Hope you guys enjoy this one. It has a little treat for you all, and was very enjoyable to write. Also: I pulled information about Hengist from historical tales since there was so little about him in Canon. Just to bear in mind.
The Un-Noble Noble and The Escapee
"Rise and shine, My Lady," said a man's rasping voice. An unfamiliar man's voice.
Merlyn's head pounded furiously, originating from an expansive knot at the back of her skull. She groaned pitifully and there was a soft rasp of laughter before meaty hands grabbed her shoulders and pulled her upright. She gasped at the change in position and felt saliva pool in her mouth as her stomach rose to her throat.
"I hear you are the reason for our failure to secure the Lady Morgana," the raspy voice continued, and his rancid breath washed over her face. That was the last straw for her belly and she doubled over as it tried to push itself out her throat.
"Oho ho!" laughed the man, the hands leaving her arms as he leapt away to avoid wearing her sick. "Seems you may have been a bit rough in your handling, Kendrick."
"I had to be sure she wouldn't attempt a second escape," the bandit replied unapologetically. "She is as sneaky as a thief. I still not know how she frayed the rope."
"That is no matter now," said the apparent leader as she finished hurling her guts. Her head throbbed from the pressure of vomiting and she fell back in exhaustion. "Give her a few minutes then bring her up to the feast. I'll greet her there."
Merlyn assumed Kendrick nodded because there was no verbal reply. There was the tread of heavy feet, the sharp grind of metal on metal – piercing her ears like pickaxes – and the click of a lock setting into place before the boots stomped away. She still felt the eyes of another person on her though, and assumed it was Kendrick, waiting for her to wake properly.
She waited until the throbbing in her crown eased before she dared open her eyes and was grateful that the cell was dim. She blinked a few times to clear her blurry vision, though one eye refused to focus entirely no matter what she did. Of all the times to have a concussion…
Gingerly, she pushed herself into a seated position, seeing that she was resting upon a simple wooden slab built into the cell wall, like a wide bench seat. Kendrick was waiting by the locked door, leaning against the solid bars as if he had all the time in the world. His eyes tracked her movements but there was a smugness in his stance, an assurance that she was too damaged to be dangerous. As much as she hated to admit it, even with magic, he might be right.
Dismissing him for a moment, she took in the rest of the 'room'. It was bare of any other adornment, walls solid on all three sides save the one containing the door, perhaps six strides by four if she were pacing. Only a small grate high on one wall and a small chamber pot tucked into a corner broke the monotony of the dreary space.
The smell of vomit was strong, and she peered over the edge of the bedframe to see a small puddle on the floor. She grimaced, glad she'd managed to avoid her clothes in her semiconscious state.
"It seems you were hit with a bit more enthusiasm than was warranted," Kendrick said idly, drawing her attention. "But then, I'm not one to judge."
Her hand moved to the back of her head carefully, encountering a mess of matted hair where the blood had glued it together. It was still damp, though the worst of the bleeding appeared to have stopped. Head wounds bled a lot naturally, but it was a little disconcerting to feel it soak through her thick mane. If she was a little steadier, she might have tried to heal herself; as it were, she couldn't risk it with such an area as important as her head. If she caused pressure to build inside her cranium, she could collapse into a seizure and die.
"I suggest you stand, kitten," Kendrick said. "You'll be required at the feast soon enough."
She glowered but did as he said. No need to cause herself more pain than necessary. Not until she felt healthier, at least.
To her relief, her legs were solid beneath her as she pushed herself upright, and her careful change in position didn't aggravate her headache. She edged around the mess of vomit and straightened her tunic with as much dignity as she could. Kendrick smirked at her and pushed himself lazily off the bars to open the door. Good, he was still cocky. She could use that later.
He took a hold of her arm as she stepped out of her prison and led her through a maze of corridors and staircases to, what appeared to be, the Celebrations Hall. Merlyn tried her best to memorise their path but her pressing headache made focusing difficult.
Finally, the sound of revelry and jeering grew louder, and Merlyn was trotted through a side chamber into a room that exploded with noise – which thrummed in her sensitive ears.
"Ah!" cried the same husky voice as before, rising over the din. "Our honoured guest arrives!"
The men cheered and shouted but Merlyn's attention was caught by the broad-shouldered, bald-headed man who spoke. He stood behind a long table piled with food, shawled in a white pelt as jewelled rings and thick necklaces adorned his body. Behind him, a throne-like chair awaited.
However, despite his obvious status, he was shadowed with dirt just as much as the rest of them. It appeared cleanliness among these men was low a low priority.
He moved around the long table and stopped in front of her with a grin. He bowed with his arms wide, mocking. "How kind of you to join us, My Lady."
Merlyn shook off Kendrick's arm and glowered at the man before her. She retorted sarcastically, "I would have come earlier if it were not for a mild headache that laid me low."
The warlord roared with laughter, with more humour than she thought her wit merited. The men joined him in his amusement.
"You're funny," he husked, as he calmed. "My name is Hengist. Welcome to my humble abode." He threw out his arms, as if she should be impressed by his filthy castle with his filthy men. Who had a giant cage in the middle of their Celebration Hall, anyway?
"Kendrick failed to earn your name, My Lady. A rude oversight that I shall not repeat."
The prompt was unmistakeable, and she glowered at him as she bit out, "My name is Merlyn, and you were wrong to take me."
There was a pause before Hengist and his men burst into laughter once more. "You are spirited," the warlord cried. "That is good. I like spirit!"
With that, he grabbed her arm and led her around the table to an empty seat at his right hand – normally a place of honour, but she was not flattered. She was pushed into place and a plate heaped with bloody meats was set in front of her. She grimaced and glanced away but the men around her were worse, brown teeth stripping lengths of raw meat from bone held in grubby hands while blood and juices slid down chins and beards uncaringly.
She ignored the revelry around her, not engaging with the strange man to her right, nor Hengist, who seemed content to let her stew as he chatted with a man on his other side, barking with merriment and slapping his hand on the cluttered table as he gulped down tankards of ale.
Eventually, he finished his conversation and turned to see her scowling out at the crowd, the feral men chatting and shoving each other as they chewed like cows on cud. He grinned at her displeasure and stood, shouting, "Silence!"
Everyone quieted and turned to the warlord. "Our honoured guest, Lady Merlyn, has grown bored!" he leered at his men and they shuffled in anticipation. "She needs entertaining."
They jeered and crowded around the large cage in the centre of the room while Hengist nodded at someone by the corner of the fence. A grate against the far wall, covering a roughly hewn, man-sized hole in the stone, was pulled upwards and a tall, broad, muscly warrior strutted into the cage, wearing little more than a loin cloth for modesty. He appeared exactly like the paintings of the gladiators from Rome and Merlyn wondered if that was where he had drawn inspiration; the warrior didn't have the features to be an actual roman.
"Bring on the challenger!" the warlord roared.
Out of the same tunnel appeared a man of average appearance, dressed in regular, if grubby and torn, clothes. His hair was dark brown, hanging just above his shoulders in loose waves. His face was scruffy with stubble, but it did not disguise his regal features. He was a bit battered and bruised, his bottom lip cut and his left eye swollen and purple, but he still appeared more as a knight than a ruffian, posture proud and predatory; Merlyn was intrigued.
"Only one of you will emerge from the cage alive," Hengist called, an eager grin splitting his round face. "Do you accept the challenge?"
"Hah!" said the regal-looking man, his accent the lilting tone of the Western Isles. "You haven't given me much of a choice, have yeh?"
"Bah!" growled Hengist, standing in his outrage. "It is you who seduced my daughter, planning to bed her in a tavern like some common wench!"
The man chuffed, twirling the sword in his hand with obvious skill. "Well," he said and by his tone, Merlyn just knew he was about to say something cutting. "When a lady comes to you, alone and begging for company, how can you say no?"
Hengist roared and waved at the gladiator to attack, who did with gusto. With a casual sort of grace, the man spun under the high arc of his aggressor's arm then raised his weapon and thumped him on the back of the head with his hilt. The gladiator went down like a sack of bricks and groaned pitifully on the floor. He didn't rise.
The cheers of the men faltered at the quick battle before it rose once more, coins exchanging hands as the winner was made clear. Merlyn glanced at Hengist and saw he was fuming at the insult the man's easy win brought.
The gate guard glanced to the warlord, who reluctantly nodded, and it was opened for the man to come through. He did so with a strut in his step, the blade of his sword resting laxly against his shoulder. The men around him kept their hands on their own weapons, ready for a command or incentive.
"What is your name, scum?" asked Hengist when he stopped in front of the long table.
The man tilted his head, shooting Merlyn a glance and a wink before he said lightly, "Gwaine, Your High and Mightiness."
"And what," began Hengist in a dangerous tone. "Gave you the right to think my daughter would ever bed vermin like you?"
"Well, for one," replied Gwaine, brow furrowed as if in thought. "She came to me of her own volition. And two," here a cheeky grin pulled at his lips. "Moaning in my ear as I carried her up the stairs was a bit of a giveaway."
Merlyn blushed at the insinuation and dropped her eyes in embarrassment. She might talk a little loosely with Gwen and Morgana, but they were women and trusted friends. To hear a strange man say such things so nonchalantly was a bit disconcerting.
Hengist startled her from her fluster when he roared in rage, leaping to his feet with his sword sliding free. Immediately, three other blades were directed to Gwaine's throat as the man tried to bring his weapon to bear in response. He froze when he felt the sharp points against his skin but lifted his chin defiantly.
Despite herself – and despite his crude attitude – Merlyn liked him. If what he was saying was true, he had done nothing more than entertain a willing woman, one who had come to him without provocation or pretty promises. And he stood his ground even when threatened; she had to respect that.
"Wait," she said when Hengist appeared ready to behead him right there. Surprisingly, the warlord paused, probably startled by her gall. Gwaine, too, was watching her with interest, chest rising and falling rapidly. Now she had to think of something to stop him dying.
"Er, has he not proven himself a capable warrior, defeating his challenger at your behest?" she asked, looking at Hengist with an eyebrow raised. "Would it not be a little… disgraceful to slay a victor at the moment of his triumph?"
"Listen to the lady, lads," suggested Gwaine and Merlyn gritted her teeth.
"You shut up," she said, annoyed that he would continue to draw attention when she was trying to save him.
He snorted softly but obeyed and Hengist stared at Gwaine with a cold glint in his pale eyes.
"Humph," he eventually said, sliding his sword back into its scabbard. At this motion, the tension in the air eased a little and the blades at his throat lifted from his skin, though they hovered in the air while his own weapon remained in hand.
"It is true that beheading you would not be anguish enough for your disrespect. I want you to suffer." Hengist sat down and waved at his men. Several pressed in on Gwaine and relieved him of his sword, pulling his arms behind his back. Naturally, Gwaine struggled and Hengist added with a sneer, "Tomorrow night, you can face the Wilddeoren. Let us see how Lady Merlyn enjoys that entertainment!"
Gwaine's face remained stoic but she saw a flicker of fear in his eyes; so the Wilddeoren was bad news. She turned to the warlord as Gwaine was dragged away, though she tracked which exit they used.
"What is the Wilddeoren?"
Hengist made another motion to the man who controlled the wall gate and the barrier to the tunnel beyond was lifted once more. "The Wilddeoren," he began as a hairless, ugly, horse-sized… rat thing crawled from the tunnel. It sniffed the air with its pig-snout nose, seemingly using it as a guide instead of eyes. It approached the gladiator who had pushed himself groggily onto his knees and the man backed away like a frightened child, crying for help. "Is my pet."
Suddenly, the creature lunged forward, and its large, rat-like teeth sunk into the gladiator's neck. His screams gurgled wetly, and Merlyn blanched, horrified.
"Have you no mercy!" she cried, jumping to her feet to stare at the warlord, stomach rolling at the awful sounds coming from the cage – and the men's cheers as they watched.
"Mercy achieves nothing," Hengist said dismissively, picking up a large thigh bone with raw meat dangling loosely from torn tendons. Merlyn felt sick.
"How can you be so callous?" she demanded. "Everyone deserves mercy! How can you act like they are nothing?"
"Do not act so righteous, My Lady," Hengist said, a slight warning in his tone. "It does not become you."
"It is not righteousness!" she shouted. "It is compassion! You are so blinded by your own ignorance and stupidity that you cannot see basic human emotions!"
The warlord slammed his meat on the table and stood up, towering over her unsteady frame. Broad-shouldered and cloaked in pelts, he far outshined her in means of intimidation. But she refused to cower.
"You would do well to remember whose castle you reside within, Lady Merlyn," he growled, the husk in his voice growing more prominent with his irritation. "I do not need to be so courteous."
She bared her teeth at him. "Then drop the act and stop trying to be civilised," she dared.
"So be it," he returned and pointed at a man. "Take her back to her cell. She can go without food and water until we receive her ransom. Perhaps that will remind her how Ladies are supposed to act in the presence of a Lord."
The man's hand gripped her arm and pulled her from her place. She shot back, beyond mad as she was dragged away, "I know how to act around Lords – but I have yet to come across any in this castle!"
"And gag her too," Hengist shouted.
.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.
Arthur clenched his fists atop the parapet as he glared out at the courtyard and lower town. He had planned to sneak out and fetch Merlyn himself, but his father had predicted his actions and posted guards outside his room. They had relieved him of his sword when he tried to leave and followed him around like they were stray pups. He glanced over to the doorway where the regular sentry stood and glowered at the two extras that waited beside him.
Damn his father! Damn his rules! He should be out there right now, hunting the cretins who dared take her. What if she tried to escape and was harmed? She wasn't exactly one to sit around and wait.
And what if... What if they harmed her in other ways? They were men who lacked honour; it would take little to provoke them into acting like beasts.
"She'll be alright," said Lancelot, startling Arthur from his ruminations. He looked over to see his friend approaching from the doorway, stepping out onto the grassed area with a knowing expression on his face. "She's stronger than she seems, smarter than she appears… and she has magic."
The last bit was little more than a murmur, carried to the prince as a whisper on the breeze. Nevertheless, he shot the guards by the door a furtive glance before glaring at Lancelot.
"Be cautious," he grumbled. "The walls have ears."
"Apologies, sire," he replied, dipping his head as he came to a halt beside him. "I believed you came up here because it was private."
Arthur rolled his eyes, unable to dispute him, and Lancelot said nothing more as he looked out at the courtyard below.
After a moment of silence, Arthur asked, "How can you be so calm? Are you not worried she will be harmed?"
Lancelot kept his gaze over the city as he said, "I will always worry. Merlyn is my friend and a reckless one at that, but," he sighed. "She is smart, and skilled. If I cannot help her then I must trust that she will triumph on her own. She has been in many far worse scrapes and come out victorious." He huffed a soft laugh and added, "She also told me once that worrying means you suffer twice."
Arthur couldn't help but chuckle. "That sounds like Merlyn," he murmured, nodding.
Lancelot turned to him and the blonde turned to meet his eyes. "Sire," he said solemnly. "I know I speak out of turn, but I must beg you not to judge Merlyn for the means she may use to escape. She is not a swordsman, nor a warrior; her skillset is more refined and subtle. There is every chance she will use it to her advantage."
Arthur kept Lancelot's gaze, judging his motives, before he said, "She may not try to escape. She will know there is a ransom to be paid for her release." He ignored that he had been thinking similar thoughts to Lancelot not two minutes earlier. Merlyn did not sit idly while things were to be done.
The brown-haired knight's passive stare said that Arthur was fooling no one and the prince found he couldn't hold it, dropping his eyes back to the lower town spread before them. Dusk was rolling in, the shadows creeping long for the people below, though he was still bathed in the sun's warm rays, raised above the city as he was.
"If she finds the need acceptable, I do not plan to condemn her for breaking her oath. Desperate times call for desperate measures. But that does not mean I condone her use of it so blatantly and often. Sorcery corrupts, and exposing herself to it so openly will only corrupt her more."
"Sire…" Lancelot began, then trailed off as his confidence failed. Usually, Arthur would push him to speak openly, but, this time, he did not want to hear what the other man would say. The ex-nomad did not grow up in Camelot, so he did not see the anguish and torment magic brought. His father had dedicated twenty years of his life – most of his reign as King – to stomp out the dark art. Such dedication, such steadfastness, could not grow from lies.
"It will all be over soon," Arthur said, speaking more to himself than Lancelot. The ransom would be paid, Merlyn would re-join him in Camelot, she would create the Magical Cuff and be free of her curse. And he would have his… friend back. "Merlyn will be safe again soon."
.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.
The moment Merlyn was left alone, she ripped the gag from her mouth and licked her cracked lips to ease the dryness, glaring at the cell bars. Why Hengist had ordered her gagged but left her hands unbound, she didn't know. Perhaps it was a gesture of dominance more than an attempt to silence her; a reminder of the control he held.
But shame on him, for she didn't plan to linger.
She moved to the door and pressed her face against the cell bars to check the shadowed hallway was empty before holding her hand over the lock and whispering, "Aetynan."
Her eyes flashed at the same time a sharp pain pierced her skull and she winced as her concentration was broken. Without testing, she knew the spell had failed, and she cursed as her headache flared anew.
"Bother," she whispered to herself as she slouched back to her bed slab, rubbing her temples. She avoided the puddle of vomit still present and lowered herself with a puff of irritation. It appeared she would need to let her concussion mend itself some before she could escape.
She pushed herself further onto the bed and leant against the stone wall, folding her legs beneath her. She rested her hands on her knees and closed her eyes with a fortifying breath. She didn't know if it was a placebo affect or it truly did work but Merlyn always felt better after deep meditation. She had first needed it to expand her magical awareness, but now, she had found it dulled her aches and pains after a day of labour – like some sort of universal, magical healing.
And it was that aided healing that she sought now. She may be a Friend of Camelot, but Gaius had told her that it only improved her status so much. If the circumstances to save her would put the kingdom at peril or cause a war, more than likely, she would be left to fend for herself. Camelot was a wealthy kingdom with fertile lands and easy coin, but Merlyn wasn't sure if her position was enough to warrant such expense and indignity as to pay a ransom. And a quiet, demoralised part of her heart whispered that Arthur might not come for her if that were so.
She sucked in a deep breath and shook the thought away before it unravelled her concentration. With her situation and concussion, her emotions were a little raw, and thinking of Arthur and his opinions always cut her deeply. But she had more immediate things to focus on.
It was difficult at first, as her headache left her dizzy and closing her eyes did not help her feel centred. However, with effort, the giddiness passed, and her pain eased, and she let her awareness drift.
.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.
It was deep into the night when Merlyn escaped her cell. She would have been a little insulted by the lack of guards stationed at her prison if she wasn't thanking her good fortune. Arrogance was one of the easiest emotions to exploit, so she was glad Kendrick's attitude wasn't an isolated one within the stronghold.
And on top of such good luck, Merlyn felt much better than she had before. She still had a headache pressing behind her eyes but the dizziness, discoordination, and urge to vomit had vanished.
Her cell door unlocked without a hitch, once the lone patrolman had wandered past, and she wasted no time in darting down the opposite corridor and out of sight. If the guard kept his routine, it would be another hour before he neared her prison again, leaving her plenty of time to find Gwaine and make it out of the stronghold. As long as she ran into no other guards.
And as long as she could find Gwaine.
With no other choice, Merlyn retraced her steps to the Celebrations Hall. She had been more aware during her return journey to the cell, so she remembered the way without much hesitation, only darting off course when sentries strolled by. The walls were bare of adornment and lacked the casual grace of a palace built for ruling. This place had, very obviously, been a fortress in the past, which told her she was near a border between warring lands – or what had once been a border since the building was old and unkept, very nearly crumbling at the seams. Nevertheless, fortresses often contained secret tunnels and passageways, which was good information to have if she only knew where they were, and which ones would lead her beyond the stronghold. Alas, without an architectural draft, such knowledge was useless.
Merlyn reached the Celebrations Hall without discovery and found the large, double doors had been left wide open as if to invite her within. The room beyond was dark, no torches or moonbeams to spear light but Merlyn had no need of outside aid. A whispered word had her vision adjusting until everything was cast in greys and dull greens, the gloom lifted so she could see clear. She ventured through the room slowly, grimacing at the rats skittering away at her presence, having feasted on the meat and ale spilled upon the floor. She felt the stickiness on the bottom of her boots, the chunks of unrecognisable detritus suctioning to her soles, and was glad that she would soon be out of such a barbaric atmosphere.
She reached the side door where Gwaine had been dragged and halted, checking her surroundings before whispering, "Onhwirfedness seon, drýlác gerihtrece mín stíg."
She felt the tell-tale flash of heat across her irises and her night-vision stretched oddly before the tracks left behind by the people who ventured the area bloomed to life in a miasma of iridescent colours. It didn't help her lingering headache, which throbbed anew at the lightshow, but she could be grateful she was not in a forest, where everything living glowed under her spell. She saw evidence of paths taken by many men, strings of light branching, criss-crossing, swaying and boomeranging, but one trail stood out among the rest, flickering in blobs of red flame like the will-o'-the-wisps in highland tales. This was the one she was looking for.
She reached out to touch the first blot of light, red fire licking towards the ceiling like a candleflame, and felt an odd, extrasensory tingle in her chest. She didn't know how, or why, but she knew that this crimson ember was an echo of the inferno that burned in Gwaine's heart. This lightshow, this energy, was Gwaine. It was his strength, his will, his soul. And, somehow, her magic had recognised it enough to replicate it.
Merlyn didn't understand the laws of the spell enough to know if it was normal but, somewhere inside, she suspected that Gwaine was special. In the same way that Arthur was special, with his aura as golden as the sun.
She didn't hesitate to follow the path, moving swiftly with the knowledge that time was running short. She ghosted down narrow corridor after narrow corridor, moving deeper into the bowels of the castle while avoiding the occasional patrolmen. The stone was all the same drab brown, and the lack of any windows made her feel like she was one of those sacrificial maidens trapped in the minotaur's maze – and, if she didn't get a move on, she would soon be hunted like one.
Merlyn tiptoed down a tight spiral staircase but paused with a hand on the middle spire as the noises of other people echoed off the walls. There was the hard clatter of dice on a wooden table and the rumbles of two men conversing, unmoving from their position: probably sentries guarding the dungeons. Merlyn squatted on her step and used the spire as a handhold, so she could peer around the stairwell to see her adversaries below. There were two of them, looking quite drunk as they gambled and played. Regardless, their table was set up with a perfect view of the staircase, and perfectly in her way.
It was with great pleasure that she used her magic to lift a loose piece of masonry and cracked them both over the head, watching them slump onto the table with a satisfied nod. Perhaps they would wake on the morrow believing their headaches were nothing more than a hangover.
She snatched the jingling keyring from the belt of the tallest one and hurried along the dark, narrow hallway that boasted cells at regular intervals. Through the darkness, she could see no shadows of people inside and was relieved at not needing to stage another mass breakout like the one in Camelot. Only one held a captive, and it was the one she sought.
Reclined on his back with an arm behind his head, twiddling a piece of musty straw, was Gwaine. It was hard to make out more than his silhouette in the gloom, but there was no doubt it was him.
"Psst," she hissed, whispering despite knowing that they were alone. No need to grow overconfident.
Gwaine jerked and sat up, squinting through the darkness to see his visitor. "Who's there?" he asked.
"The only friend you have in this place," she returned, and jammed a key into the lock. It didn't budge so she flipped through to another and tried once more.
"I don't have any friends," he replied, climbing to his feet as yet another key failed. He was little more than a darker shadow against the wall, but she saw him tilt his head and wished she could see his expression.
"Well," she hissed, annoyed that there were so many sets on the ring. Honestly, how many did they need? What were they all for? "You have one now."
Finally! The lock clicked obediently, and she pushed the gate wide, wincing as it squealed on old hinges. She glanced back towards the unconscious guards and hoped no one else was near enough to grow suspicious.
Gwaine approached slowly and she moved aside so he could step from his cage. Now he was out, the distant torches of the guard station touched his features softly and illuminated them for her inspection. He stared at her also but his expression not one of flirty appreciation – something she was fairly sure was his standard. Instead, it was one of keen study, and sat much more genuinely upon his features.
"Lady Merlyn," he greeted, dipping his head, and she wasn't sure if it was in mockery or not. She raised an eyebrow anyway.
"Odd show of manners when before you had none," she commented, and his eyes narrowed as if he couldn't decide whether to be offended or to accept the truth of her words. She shrugged, adding, "Hengist deserved it."
"Why are you here?" he asked, putting his hands on his hips.
"Well," she said slowly. "I didn't plan on staying around for Hengist to play with, and I figured you like living, right? Your punishment is hardly befitting your crime, and I don't really like to stand by while injustice happens."
"And who exactly are you, Lady Merlyn?" he asked suspiciously.
"Me?" she said in confusion. "I'm no one, just a servant."
"Hengist does not treat servants like he treated you," he stated, and Merlyn sighed.
"I was with the Lady Morgana when they attacked. She managed to escape but I did not and Hengist seems to think that this medallion –" she pulled out the necklace with her thumb, displaying the metal piece hanging from the chain but let it go when it was obvious the light was insufficient to identify it, "– makes me important enough to pay for." She glanced towards the guards again and added, "We should go."
She marched back up the cellblock and, after a pause, he followed suit. He let out a low whistle as he eyed the downed men. "Full of surprises, aren't you?" he said rhetorically then bent over to frisk them for useful items.
Merlyn hung back, keeping a wary eye on the staircase but Gwaine soon turned to her with one of the guard's swords. "Here," he said. "Better to be armed than not, eh?"
She took it from him gingerly and said, "My master would disagree with you. I'm rather terrible with a blade."
Gwaine stooped once more and unbelted the taller man to re-cinch the leather about his own waist, sliding the attached sword free to examine the blade. "So," he asked. "Do you have a getaway plan?"
"Of sorts?" she said. "It's a work in progress. You wouldn't happen to know any escape routes, would you?"
He looked up and chuffed a laugh. "I was unconscious when they brought me in. I only know the way to the tunnel behind the cage."
Merlyn paused. "Behind the cage?" she asked.
"Aye," he said, sheathing the sword once he was satisfied with its condition. He tossed his head to flick some hair out of his eyes. "I had to get there somehow for my grand entrance tonight."
"Right," she agreed, mind whirling. "Could you lead us back there?"
He shrugged. "Don't see why not."
"Then what are we waiting for?" she asked, trotting towards the spiral staircase.
.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.
"So, you are the Lady Morgana's maid?" Gwaine asked as they edged around corners and dodged patrols. Why he felt the need to make conversation now was anyone's guess.
"No," she corrected quietly. "Lady Morgana is my friend. I'm the Prince of Camelot's servant."
There was a beat of silence before he said with humour, "My condolences. Serving a prince." he blew out a puff of air. "Does he throw tantrums when things don't go his way?"
Merlyn snorted and replied, "He has been known to throw objects when he's upset. Does that count?"
Gwaine laughed, perhaps louder than he should have, and she hastily shushed him, cocking her head to listen for any threats.
"Perhaps, when we are free of this place, you should not return to your prince," he suggested with a flirtatious eyebrow raised. "Travel with me. I can take you places you've not imagined in your wildest dreams."
"Hmm," she said, raising her own eyebrows challengingly. "I have a pretty wild imagination."
He grinned at her banter and leant in to whisper, "So do I."
She muffled a snort of laughter with her hand then shook her head, feeling the need to stress her standing. "I'm flattered," she said. "Truly. But I'm not like –" she flapped her hand back in the direction they'd come, "– Hengist's daughter, or-or the bar wenches. I don't," she blushed. "I'm happy where I am."
"Bah," he said, though he didn't appear offended by her words. "You have a stronger will than I. I stay far away from nobility. I've found it's easier on my conscience."
"What do you mean?" she asked, not understanding his context.
He shot her a brittle smile as they neared a corner. "Let's just say your prince and I would not get along."
"He's not like most nobles," she said. "He's a good man."
Gwaine peered around the edge of the wall but paused and glanced back at her with realisation in his eyes. "Ah," he said, and she frowned.
"What?"
"You love him," he stated, and she sputtered.
"That – that has nothing –"
"Easy, lass," he said lifting his hands passively. "I only meant that it makes sense for you to want to stick by his side, despite his… status."
"That has nothing to do with my opinion of him," she defended. "I am perfectly capable of judging someone by their merits alone."
"I agree," he said, resituating his sword and risking another glance to check the corridor was still clear. "You're smarter than many people I've met."
He moved around the corner and she followed, unsure how to reply. She finally settled on, "What is your story, anyway? Whence do you hail?"
"Eh," he waved the question away flippantly. "My tale is nothing exciting."
"I would still like to hear it."
He glanced at her then said reluctantly, "I come from a low noble family within Caerleon's realm. My father served in the King's army, but he died in battle, leaving my mother penniless. She went to the King for help and he turned her away." He gave a mirthless smile and concluded, "That is why I know never to trust nobles; they do not care for anyone else but themselves."
"Not all are like that," she argued softly, disliking the hollow expression on his face. "The Prince of Camelot is a good man. He cares for his people – has been willing to die so that they may prosper."
Gwaine shrugged dismissively. "Perhaps. But I won't hold my breath for one when he is overshadowed by so many others. What is one good deed amongst so many bad?"
Merlyn frowned, his question almost humorous in its absurdity. "One good deed may not change the world, but it can change a life. Kindness cannot be measured by the size of its effects, only by the effort given. But I think," she added with a firm nod. "If everyone did a little good, we could all do something great. Imagine a land where each person did just one act of kindness a day; would that not be a place to liken to paradise?"
For many seconds, there was nothing but the rustle of their clothes as they walked, the quiet sounds of their breaths mingling with the air of the castle. "I do not think I have met anyone like you, Merlyn," Gwaine eventually said.
"I am not so unique," she dismissed, huffing a small laugh at the thought. "You have simply blinkered yourself to the goodness in the world." She glanced over at him with a smile. "Perhaps this one act of kindness will change your life."
They were silent as they continued, and Merlyn hoped it was reflective on Gwaine's part. Living with such an isolated outlook had to be hard on the soul. He seemed a good man, and good men deserved happiness.
.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.
They made it three levels before the warning bell tolled. Gwaine cursed and quickened his pace, Merlyn following with haste, only to slam into his back as he jolted to a halt before a corner.
"Sorry!" she whispered, moving backwards as he positioned himself to strike. The sound of boots thundered closer, at least four though it was hard to tell. Merlyn feared Gwaine was outmatched; it would be difficult to defeat so many without drawing more attention. She flexed her hand, wondering if it was worth it, but she did not know her ally very well and she didn't want to alienate her only path to freedom. What if he turned on her after seeing her magic?
With a feral grin, Gwaine spun around the corner and the yelp of an injured foe reached her ears. The thud of boots hitting ground stuttered into disorder and there was a clash of steel against steel. Merlyn darted around the bend as a bandit's body flopped lifelessly at her feet.
Before her, Gwaine battled two opponents skilfully, his grace with a weapon innate and impressive. Three more lingered behind their mates, eager to join but unable in the narrow corridor, an advantage Gwaine was using instinctively.
He knocked one guard away then twirled his blade around the other's sword, locking it in place to wrench from his hand. Afterward, he punched him clear in the face and the man crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut.
Merlyn grabbed the guard Gwaine had twirled around by the back of his shirt and shoved his face into the wall, using a bit of magic to strengthen her hit. He collapsed, and she spun, ready to face more strays, only to find the other two already falling to the ground in unconsciousness. Gwaine turned to her with a grin stretched irreverently on his lips, shaking his hair from his face like a proud pup.
"Come on, lass," he panted. "We have freedom to find."
Then one of the downed guards lunged upwards and Gwaine gasped, hands clapping over the sword buried in his side. The fallen guard snarled in victory, his bloody nose dribbling onto his teeth, and Merlyn thrust out her hand without a thought, eyes heating as she threw the man away. He skidded across the floor and slammed into the wall at the end of the hallway, letting out a soft puff of air as consciousness fled, and Merlyn rushed to Gwaine's side as he slumped against the wall.
"Let me see," she said as she braced him so he didn't slide to the ground. She knocked his hand away from where it covered the growing red stain on his side. "Let me see."
She tore apart the tunic where the sword had sliced through and peered at the wound to examine its seriousness. The awkward angle made it hard to judge, as the blade had slid up between his ribcage, but he had most certainly punctured a lung. She was just thankful it was on his right side and not his left, for he might have died already.
"You have magic," he mumbled, and she tensed, glancing up at his face. He didn't appear accusatory.
"I was born with it," she said, turning back to his wound. She still felt too unsteady with her concussion to cast a healing charm, not wanting to cause internal bleeding if she messed it up, but magic was not her only skill. She grabbed the bottom of her tunic and gave it a good wrench, tearing the fabric along the threads the entire way around the hem.
"You're a witch?" he asked, and she jerked in surprise, staring up at him again.
"You know the difference?" she questioned, surprised the nomad would be so knowledgeable. She tore another layer off her tunic and bunched it up, using his hand to press it against the wound. "Hold that," she ordered.
He grinned and the trace of blood on his teeth had her grimacing in displeasure. Not good. "I told you earlier," he groaned, flinching when she wrapped the strip of cloth around his torso and bound it over the ball of fabric covering his injury. "I am very well-travelled."
Distant boots stomped upon the ground, growing louder as another group approached, and the black-haired girl decided her curiosity could wait until they were safer.
"Come on," she said, hitching his arm around her shoulder. "Lead us to the doorway."
"Leave me," Gwaine muttered, staggering as she pulled him from the wall with effort. "I'll only slow you down."
"Stop that," she hissed, panting with the effort of taking his weight. He coughed wetly, and she knew blood was filling his lungs. "I didn't take you as a martyr."
"I'm not," he rasped, and the scent of copper was strong on his breath. "I just know a fatal wound when I see one."
They stumbled down a second corridor, the black-haired girl having to use the wall to brace herself so her knees wouldn't fold beneath his weight. "I'm insulted at your lack of faith in my healing skills," she wheezed. "I have been schooled by the Royal Physician of Camelot, thank you, and you are not dying today."
"I thought," he panted. "That you… were a servant."
"I… guess I sort of defy classification," she said.
"That much… is clear," he huffed then said abruptly, "Here."
They lurched into the wall as they drew to a halt and Gwaine grunted at the impact. To Merlyn, the corridor appeared identical to the ones they'd already ventured but Gwaine reached out an unsteady hand and pulled on the torch bracket near her head. It folded down with a rusty squeak and a sliver of wall beside them shifted with a reluctant grind of stone. With a shove of their combined weight, the wall inched inwards with a heavy scrape and, before them, stretched a long path of inky blackness.
Merlyn leant Gwaine against the roughly carved wall and turned to shove the secret door closed again, only managing it with the aid of her magic. She slumped against the stone with a relieved puff then held out her hand, palm up to conjure some light. "Liethe Blæcern!"
A soft blue bubble rose above her head, illuminating the length of the long tunnel they were to traverse as well as highlighting the starkness of Gwaine's pallor.
"Come on," she whispered, her voice echoing against the stone, the air frigid like a tomb. She moved to his side and repositioned herself under his arm, heaving him off the wall and lurching drunkenly as she steadied herself. He tried to help but he was growing worse by the minute, breath cracking wetly as blood filled his lung. "Let's get out of here."
With a few tottering steps, they moved forward, side-by-side into the mountain.
.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.
The scout returned to Hengist as the warning bells tolled around him. An envoy from Camelot was headed towards the Veil of Denaria.
"Find her!" he shouted at his men, face heating with his rage. "Search every crack and crevice! Tear this place apart! Bring her to me alive!"
"What of the man?" asked Kendrick and Hengist spun on him in fury.
"Cut off his head!"
.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.
"Tell me," Gwaine wheezed. "About yourself."
"Not much to tell," Merlyn panted, adjusting his arm over her shoulders in a vain attempt to ease the strain. "I'm just a simple villager who moved to the big city."
The ground was dusty rock and the walls rough-hewn stone, lacking any windows or brackets for torches. It smelled of deep earth and the sharp metallic stench of bared stone, stinging her nose in the chill of the underground. The path was not overly windy or long, but it narrowed occasionally and jutted from the sides, forcing Merlyn to stoop awkwardly and shuffle sideways to make it through with Gwaine at her side.
"You were born with magic," he countered then tilted his head to cough, the sound similar to those who suffered the flu. "There had to have been adventures when you were young."
Merlyn smiled in the soft blue light, mind turning to the havoc she and Will caused after he discovered her abilities. "I know I love my mother more now for putting up with me then. I was a little rapscallion growing up."
"Somehow… I doubt much has changed," he replied with a pant of laughter.
"Hey," she retorted, nudging him ever so gently. "I'm a model citizen, thank you."
He laughed more vigorously only to have it turn into a coughing fit grave enough that he had to slump against the stone so he didn't fall. Merlyn rubbed his back and tried to think of something she could do to help.
"Let me – let me try something," she said as an idea tentatively bloomed to life. She put one hand on his back and the other on his front over his right ribcage, feeling the muscle spasms as he choked, then tried to recall the incantation that would heal his lungs if she was lucky. "Bat… Batian lungenæder."
Her eyes heated but the spark of magic pulsed painfully in her temples and she jerked back with a hiss of pain. "Ow," she grumbled, lifting her hands to her head, which throbbed anew.
"Wow," Gwaine breathed, drawing her attention back to him. He was breathing easier, hands pressed to the stab wound with wide eyes.
"It worked?" she asked, surprised.
"It… the wound is still there but I can breathe again," he said, looking up at her in awe.
She smiled, relieved that he was not on death's door any longer. "If I was completely well, I'd be able to rid you of your injury altogether but," she tapped the side of her head self-deprecatingly. "I have a headache."
"It's never easy, eh," he agreed, pushing himself from the wall to test his strength. "But I can stand and walk now, which is better than before." He flicked a strand of hair from his face and said, "Thank you."
She shrugged. "I may not have made it out of the castle if not for your knowledge so let's call it even."
"Aye," he said, and they started moving once more.
After a minute, he asked, "Are you sure you don't want to travel with me? You'd be a fine partner for after a barfight."
"Hah!" she scoffed and gave him a slightly rougher shove as she laughed. "Any injuries you sustain from brawling would be your own problem!"
"Ah well," he sighed, acting put-upon. "It was a nice thought."
She huffed and ducked under a low hanging rock only to pause suddenly at facing a thickly barred gate, melded perfectly within the irregular shape of the tunnel.
"Beyond this is the Wilddeoren's territory," Gwaine said. "The entrance to the cage is just to your left." And yes, if she craned her neck against the bars, she could see a second grate blocking another pathway, much wider than the track they were on, but then, it also seconded as a temporary pen for any Wilddeoren and they were rather larger than a man.
"Means we have to be quiet," Merlyn said, eyeing the bold hinges cupping the weathered metal of the gate. She was certain it would squeal loudly when she tried to open it, aged metal grinding against aged metal.
Thankfully, she was a servant, forced to deal with all types of chores, and she knew one that would work perfectly. "Ele Aethierre," she whispered and her eyes flashed gold.
She lowered the bubble of light to see if the metal was adequately lubricated and smiled in satisfaction before she murmured the unlocking spell.
"I've never seen sorcery be used so informally," Gwaine commented and Merlyn grinned at him.
"Well, just because I'm a servant doesn't mean I have to do all the chores by hand."
He grinned back, amused at the notion. "I can hardly understand people's fear when I see you using it so lightly," he commented. "When people cry sorcery, it's always blood rituals and curses, not-not housework."
"I guess I'm a revolutionary," she joked, and he snorted.
"You're something alright," he replied with a wink.
.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.
Hengist glowered out over the ruins of the lower parapets, the window grimy and cracked but well enough to do its duty in sheltering him and his men. But not enough to contain one stupid girl in a cell.
"What news?" he growled when he heard the quiet scrape of a boot behind him. His hand was clenched tightly around the hilt of his sword.
"Th-they must have escaped the castle," said Kendrick and Hengist turned slowly to face him. "Every floor has been checked; there is no trail to follow."
"They slew a handful of guards right under our noses," he gritted out, feeling his face heat with anger. "How is there no trail? They left a trail!"
"None of the exits were disturbed, Hengist," he implored. "All of the sentries were on high alert, but they saw nothing. It's like they disappeared into thin air."
The bald warlord growled, stomping closer to his imbecilic companion. He asked in a quiet tone, "Did anyone check the Wilddeoren tunnels?"
Kendrick gulped and Hengist took that as an answer. "Idiots!" he shouted. "Prince Arthur and his knights are waiting in the Vale of Denaria as we speak! What do you think will happen when we don't turn up with the girl?"
The usually cocky man took a step backward as he said, "I'll send men out immediately. They cannot have gotten far."
"Bring the girl to me alive! I want to speak with her before I hand her over."
"Of course," Kendrick said and fled from the room.
Hengist turned back to the window, teeth bared in irritation. How the waif had slipped from her cell was anyone's guess. The locks had been undamaged, and no guard had been beguiled by her womanly charms; he would know how she bested him, shared willingly or not. He would not let such an insult stand.
.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.
A little while later, Merlyn was cursing their lumbering stroll as they had both quite ignored the fact that they were still in danger until the sound of pursuit caught up to them. Mentally, she bemoaned their stupidity while they picked up the pace to a steady jog, Merlyn trusting Gwaine to know their route since he didn't seem to falter as he hurried through crossways. Merlyn concentrated on brushing their footprints away with magic, hoping to throw the bandits off their trail.
She could only be glad no Wilddeoren had appeared; Gwaine had mentioned they hunted in packs.
"Only a little further," Gwaine wheezed, hand to his side, and Merlyn was glad to hear it. She was starting to feel like prey once more, the stomps of heavy boots and bloodthirsty shouts growing louder behind them. The bandits seemed to know the tunnels well for the disappearance of Merlyn and Gwaine's footprints had not deterred them in the least; instead, she thought they might have forgone tracking altogether and were headed straight for the exit, of which she assumed – since they were so confident in their direction – there was only one.
"This way," he puffed, tugging her to the right onto a narrow path she hadn't noticed. The path was lighter than the previous one, enough that she could release her hold on the blue bubble and concentrate on running. She was glad they were nearing the exit, for her breath was growing short and her vision was spotting with a lightshow of stars as the throbbing in her skull worsened. She didn't know how Gwaine, who had been dying not twenty minutes earlier, was moving so well.
They rounded a bend and the outside beckoned from the end of a long, straight run. It was predawn if the grey light was to be believed, the air cold and damp in her lungs, biting the back of her throat with each inhalation. With it, she tasted the woodsy flavour of moss and rotting things.
"There they are!" someone roared behind them and there was a holler of approval from his companions. Merlyn glanced back, unable to help herself, and spotted Kendrick dropping his unnecessary torch and leaping forward with a blade in hand. He had a ferocious grin on his face and her head throbbed in remembrance of his temper.
Gwaine's hand latched onto her own and wrenched her onwards, spinning her as they burst from the mouth of the tunnel on unsteady legs, the change from hard rock to spongy dirt throwing off their stride. Ahead, the next obstacle loomed – a sharp incline covered in moss and leaf-litter, giving her the unpleasant sensation of residing at the bottom of a bowl. It was sure to slow them too much to escape without a fight.
Gwaine seemed to realise it also, for he shoved her ahead and snapped, "Keep going. I'll deal with these imps."
"No!" she gasped as he turned to face their fast-approaching foes. "They'll kill you!"
"Your lack of faith wounds me," he jested distractedly, shaking off her hand and moving away.
She gnashed her teeth in frustration before thrusting her palm forward and shouting, "Ahries thæc!"
The roof of the tunnel gave an ominous rumble then splintered with a groan, rocks and debris tumbling down onto the surprised bandits. Kendrick and another managed to dive out of the way of the cave-in but the rest were buried in rubble; Merlyn very forcefully didn't think of whether they were dead or alive.
Gwaine herded her back several steps as Kendrick climbed dazedly out of the dust, coughing and staring back at the wall of rock where once there had been an entrance. On each side of the cave in, another opening resided, a duo of lightless black holes bracketing the rockslide in a strangely symmetrical display.
Kendrick's single surviving cohort glanced at Merlyn and Gwaine with a terrified expression before eyeing the two other tunnels longingly, obviously understanding the superiority of Merlyn's magic. Kendrick, meanwhile, turned slowly to the pair, sword still in hand and blood trickling from a cut over his left eye.
"You have magic," he hissed in realisation.
Merlyn lifted her chin and said, "Leave. I have no quarrel with you now."
The brown-haired bandit laughed sardonically. "Hengist will hunt you down," he growled.
"Because of her magic or his embarrassing inability to hold her captive?" Gwaine asked impudently, baring his teeth in a challenging grin.
"Magic can be tethered, and people can be tamed," Kendrick replied but he took a measured step in retreat. "I expect we will see each other again."
"Don't be offended if I don't give you a hug," Merlyn shot back.
He sneered but he and his companion soon disappeared into the darkness of the right tunnel. Merlyn hoped – and felt a little guilty for her vindictiveness – that they would run into a Wilddeoren.
"Come on," Gwaine murmured, turning to her and looking up at the deer's track of a path winding up the uneven, slippery slope. His expression was of reluctant resignation and Merlyn agreed with his silent aversion. His side and her head were sure to suffer the stresses of the climb. "Hengist is sure to send more men out once Kendrick returns empty-handed. We'd best be gone before they arrive."
Merlyn took a fortifying breath then moved forward to challenge the slope. She heard a quiet sigh from her companion then the rogue fell into step.
"So," said Gwaine as Merlyn clambered awkwardly over a downed log. "How did you become servant to the Prince of Camelot – who, if I remember correctly, is the son of the biggest anti-magic advocator in the Five Kingdoms."
Merlyn laughed at his descriptor. "Advocator is a rather placid term for his attitude," she said.
"I've heard that he's mellowed out in his old age," Gwaine quipped with hollow humour. "When I was young, there wouldn't be a week that would pass without news of an execution or the cleansing of a village. Even beyond his borders."
"The King possesses a certain fearsomeness," Merlyn replied diplomatically, unwilling to open her heart to the bitterness that threatened when she thought of the suffering Uther had caused. If she did that, she feared she would become no better than Nimueh or Edwin Muirden. "I became Arthur's, er, servant quite accidentally. I first arrived in the city to learn medicine from my uncle, the Court Physician, but the King refused to sanction an apprentice, so I was forced to search for alternate work. I'm from a simple village; we eat what we grow and we all know each other, so I never gave much thought to how I, um, appeared to others. I ventured often in tunic and trousers."
A glance at Gwaine's face showed the growing realisation of what she was saying – and the growing anticipation if the smirk was anything to go by. Memories of those early days arrayed themselves at the forefront of Merlyn's mind: going to the training ground to ogle the knights; stopping Sunstrider from ploughing a couple of children; accidentally – not accidentally – insulting Sir Ulric; getting a job as stablehand; Arthur…
"And he thought I was a boy right up to the point where he stripped off to bathe right in front of me!"
Gwaine roared with laughter – perhaps inappropriately considering their circumstances – then clapped a hand to his side as it choked into a groan, slipping slightly in his climb. She halted and reached back but he waved her off. "No, keep going. We're almost at the top."
"Tell me of you," she said to distract him, pulling herself over the slippery rim of the slope and turning back to give Gwaine a hand, kneeling in the mud. "You said you have travelled far and wide. Tell me of your favourite place?"
The rogue nudged her hand away and pulled himself over the top, rolling onto his back to gaze up at the brightening sky. Merlyn joined him, needing a moment to rest her pounding head and weary neck. The sun had not yet risen, but the predawn glow was enough to illuminate the world above, pink and gold brushstrokes edging the fierce orange radiance that stained the clouds. It was a sharp contrast to the shadowed, damp place they had just escaped, and she hoped it was a positive sign for the day to come. Around them, the first birds had awoken and were singing for the dawn, their harmony synchronised with the gentle rustle of the wind through the leaves.
"It would be impossible for me to pick a single place, for many of them are so unique. Though, one I particularly enjoyed was Cheviot Hills. There was a barmaid there from the northern lands who had this," he lifted his hand and shaped a curvaceous figure in the air. "Amazing ale."
Merlyn barked a surprised laugh and threw out a hand to punch Gwaine's shoulder. He chuckled at her reaction, rolling onto his side to grin at her cheekily. "It was a fine brew," he defended. "I've never tasted another like it."
"Come on," she said, rolling over and slowly pushing herself to her feet. Her head throbbed at the change in position and she longed to lie down for a while. And for a drink of water; her throat felt like sandpaper. "We'd better find a good hiding place to recuperate. I don't think I'll make it far before the forest is scoured."
Emrys…
Merlyn jolted in shock, head jerking up to stare into the trees. Someone had just spoken into her mind.
Nothing appeared out of sorts, but the surrounding trees were old hardwoods, tall and sturdy and broadly spaced. There was a lot of room for scrub to grow – leaving many places to hide – yet, her alarm quickly gave way to wary curiosity. She knew of only one type of people that called her by that name and they were allies.
Gwaine's voice brought her back to the present; "… know this area. I was only passing through."
"I… think I know where we are," Merlyn said, still eyeing the underbrush. "I was led north from Camelot and there are only a few abandoned fortresses in this region. Only, I don't know where any safe havens may be."
Emrys… was whispered in her ear again. It was a man's voice, familiar, though she couldn't pinpoint from where.
"Then let's –"
"Wait," Merlyn whispered, holding up a hand. Gwaine's casual attitude evaporated and he brought his weapon to bear, seeing her watchfulness. "I think…"
We mean you no harm, the voice said and from within the trees, cloaked figures began to appear, hoods raised and hands tucked into the folds of their sleeves. Gwaine let out a noise of discontent but Merlyn touched his arm.
"They're druids," she said. "They're friends."
He held his defensive pose for another second before accepting her judgement and straightening up, resting the blade of his sword against his shoulder. "Never met druids before," he commented lightly, though his wariness remained.
"I've never met an entire clan," she said, "But the people I have are the good sort."
"Well," he murmured as the druids approached. "You've led me this far."
The closest hooded duo came to a halt a short distance away while the handful of others stretched behind them in a loose V shape. She was unsure if it was intentional or instinctive.
"Hello, Emrys," the one in the faded blue cloak greeted, throwing back his deep cowl to bare his face for her inspection. His voice was not the one she heard in her mind. "I am Iseldir, Druid Chieftain of this clan."
"Merlyn," she replied automatically, unsure how to act. He had tired eyes and a face touched with dirt. His grey hair curled about his ears, but his countenance was wise and calm. "It is dangerous in these parts right now. Hengist is in a castle nearby and his men are searching for us."
"We know," he said. "That is why we have come."
Merlyn cocked her head, confused and the one in the drab brown cloak beside him spoke in that familiar tone, flipping back his own hood, "We heard tale that you had been kidnapped from Camelot and we were the nearest camp to where whispers said you had been taken. We decided to draw closer lest you have need of our aid."
"Alwyn!" she exclaimed, gobsmacked at the appearance of the druid-friend she'd helped escape from the dungeons alongside a cluster of other innocent people. "So you live with the druids now."
He smiled and dipped his head. "I have you to thank," he said. "If I can help in any way, you need only ask. I am in your debt."
She shook her head. "I did not do it for gratitude," she reminded him. "Seeing you alive and well is enough."
His smile widened. "There are some back in the camp who wish to thank you also," he said. "They have been eager to find an opportunity to repay you."
"Saving people seems to be a thing for you, doesn't it?" mused Gwaine and Merlyn blinked, realising how rude she was being.
"Apologies – Gwaine this is Alwyn. I met him in Camelot briefly. Alwyn, Iseldir, this is Gwaine. He was captive of Hengist as well."
"Well met," Iseldir said politely then he turned his head as if to listen to a distant noise. "We must go. Your enemies are growing ever closer."
"You have a safe place?" Merlyn asked, falling into step with the elder man as he turned back towards the trees.
He bowed his head. "We have a haven."
They moved in silence for a long minute before Merlyn blurted out, "I'm very grateful that you risked yourselves to help us. Thank you."
Iseldir placed his hand over his heart. "It is our duty to care for those in need when we can."
And that. That right there was what she had been longing to hear since she came to Camelot. After facing Nimueh and her constant, hate-driven revenge; Edwin Muirden with his two-faced attack against the King; Arthur and his absolute conviction on magic's corruption…
It was nice, for once, to hear something positive; confirmation that magic wasn't bad – that she wasn't a monster. Sorcery wasn't evil, and it was their duty to help those in need – it was everybody's duty.
.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.¸¸...¸¸.·´¨`»«´¨`·.
Did you enjoy? Gwaine was surprisingly difficult to get a grasp on. I had to rewatch episodes with him in it to sync myself with his character and terminology. I hope I did him justice. More to come.