A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter of "The Lily and the Knight"! I'm glad you enjoyed it. :D Merlin's magic reveal in that verse is coming soon. ;) But first here's a one shot with whump no plot.
"The Rack"
Torch light flickered in sputtering spurts of orange and shadow as Lancelot was manhandled down the corridor. He steeled himself for what was to come. He knew what his captors wanted, and he would not give it to them. He could take the pain and abuse to protect his friend.
But as he was led into a dark chamber, past the wide array of torture implements, and brought to one in particular, Lancelot finally balked. He'd never seen a rack before, but he'd heard the tales of brutal disfigurement that left anyone who was unfortunate enough to survive permanently crippled. And this one had an additional feature—a metal roller in the middle lined with spikes.
As he was roughly shoved toward it, Lancelot tried to dig his heels in. It didn't work. Several pairs of hands grabbed his arms and legs and hefted him up onto the rack. He cried out as his back was pressed into the tiny metal spikes that bit through his shirt and into his skin. His ankles were cuffed in leather straps, and his arms wrenched up above his head and secured with rope. Lancelot's breath started coming faster with mounting terror.
The leader came to stand over him, expression like granite. "What is Emrys's weakness?"
Lancelot kept his silence. Ever since Merlin's magic had been revealed and he'd been made court sorcerer, Camelot's defenses had been nigh impenetrable. It was a good deterrent to anyone who thought to challenge King Arthur. Most anyone.
Lancelot stared straight up at the cobwebbed ceiling and tried to brace himself. The leader waved to one of his henchmen manning the pulley system, and with a creak and groan, the ropes around his wrists pulled. The coarse fibers dug into Lancelot's skin, and he sucked in a sharp breath as his arms were stretched taut. One of his vertebrae cracked, and it almost felt good for a second, like a relieving of pressure. But the stretching didn't release, it just held him in that position. The spikes dug into his back.
"All men break on the rack," the warlord warned him. "It's your choice of whether it's just your silence or every bone and sinew in your body."
Lancelot didn't say anything. The lever clicked and pulled the rope a fraction further. The roller beneath him shifted the spikes. He could feel hot blood seeping through his shirt and running down his back. It didn't take long for him to feel the strain in his shoulders. The rack was slow and methodical, not pulling him apart all at once, but taking it one increment at a time so that every tiny added pressure felt like it was on the verge of tearing something inside him. Tears were streaming down his face now, and he couldn't hold in the screams every time the rack stretched him further and the spiked roller shredded his back. His arched diaphragm was putting pressure on his lungs, making it difficult to draw in breath.
The lever clicked again, and this time Lancelot felt something in his elbow pop, and he screamed, long and hoarse as fire flooded his arm, followed by numbness.
"Please," he begged.
"Then tell me what I want to know."
Lancelot whimpered as his chest hitched painfully against compressed lungs. He bit his lip to avoid making another pitiful sound. Giving in now wouldn't accomplish anything. He could feel muscles tearing in his arms, couldn't feel his hands at all; he'd never wield a sword again. The last thing he had to hold onto was his honor and duty, and he would uphold them to the last.
Each second was agonizing as the rack pulled him apart small bit by small bit. Every one of his senses was wrapped up in the excruciating pain so that he was barely aware of his captors continuing to question him.
"How do we get to Emrys?" the man angrily demanded.
There was a crack and sizzle on the air, followed by a deep, thunderous voice.
"I'm right here."
Lancelot blinked through watery vision at a figure wreathed in a golden aura standing in the chamber's archway. Then the place erupted with yelling. Merlin's eyes flared, followed by screams and men going flying. Knights poured in from behind him, blades glinting orange with reflected torch light. Lancelot closed his eyes against the sound of fighting, his body shuddering and grating each and every exposed nerve ending.
"Oh my god," someone uttered.
The tension in the ropes finally snapped, releasing Lancelot's arms. It didn't bring relief, though, and he cried out as hands manipulated his shattered limbs.
"Careful!" someone else said as arms slid beneath his shoulders and legs and began to lift. The metal spikes gave one last slice through abraded skin.
"Sadistic bastards," a third voice cursed.
"Merlin, this looks bad."
"I know. Lay him on the floor. On his side!"
Despite how careful they were trying to be, there wasn't an inch of Lancelot's body that wasn't singing with agony, and he choked on a garbled cry as he was set on the stone floor.
"Lancelot, are you with us?"
He blinked to see Leon leaning down close to his face, one gloved hand resting on his head. Lancelot opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn't get a sound past his parched and raw throat.
"This is too much," Merlin said. "We need Gaius."
"Isn't there something you can do?" Arthur asked urgently.
Lancelot silently pleaded for there to be. He knew Merlin was rubbish at healing spells, but if he could do anything…anything to save Lancelot from this agony…from a life utterly shattered like the bones in his body.
Merlin crouched next to his head. "Just hang on," he said before whispering a spell.
A wave of warm energy crashed over Lancelot, carrying him away into blessed oblivion.
Merlin knelt in frozen horror at the state of his friend's mangled body. He'd been worried after Lancelot's capture, but he'd never imagined to find him like this. Merlin didn't even know if he'd survive injuries like these…
He jerked himself away from that dark train of thought and tried to focus on the here and now. "I need your cloaks," he said. "We need a stretcher, and I need to stabilize these joints."
Arthur and the knights immediately pulled off their cloaks and handed them over. Merlin pointed for Leon and Percival to take theirs and make a stretcher, since their cloaks were the longest. He then grabbed Elyan's and began ripping it into strips.
Merlin then faltered at how to do this. Normally he'd have someone hold Lancelot up so he could bind his bleeding back, but with his arms swollen and disjointed as they were, he didn't want to jostle them. So he settled with laying one cloak down whole and laying the strips horizontally across it. Then he had Gwaine, Elyan, and Arthur help him roll Lancelot onto the cloak as carefully as possible. He was completely out from Merlin's spell, but that didn't mean he couldn't still feel pain. Merlin picked up the strips sticking out on either side and tied them together over Lancelot's stomach.
Next came the even harder part. Merlin swallowed bile as he gingerly cupped one of Lancelot's arms, his stomach churning at the way it felt boneless, with sharp edges poking against skin here and there. There wasn't time for Merlin to try healing it with magic yet—and he had to hope he'd be able to back in Camelot, because if not…
That was another dark spiral he had to wrench himself out of.
He did his best to straighten out the arm, laying it flat right against Lancelot's side. Merlin then used more ripped pieces of cloak to strap the limb to Lancelot so it wouldn't move at all throughout the journey back to Camelot.
He repeated the process with the other arm. Lancelot didn't wake or stir, but his pallor was ashen and his breaths were ragged and shallow. Merlin took a moment to palpate his ribs. None had been popped out of place or broken, thankfully, but that didn't mean something else hadn't torn inside him.
No one said anything as Merlin worked. They all knew how serious this was…what the odds were. And Merlin knew they were all silently hoping his magic could be the miracle save but didn't want to say so in case he couldn't.
Leon and Percival finished fashioning a stretcher with their cloaks and some spear shafts. The others then carefully lifted the cloak Lancelot was already lying on and transferred him to the stretcher. Now ready to move, they picked it up and hurriedly left that heinous torture chamber behind with the bodies of the men who'd deserved a much slower death than what they got.
The trek back to Camelot was fraught, and Merlin kept a close eye on Lancelot. Any time he showed signs of returning to consciousness, Merlin cast another spell to keep him sedated. Being awake for the journey or the treatment he'd get once they made it to Gaius would be another form of torture all its own.
Thankfully, he was still breathing when they arrived at Gaius's chambers, albeit strenuously. Gaius blanched when they informed him of the rack, which made Merlin's stomach cramp even more. Gaius was never fazed by anything.
"But Merlin can use his magic, right?" Elyan said, finally voicing what they all were thinking.
"He can certainly try," Gaius said neutrally.
Merlin swallowed hard. Of all the things he had to struggle with using his magic for, why did it have to be healing spells?
Gaius began carefully unwrapping all the binding that Merlin had done. He frowned as he spotted blood stains on the bottom. "What's this?"
"There was a metal roller with spikes on the rack," Leon answered, the horror evident in his voice.
Gaius's eyes widened for a brief moment before he schooled his expression again.
Merlin bit his lip as Gaius went through a thorough examination. There was so much, that he was still in the process of it when Gwen burst into the room, looking harried. She shot a hand up to cover her mouth at the sight of Lancelot. Arthur reached out to pull her toward him.
"The men who did this?" she asked, voice hoarse.
"Dead," Percival said darkly.
Gaius finally finished his exam and leaned back, face drawn.
"Gaius?" Arthur prompted.
Gaius flicked a look at Merlin. "This is beyond what I can treat," he said.
A rock dropped into the pit of Merlin's stomach as all eyes in the room turned toward him. He moved forward stiffly, silently praying for his spells to work, just this once. But as he stood over his friend and held a hand out, uttering a healing spell, nothing happened. Merlin clenched his jaw and tried again, and still nothing. Hot tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as his arm dropped heavily to his side. Some mighty court sorcerer he was, if he couldn't even save his best friend who was only in this situation because of him.
Gwaine spun away and kicked at the legs of a chair, almost knocking it over. The others dropped their gazes to the floor. Merlin turned his back on them, unable to bear the disappointment and devastation in their eyes.
Then Gwen was at his side and slipping her hand into his. "Merlin…"
"I'm sorry, Gwen," he said, voice breaking. "I don't know why the healing spells won't work for me."
"Merlin," she said, squeezing his hand. "You once said that you are magic. It's in your blood. So what if you didn't use spells but just…yourself?"
Merlin furrowed his brow at her.
"It's worth a try, Merlin," Gaius put in. "You certainly have a level of instinctual magic that no learned sorcerer has. There have been many times you haven't needed to cast a spell."
Gwen put a comforting hand on his shoulder and turned him back toward Lancelot. Merlin swallowed against a hard lump in his throat. What if this failed too? But Gaius was right; he had to at least try.
He pulled a stool over to the cot and sat down. His first inclination was to draw on his magic with a spell, but he already knew that wouldn't work. He had to tap into it the way he used to as a child. Lifting his hands, he hesitated to even touch Lancelot, but he steeled himself and placed his palms on his friend's broken body. Focusing on his instincts, he let his magic extend out of him like tendrils with a sixth sort of sense. The sensations were confusing at first, but gradually Merlin sorted them out, and he nearly retched at what he felt.
The torn ligaments and shards of bone were sickening. Merlin had already known they were like that, but to feel the full extent of the damage…he breathed in sharply through his nose and tried to keep himself focused. Since he wasn't trying to cast a spell, there would be no one-time sweep of healing. No, Merlin was going to have to do this by hand.
He started with the broken bones, carefully using his magic to guide the pieces back together. Then he wove the torn muscles back into their proper place. He could get all the alignment right, but he couldn't fuse it all back together instantly.
"Gaius," he said, trying not to break his concentration on Lancelot's arm. "I've set everything here, but it won't hold. You need to splint it."
Gaius immediately went to get supplies for that, and Merlin cradled Lancelot's arm with both his hands and his magic until Gaius could get it stabilized. Then Merlin finally released it and slumped in exhaustion.
"Are you all right?" Gwen asked worriedly.
Merlin nodded. "It's…there's a lot."
"You couldn't heal it all the way?" Percival asked tentatively.
He shook his head. "I can put everything back, but it will still need to heal on its own."
"Is that possible?" Leon asked Gaius.
Gaius canted his head. "There's certainly a better chance of it."
Merlin took a breath and sent his magic back into Lancelot, moving up his arm to his shoulder. The tearing was extensive there, and it took several pairs of hands to hold Lancelot up while Merlin kept the muscles in place so they could be firmly wrapped.
Bit by bit Merlin worked his way through Lancelot's grisly injuries. It was tedious and taxing, but it was working. Mostly. He couldn't do anything about the bruising he sensed on Lancelot's lungs, but he did find an internal bleed he was able to stop by applying magical pressure for several long minutes. Even if Gaius had been able to treat the rest of Lancelot's injuries, the unseen could have killed him anyway.
Merlin was practically doubled over by the time he finished going over every single thing that needed repair. And it wasn't like Lancelot was even healed—only in a better position to possibly survive and not suffer irreversible damage. He was practically mummified, he was wrapped in so many bandages to keep him immobile so all the dislocated joints, broken bones, and torn muscles could begin to mend. Merlin could already foresee that changing the bandages on his back would be a challenge. But he was too worn out to think about ways to mitigate that at the moment.
Gwaine and Elyan lifted him off the stool and half carried him to his room to his bed.
"You did good, Merlin," Gwaine said, tucking him in.
"What if it's not enough?" he whispered.
Gwaine's expression was grim, but he nodded. "Lancelot's strong."
He was, the strongest person Merlin knew.
He just hoped that was enough too.
Lancelot's recovery was long and arduous. Merlin had pretty much forsaken all his other duties in order to care for his friend. The other knights helped too, and Gwen, though most of what they could do was just keep Lancelot company during his times of wakefulness when the pain was torturous. Being splinted and completely immobilized was unbearable as well, and it was no surprise that Lancelot was struggling mentally and emotionally with it all. He couldn't see past his current pain enough to believe there was hope he could fully recover. Everyone tried to remind him there was, tried to keep his spirits up, but it was a challenge.
When Gaius gave him pain-relieving tonics that knocked him out, Merlin would sit by the cot and extend his magic, checking over each injury and its progress. Everything was mending, but there was a lot of scar tissue forming as a result. Merlin tried to use his magic to smooth out those knots. He couldn't magically make them disappear, but they were better. And so Merlin repeated those sessions, and the days turned into weeks.
Finally it was time to remove the splints.
Gwen and Elyan sat on either side of Lancelot, supporting him as he sat upright for the first time in six weeks. Merlin began unwinding the bandage around one arm, then removed the splint. Everything looked straight, but Lancelot had lost a lot of muscle tone.
"Try moving it," Merlin prompted.
Lancelot looked nervous as he slowly raised his arm. It immediately started shaking and he dropped it. "I can't," he said wretchedly.
"That's a strength issue," Merlin said, undaunted. "Did it hurt?"
Lancelot shook his head.
"Okay, tell me if anything hurts." Merlin picked up his arm and carefully began to move it back and forth and rotate it.
Lancelot's face pinched.
"Pain?" Merlin asked.
He furrowed his brow. "No, just…sore."
"That's to be expected."
Merlin did the same to Lancelot's other arm, then moved on to his back. "Lift his arms above his head," he instructed Gwen and Elyan.
They took Lancelot's arms and slowly raised them. He sucked in a sharp breath, and they immediately froze.
"Pain or soreness?" Merlin asked.
Lancelot took a moment to answer. "Sore."
"You're sure? Don't force anything."
Lancelot nodded carefully. "I'm sure."
Merlin nodded for Gwen and Elyan to go the rest of the way, and he watched the muscles ripple in Lancelot's back with the movement. His ribs were showing and he still had a lengthy recovery ahead of him, but the worst they'd feared didn't seem to have come true.
"Good, you're doing great," Merlin encouraged as they set Lancelot's arms back down. He was panting and slumping over now, so Merlin nodded for them to lay him back on the cot.
"I can't move my arms on my own," Lancelot said bitterly.
"Not yet, but there's no hindrance to them being able to move. So now we can finally start working on getting your strength back."
Lancelot flicked his gaze to the ceiling. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I know I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you, Merlin."
"You also wouldn't have been taken if it weren't for me."
"Stop it, both of you," Gwen interjected. "Lancelot, I know how frustrating it's been, but you are on the mend. You just have to keep being patient."
Lancelot sighed. "Easy for you to say." He instantly shook his head at himself. "I'm sorry."
"It's alright. This has been a terrible ordeal for you. But your friends are going to continue to be by your side."
"You've all already sacrificed so much time with me…"
"That's what we do for each other," Elyan said. "You telling me you wouldn't have done the same for any of us?"
Lancelot seemed to sag into the cot, then nodded.
"Then don't ever think you're a burden to us," Gwen added, giving his hand a squeeze.
Lancelot closed his eyes. "I just don't know what I'll do if I can't be a knight anymore…"
"It's far too early to even think about that," Merlin said.
"Hey," Elyan prodded. "If it were me, what would you say?"
Lancelot looked resigned again. "That I believe you can do anything you set your mind to," he said almost reluctantly.
Elyan grinned. "That goes both ways. I get that you can't believe it for yourself right now, but just know I'm gonna keep saying it to you. And keep pushing you if you try to give up." He held his arm out.
Lancelot regarded it for a long moment before struggling to lift his arm and clasp it in return. His grip was weak, but it was a start. And a promise. Lancelot would get through this. His friends would get him through it.
And while he felt completely broken down and weak now, he would come out the stronger for it.