Disclaimer: IDOM

Hey, friends. I'm really sorry for the suddenly dropping off the face of the earth. I've had a long and awful summer, but I'm back now. I've begun planning out the rest of this fic, and I've got some nice plans, guys. Hope you like this chapter!

Enjoy!

Merlin almost made it too easy to follow him. He didn't necessarily hug the walls, and he only seemed to be cautious when turning corners. It was child's play for both of them to avoid the early morning castle patrol. Something else Gwaine would have to talk to Arthur about. But for now, it suited their needs.

The knight followed the young man deeper and deeper into the castle. Merlin's boots clicked along the light colored stone, and Gwaine couldn't help but notice the slight limp in his gait. Fear shot through him as he remembered with shocking clarity the night that his friend has been stabbed; the night he was bleeding out in his arms. It took everything in him not to run up to the warlock and offer his assistance.

Gwaine was also concerned about where they were heading. They weren't heading outside; they weren't even heading further towards an exit. The warlock was leading him down dark corridors that were only lit be torchlight and down dozens of stairs. The young man paused at the end of an all-too-familiar set of stairs. If one turned right, it would lead them to the dungeons, left... Gwaine wasn't actually sure. He'd never been inclined to take that path. As far as he was aware, there was nothing.

He stopped, and Gwaine ducked down behind the corner at the top of the stairs. Had Merlin noticed him? The warlock looked right, towards the dungeon, and paused. It was only momentary, but when the knight saw the sad look on his face, he was even more confused. Adjusting the bag on his shoulder, the young man turned left and grabbed one of the torches off the wall. When he disappeared around the corner, Gwaine scrambled down the stairs after him.

There were no torchlights decorating this pathway, so Gwaine only had the quickly vanishing light from the warlock's torch. It made him need to follow his friend uncomfortably close if he wanted to see where he was going. The further they went down the corridor, the more muggy it smelt.

Finally, they came upon a strange set of stairs. They were not made of the light-colored stone or marble as the rest of the castle was. This was dark, cold, rugged stone. Gwaine had to keep his hand along the wall to help keep his balance. Thankfully, the man he was following had slowed down as well.

Suddenly, they were in a large cavern. No, large was still a small descriptor. Massive was more like it. Unbelievably large. Impossibly. Gwaine couldn't help but gasp. He slapped his hand over his mouth, praying that he hadn't been heard, but the torchlight kept going down the set of stairs off to the right. The dark stone walls were wet; water dripped down from the unfathomable high ceilings, and deep into the cave, Gwaine thought that he could see a hint of sunlight. How far down were they? Where were they?

Gwaine saw metal glint on a ledge dozens of feet away. It was dark, but even then, the knight was far too familiar with manacles than most people. But these were huge. Huge. Which led to even more questions.

But those would have to wait. Merlin's light was disappearing, and if the older man didn't start moving, he'd lose it. Gwaine crept down the stairs after his friend. The warlock was slowed down by his injury, so it wasn't too hard to catch up with him. They went down a few more staircases, all the way down to the bottom of the cavern. No wonder he hadn't seen Merlin in a week. If he had to walk this much just to get to the main floor of the castle, he wouldn't want to either.

It was dimly lit, damp, and cool. There was even a small stream that ran through the center of the cavern. A little walk from the stairs, they came upon what must have been Merlin's camp. There was a pile of charred wood. A few feet away from that was a thick bedroll next to a pile of books. An unlit candle. A few more bags of what Gwaine guessed held supplies.

The young man set his bag down on the bedroll, carefully lighting the pile of wood on the floor with the torch. Well, this is where he had been heading. This was the end of the line.

Now what?

Did he reveal himself? Reveal that he knew? Dramatically walk into the firelight and ask Merlin what was going on? He was rather fond of that idea. Imagine the look on Merlin's face when he found out that he knew. Yep, that's what he was going to do.

Too bad that as soon as he took the first step, he tripped over a stone and landed flat on his face. He landed with a woomph, and Merlin shot to his feet, hand out. Almost immediately, however, he put his hand back down.

"Gwaine?!"

The knight groaned into the dirt. Well, there goes his plan. He climbed to his feet, patting dust off his trousers before he looked at his friend. He thought that this might even be better than the dramatic entrance he'd hoped for. There was a stricken look on the young man's face. Surprise, relief, confusion, and deep, deep within his eyes, the knight saw... hope.

"Titles don't matter, Merlin. It's what a person is made of that counts."

Gwaine gave a small wave. "Um, hi." He really hadn't thought of what he'd say, and now, as the warlock stared dumb-struck at him, he found himself fumbling for words. "Howww... how are you?"

Then Merlin did something he didn't he really wasn't expecting. He started laughing. It started with a small smile, a snort, but as the knight continued to fumble with words, it grew into a full out laugh. Anyone else, and Gwaine would have been more than mildly offended at someone laughing at him, but instead, the sound put him at ease. He felt his own laugh bubbling up in him.

"You're the only friend I've got, Merlin."

"I'm not surprised."

The moment was over all too soon, and the young man's lips drew back into a frown. A hand ran over the nape of his neck, and he wouldn't meet the knight's eyes. "What are you doing here, Sir Gwaine?"

"...Sir Gwaine?"

Oh, right. He wasn't supposed to know who Merlin was. He didn't yet, not truly, but he remembered enough. The memories were there, in the back of his mind, every second pressing further and further forwards. Gwaine blinked to clear his head; the cave seemed to sway around him.

The green cloak was spread on the ground beside his friend, and he was thrown back to the training field, where the young warlock would watch them practice. He would stand there, alone, leaning against the castle walls, just watching them. Never really there, never speaking, never reacting. Heat rose up in the knight, hot and sparking and angry. Not at Merlin. Never Merlin. But at... at something. At this whole situation. At what felt like the loss of a friend. But also the discovery of one. Yearning, clear and burning, filled him. Was it possible to be homesick for a person? Desperation and anger and sadness. Too many emotions roiled within him and he couldn't sort them out.

Gwaine lashed out, hands balled into fists at his sides. "Where have you been?"

The young man took a step back, his eyes widening. "...Gwaine? What...?"

The cave spun threateningly, and suddenly, the knight found his face once more pressed against the dirt floor. Colors blurred in front of him, and the last thing he saw before he passed out was dark blue eyes filled with uncertainty.