Aaaaand here we are, the end of the Trauma/Drama/Compassion arc! This arc was actually the first thing I wrote for This Child Is Mine, but I didn't want to open what was supposed to be a vignette collection with a six-part arc, haha. Anyway, I hope you've enjoyed it! Writing this chapter was one of those times when I realize what a struggle it is for me to get through action scenes. Like, I just want to get on with it and tell you what happens! I always have to tell myself to slow down and actually describe the scenes, but it's still tough sometimes.
As a quick note to GuestM- you're right, the thick cloth thing kind of came out of nowhere and isn't important. The general idea was that if you have a material thick enough, liquid will not seep through it, and there would likely be a little hole in it so that the milk can get through to the baby (I can't help but recall the rubber boob from Meet the Fockers as I talk about this). I won't get real specific or technical since I didn't look into it too much myself. The point was that they don't have nice things or anything close to a bottle (they are slaves), but they still have a way to serve the purpose. I'm sure magic is involved somewhere, lol.
Alright, enjoy part 6! I love y'all and I'll be back next Saturday with a new chapter!
A Bit of Trauma, a Bit of Drama, a Bit of Compassion (Part 6): All Things Will Come to an End
"Here, Rowan," Merlin smiled teasingly as he sent a finger to tickle the little baby in his arm under the chin.
Rowan squirmed a bit and seemed to be trying to smile, and Merlin's heart fluttered in its sudden lightness as he laughed. Ilan was seated beside him, leaning heavily into his side so as to have a good view of her baby, and she lightly chuckled right along with him. They were sitting against the wall near some of the old prison bars that jutted out of the ground. Rowan was surprisingly healthy for a baby in a slave mine, which may have had something to do with Merlin's magic in addition to constant, diligent care from both his mother and the apprentice physician. Rowan was also a fairly quiet baby. Since he was never without the company of either Merlin or Ilan, and both were so attentive, he never had much to complain about, and he did not have to complain very much or very loudly for them to remedy the problem. Being with Rowan and Ilan brought Merlin a lot more smiles and happiness than he would have thought possible in their current environment.
The door to the dungeons burst open, allowing three mercenaries to flood into the room. Merlin immediately sensed tension and anxiety in them, and the mood of just a moment before was completely gone. He instinctively pulled Rowan closer to his chest. Anxious mercenaries visiting the slave cells was a recipe for trouble.
"You!" one of them immediately locked onto Merlin and started stalking over to him.
The second guard followed, and they were already getting close before the first one made his demand, "The baby—hand it over."
Merlin drew his legs up so that he was semi-curled around Rowan and glared at the guards; Ilan instantly jolted away from him as she gasped out a horrified, "No!"
The third guard remained stationed at the door, but the other two were steadily advancing with a hostile gait. Merlin did not think that they were going to leave empty-handed, but he was not about to give them Ilan's child.
"On your feet, slaves," the second mercenary hissed at them.
Merlin's magic was roiling beneath his skin as he snarled in response. His position on the ground was better-defensible, especially for Rowan, and he was not going to relinquish it just because these aggressive guards asked him to do so. He wanted very much in that moment to simply unleash his magic, but it was too risky. He suspected that he would need his magic for an escape, should the opportunity arise, but if he revealed it now, then he would likely lose the asset, and quite possibly his life as well. True, he could just blow the whole place to pieces, but he did not particularly want to kill anyone, not even the mercenaries, and, on top of that, he still was not really sure where he was. He figured he could find his way back to Camelot, given time, but how much time would it take? How many of the other slaves would be casualties of his wrath or of the following confusion and inability to travel or care for themselves? Yes, he had the power to escape, but he was unsure if it could be done without him killing anyone. He hated killing people. It was one thing to protect the knights as they killed people- he hated that, too, when it came down to it- but it felt different to kill people with his own hands. Sometimes it was necessary to end the lives of violent bandits and evil sorcerers, especially if it was the only way to protect Arthur, but this whole situation was entirely separate from his king, and he did not feel the need to massacre an entire camp just to gain his own freedom. So, he withheld the magic, and the guards continued their approach.
"I said: on. Your. Feet," and Merlin did not have the strength to stop the guard from kicking his legs out of their position of fortification, grabbing his shoulders, and hauling him upright, but he did not drop the baby.
"Hand over the baby," the first one thrust his hand forward, apparently expecting Merlin to obey.
Merlin deliberately turned his torso so that Rowan was as far away from the mercenaries as possible without actually moving. The guards definitely noticed the act of defiance; it was impossible to miss. Rowan started to whimper in distress. Merlin planted his feet and steeled himself for the move that he was daring the mercenaries to make. They did not disappoint, but living as a slave for the past two approximate months had not done his body good, so he was, therefore, not quite as ready for the mercenary's powerful left hook as he thought he was. The guard's fist connected with his jaw, and he staggered heavily to the side.
"Stop!" Ilan was jumping to her feet, grabbing at the arms of the mercenary that had struck him, "Leave my baby alone!"
Merlin did not have enough time to recover to stop the guard from prying Ilan's fingers from his arm and then pushing her to the ground with all the force of a man blinded by primal rage. It happened so fast—too fast. Ilan fell backward, and there was a terrible sound of something cracking. Ilan was entirely still. Rowan started to cry. The guards forsook their original intention of commandeering the child and swept out of the dungeon. Merlin was frozen in place, staring at Ilan with abject horror. He could barely even hear the child wailing in his arms.
Slowly, stiffly, he began to make his way over to the woman. Despite his many years working as apprentice physician and hanging out with knights, Merlin was not prepared for the sight of her glazed-over, unseeing eyes. He could not stop the cry of distress that ripped from his throat, nor could he stop himself from falling to his knees when his legs turned to jelly. She had struck her head upon the broken bars in the fall, and the weight of the impact had cracked her skull—not entirely unlike what had happened to Morgana when she fell down the stairs, but this time it had resulted in an instantaneous death. Grief overwhelmed him, and it was not until after a few dry, keening sobs that he registered the screaming babe that he still held.
Ilan was dead. Rowan, only a few weeks old now, might join her soon. Merlin was all that Rowan had left. Maybe Rowan was all that Merlin had left. When Merlin turned his attention to the squalling babe, it was out of vulnerability and compassion. There was a need to have something to cling to, something to keep him afloat in the wake of this tragedy. Merlin gently rocked and shushed the baby although he was still shaking in his own grief. After a moment, he opened his mouth and, for the first time in his life, began to sing a lullaby. It was a favorite of his as a child; his mother had sung it for him on many occasions, but he had never voiced it himself before this time. It was not exactly pretty; in fact, it was punctuated by desperate sobs, but it created the desired effect. Rowan's screams softened into whimpers, then faded into nothingness.
What was he going to do now? How was he supposed to take care of this baby? There were no other babies or young mothers in the slaveyard. Magic could only do so much, especially if he was going to keep it secret. He loved Rowan, he realized, perhaps almost as much as if he were his own son, and the idea of losing him was already tearing at his insides. He could not be certain what it felt like to have a child, but he was sure that he loved this one. When Rowan fell asleep, tears finally found their way to Merlin's eyes, and he cried.
Rowan cried a lot that night and the next day. He was probably as confused as he was hungry. Merlin could do very little to help him. He gave as much attention as he could afford and hummed soothing songs, but when one's stomach is empty, distractions can only work for so long. He had ripped off the edge of Ilan's dress so that he could use it to secure the baby on his back. Merlin was not sure how much longer he could take the screams, but at the same time he dreaded the idea of them ending. He had fed Rowan the last of Ilan's milk and kept him hydrated. The other slaves kept as much distance from Merlin and his upset child as they could. The guards were always glaring at him, and he had glared back so constantly that he was afraid it was becoming an instinctive response to anyone he found looking at him. The tension that had brought the trio of mercenaries down to the dungeon was still noticeable and was spread throughout all the guards. Merlin vaguely wondered what it was that had them so uptight, but it was difficult to focus or think with the now near-constant screams—if Rowan was awake, he was crying. He sometimes exhausted himself into a restless oblivion, giving everyone a respite for an hour or two. Merlin considered escape again, but he had no guarantee that he would find any help and every reason to suspect that things would be even worse for him and his baby if they were away from the mine.
There came a point where he stopped trying to think. He mechanically chipped at the walls in the mine and tuned out the world around him. He stopped responding to the guards' hostile stares, and he stopped wondering when the end would come. The only things in existence were himself and the wall in front of him. His expression was as glazed as his brain. His movements were precise but repetitive and almost meaningless. As such, Merlin did not notice when the guards dashed out of the tunnel, nor when the other slaves started to follow a few moments after. It took several minutes of indistinct shouts in the courtyard for him to return to his senses and realize that something was happening.
Merlin looked around; there were only a few slaves left in the tunnel with him, but they were not working, they were cowering. Perplexed, he dropped his pickaxe and headed to the courtyard. On the way, he checked that Rowan- who seemed to be resting at the moment though Merlin was not sure how long his wails had been silent- was still strapped to his back. Merlin emerged into the sunlight to see a rendition of chaos in the courtyard. The slaves were huddled in small groups against walls away from the action except for a few that were inclined to assault their guards. The mercenaries were scattered, some lying on the ground and quite possibly dead while some were in combat with what appeared to be knights. Not just any knights, either, but knights of Camelot. Merlin would recognize the scarlet capes anywhere, and the golden dragons emblazoned on the fabric of each served only as further confirmation.
Merlin's heart was beating in his throat. After all this time, he was finally being rescued. Merlin had thought that he would be ready when it was time to leave. He had thought that he would be right on the front lines battling the mercenaries and pushing to depart the mine with as much power and speed as possible. He found instead that he had very little strength and the only thing he could do was stand there and watch while his eyes watered. He had been here for nearly two months, and he had the bruises, cuts, and emaciation to prove it. He was weak and tired and quite possibly losing his mind. He did not realize that he was searching through the knights until he spotted a very welcome face that simply melted him. Everything that had happened to him since he fell into the river came crashing back over him; the trauma of it all was overwhelming and suffocating and at that moment he needed the comfort of a friend.
"Gwaine!" he shouted, beginning to stumble across the courtyard.
Gwaine lifted his head at the sound of his name, searching for the origin. Merlin called him again because he needed Gwaine to see him, to know him, to save him. This time, Gwaine turned to him. Merlin did not notice the knight's momentary paralysis upon seeing him because he was suddenly and unreservedly dashing toward Merlin within a split second. It only took another moment before Merlin was a sobbing mess in Gwaine's arms. His shackles limited his ability to put his arms around the knight, but it did not matter. It was much more important that Gwaine was holding him tightly in a secure embrace. Gwaine was also muttering something about thinking that Merlin was dead, perhaps, but Merlin was not really listening, he was more focused on the warmth and safety of Gwaine's arms while crying his heart out.
His tears were just about done when Gwaine released him from the hug. Merlin wiped at his face as he calmed, his chains rattling with the movement. Gwaine gently grabbed his shackled wrists.
"Ok, Merlin, let's get you out of these," he might have punctuated his words with an emotional sniff before he directed a raised voice behind him, "Oi! Who's got the keys?"
There was rustling among the other knights, but Merlin did not look at them. A whimper had sounded from his back, signifying that his baby was waking. Gwaine's attention was also captured by the noise, and he noticed for the first time the bundle secured to Merlin's back. He raised a questioning brow which Merlin decided not to answer. Another knight came running over to them and handed a ring with a few keys on it to Gwaine, who promptly grabbed the key ring and unlocked Merlin's cuffs. They fell noisily to the ground, and Merlin let out a sigh of relief as he rubbed his aching wrists. Rowan's whimpers were steadily growing into screams. Merlin wished that he could do something about it. Gwaine's expression had become one of bewilderment.
"Merlin," he asked, "you know you've got, um.."
"Yes, I know," Merlin responded with some shame, "but there's nothing I can do. He's hungry, and his mother.. died.. yesterday."
Merlin fought to retain his composure. Gwaine's brows softened in understanding, and he placed a hand on Merlin's thin shoulder in support.
"Come on," he said, "There's got to be a lady with a baby in a nearby village that can help."
Gwaine led Merlin across the yard. He asked the other knights to wrap up the rest while they went in search of a woman that could help the baby. They acknowledged him and set up a rendezvous point to meet later that day. With that, Merlin and Gwaine left the slaveyard. Merlin was finally free again.