "I'm a knight of Camelot."
This sparked some interest, one young man, practically a boy, spoke up, "What are you doing here then?"
"Unfortunate incident on the road," Lancelot told him. "But I have a friend still out there who is probably bringing help as we speak. We'll make sure you all get out of here as well."
The other prisoners didn't look entirely convinced, but there was no other time to talk because one of the slavers came over with a bucket and ladle with water in it.
Lancelot watched the others drink thirstily as he glanced up at the sky, seeing the late afternoon sun beginning its descent. He wondered where Merlin was and if help would get there in time.
Merlin rode through the woods, using instinct more than anything to figure out where the slavers might be hiding out. Unfortunately, there were a lot of places you could hide in the woods. Luckily he'd been able to track them part of the way from the pass they'd attacked the cart in, but they seemed to be more careful than he had expected, and well, he wasn't exactly the best tracker either. He'd only mildly paid attention to what Arthur was doing on hunts. Still, he hoped he was going in the right direction.
He also hoped they had made camp. They were about a day's travel from where Jarl's men had captured Merlin and Arthur before and if they were still using the same base, it would make sense that they would camp at least for the night before heading there.
He hoped.
A sound behind him, caused Merlin to turn and his eyes widened as he saw more men heading through the woods. He swiftly dismounted and got his horse off the path, finding a spot with enough foliage to cover both of them. He murmured softly to the horse to stay quiet as he gripped the reins in a white-knuckled hand.
A cart trundled down the path with two rough-looking men leading the horse in front of it. Behind the cart three men were attached to a chain hurrying along so as not to trip.
Merlin felt anger seep through him at the sight. These slavers had to be stopped.
But right now, he was glad they were leading him to his friend. He had to rescue Lancelot before anything else.
He waited until the slavers had passed far enough ahead to escape their notice and then began to follow the cart tracks.
Lancelot hadn't so much fallen into a doze as a stupor, his body deciding for him to shut itself down due to all the trauma he'd gone through in the last few hours, but he was startled awake as someone hailed the camp and came trundling up with a rattling wagon.
"I got a few more for you, Wulf!" one man cried out.
Lancelot clenched his jaw in fury as he saw three more captives chained to the wagon.
Wulf went over to inspect the goods, then turned to the man who had brought the wagon in. "Not bad, Callen. They look like they'll fetch a good price. Now, come here, I have a treat for you. New recruit I want you to try out."
Lancelot straightened as Wulf approached with the other man. Callen was tall and scarred, and carried himself with the bearing of a warrior. Wulf kicked Lancelot lightly in the hip.
"This here is a knight of Camelot," Wulf said, his tone slightly mocking. "He's not very cooperative, so I thought it would serve us better to put him into the ring. I want him to test himself against you."
Callen looked Lancelot up and down with disdain. "He's half dead. It would be no sport."
Wulf smirked. "Then I guess he'd better prove himself worthy of his keeping." He reached down to unlock Lancelot's manacles. "Callen is my champion. He makes me good money in the ring which is why he goes free. If you can prove yourself a good fighter as well, you might eventually deserve the same treatment."
"Unlikely," Lancelot gritted out as he was forced to his feet, using most of his strength just to stand. "My loyalty lies with Camelot."
Wulf shrugged. "Well, if that's what you end up deciding there's always a place for you in the mines."
Lancelot clenched his jaw as he was shoved toward the middle of the camp, the slavers assembling to form a circle around the area. Callen came into the circle and drew his sword, checking the sharpness of the blade.
Wulf passed Lancelot a sword of his own and the knight reached out to take it but as his hand grasped the hilt, Wulf pulled him close. "No funny business. I won't go so easy on you next time if you try to run away again."
Lancelot snorted. If that was easy he didn't want to know what the alternative would be. His back was smarting so much that between that and his leg he could barely stand. He didn't even know how he was going to last any amount of time in this fight, but he would have to. The alternative didn't bear thinking about. And…he glanced over at the other captives, watching with wide eyes; he wasn't entirely doing this for himself anyway.
Callen took a ready stance and Lancelot raised his own sword, trying to plant his feet in a way that kept most of his weight on his uninjured leg.
Callen gave no warning as he lunged forward, swinging with the sword. Lancelot just barely ducked in time, feeling the wind from the blade sweep over his head. He managed to get his sword up to block the next blow, but Callen simply used the force of the block to shove him backwards. Lancelot tripped and fell heavily onto his back with a sharp cry, rolling just in time to avoid the blade descending toward his neck. He scrambled to his knees but Callen kicked him in his injured back and Lancelot collapsed again, body singing with pain.
He panted, arms trembling as he tried to force himself upright, but Callen's boot simply descended on the back of his neck, forcing his face into the dirt.
"Well, that was pathetic. I'd say you would be better served cleaning gutters than even being put into the mines," Callen sneered, grinding his boot into Lancelot's lash wounds. "Or, if you prefer, I could give you a somewhat honorable death now."
Lancelot growled, again attempting to raise himself up when a flare of heat and light surged across the camp as the fire exploded.
The men shouted and Callen staggered off of Lancelot, allowing the knight to raise himself to his knees, grabbing the sword he had been given for the fight.
The fire was rising higher and higher; some of the men scrambled for water while others cowered in terror. Lancelot saw a dark shape flit between two trees and had to smile.
Merlin.
Amidst the confusion, Lancelot lunged toward the prisoners and started hacking at the chain with his sword.
"Lancelot!"
Merlin appeared next to him and Lancelot gave a sigh of relief.
"Merlin, thank heavens," he said.
Merlin grinned in relief, and his eyes glowed yellow as he whispered a word and the chains broke before Lancelot had to hit them again.
"Come on," he said to the prisoners as they leapt to their feet, yanking the running chain from their shackles.
"Hey!"
Merlin swiftly turned back toward the camp where Callen and two other men were hurrying toward them. Merlin simply raised a hand and the sound of wood cracking came seconds before a large branch came down on the slavers' heads.
"Let's go," Merlin said, grabbing Lancelot's arm and slinging it around his shoulders before practically dragging him away after the other prisoners.
"You came just in time," Lancelot gasped.
"I tried," Merlin told him.
His horse was waiting and Merlin helped Lancelot up onto the animal's back before jumping up behind him and grabbing the reins.
"This way!" Merlin called to the other escapees who were running beside them. Lancelot glanced back to see the camp still in chaos as the fire spread. Some of the men were leaving to search for their prisoners, but he didn't think they would find anything.
He slumped back against Merlin for a second, the adrenaline wearing off and sheer exhaustion setting in.
"It's not too far back to the inn," Merlin assured him. "Just stay with me until then, Lancelot…hey, Lancelot!"
The last thing he felt was Merlin gripping him more securely as he started sliding sideways, but after that, Lancelot's world faded to blackness.
The innkeeper had helped Merlin get Lancelot up the stairs and into a bed while the innkeeper's wife brought water and bandages, but after that they'd left him to care for the wounded knight by himself.
Merlin bit his lip now as he glanced at his friend lying on the bed. He'd removed his shirt to see the lash marks and the sight had nearly turned his stomach. The slavers had been brutal; there was hardly any skin left on Lancelot's back.
And his leg…Merlin swallowed hard as he peeled back the makeshift bandage and tore open Lancelot's trousers several inches to better see the wound. It looked infected, and Lancelot's fever seemed to add to that conclusion. The wound was so mangled and had been burned closed so poorly it was no wonder.
It would have to be drained. Merlin wasn't looking forward to doing this, but he'd watched Gaius do it on several occasions and with Lancelot already fevered he knew he had to do it now before it got worse. Otherwise he would have been more than happy to wait for Gaius.
At least Lancelot was still unconscious for the procedure.
Merlin decided to get that over with first and dug into his bag for the supplies he would need. At least he'd taken to carrying healing herbs with him due to Arthur's almost preternatural ability to constantly end up wounded.
He passed the blade of a penknife he had taken out through a candle, and then turned back to Lancelot's unconscious form.
"I'm really sorry," he whispered before he cringed and neatly sliced the wound open.
Lancelot jerked and moaned, trying to roll away, but Merlin gripped his shoulder, trying to offer some comfort as he grabbed a swatch of bandage and pressed it against the wound. He felt his stomach roll as puss emerged, but it flowed red with clean blood soon enough for which he was grateful.
He pulled herbs from his pack and made a poultice, which he packed into the wound before wrapping the leg with clean bandages.
When he was done with that he cleaned up Lancelot's back, getting no more protest now than a couple whimpers and flinching. Then he used the rest of the poultice to spread over the lash wounds. He'd leave them to the open for now, and bandage them tomorrow when he could perhaps get Lancelot to sit up. It would be nearly impossible to bandage his back just by himself when his friend seemed dead to the world.
He then sat back in a chair that he had pulled over to the bed, weary himself.
But his own rest would have to wait. Lancelot moaned in his sleep and shifted, pain creasing his face.
Merlin wet a cloth and wiped the sweat from his brow. He needed to look after his friend first before anything else.
Lancelot woke groggily to sunlight streaming into the window of a small room. He was comfortable enough, though he had no idea where he was.
Then he blinked and saw a figure slumped back in a chair sitting next to his bed. Lancelot smiled.
"Merlin?" he murmured.
The young man started awake, nearly falling from the chair in surprise before the surprise turned to happiness and relief as he saw Lancelot staring at him. "Lancelot! Are you feeling better?" he asked, leaning toward the bed.
Lancelot managed a weak grin back. "Well, I wouldn't go that far, but I'm not as bad as I was." His back was still aching dully and his leg smarting, but he would take it over the burning pain of the day before.
Merlin reached out and placed a hand on his forehead. "Well, the fever's gone at least."
He gave him something to drink with an herb for the pain and Lancelot settled more comfortably against the pillows, already exhausted again. "Did all the other prisoners get free?"
Merlin nodded. "Yeah, most of them are leaving for their homes this morning."
Lancelot nodded gratefully at that. "And the slavers?"
Merlin shrugged. "I sent word to Arthur. He should be arriving with some of the knights to see to it that their operation is put to a stop—hopefully permanently this time."
Lancelot sighed. "Merlin, thank you for everything. You truly are the best of us."
Merlin grinned at him, a little self-conscious. "What are friends for, eh?" He stood up and adjusted the blankets over Lancelot who huffed slightly. "In the meantime, you should rest up. You don't have to do anything for a while. Not until we head back to Camelot."
Lancelot exhaled slowly. Normally he would protest, but at the moment… "I think I could manage that."
He closed his eyes again and allowed himself to drift off.
Now doing Merlin commission fics through ko-fi! (as well as some other new fandoms) so if you want to commission something special, check out my Ko-fi account or my Tumblr (at: Lady-Wallace)