Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, his property, his friends or his enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.
Cenred's face is puce, his eyes bulging and his mouth pursed. The only other place Merlin has seen such an expression is in Uther's throne room and even then he's only witnessed it three or four times. Which is surprising given Uther's tendency for rages.
The King of Escetia is marching ahead of his army and Merlin recognises that he is going to have to use his magic if Camelot's unofficial delegation are to stand any chance of returning home.
It's not time for Arthur to discover who his manservant really is and Merlin doesn't want him to find out this way. Not in the heat of battle with Merlin's perceived disloyalty weighing heavily in the Prince's heart. Merlin had hoped that when the time comes, Arthur would be open but if the revelation is to be forced now the young warlock has no doubt his fate will be sealed with no room for discussion.
As the cogs in his mind spin and turn relentlessly he hears Gwaine shouting at him to hurry up and he jerks back to their current predicament. It would be so easy to stop Cenred and his army and if he waits just a few minutes more he'll have the perfect opportunity. Camelot's finest will be out of sight and, he reasons, they'll never know that it was his power that brought down the corridor's aging roof. He can say it was typical of the rest of Escetia – decrepit, neglected and poorly constructed in the first place.
If only Gwaine would stop shouting for him.
Finally Merlin's saviours are out of sight and he just has time to check Cenred's advance before thrusting one arm to the ceiling and the other at the advancing army, lips moving, words flowing silently from his mouth. He watches as the army halts, frozen in their place as the slabs of stone in the walls start to shift and crumble.
Cenred's face contorts in fury as he tries to move. His mouth is moving but Merlin has no time for him or his vitriol. He knows he has only moments before the whole place collapses and he really has no desire to still be here when that happens.
"You'll never return to Camelot!" the king finally manages to spit out, but Merlin isn't waiting around to hear the rest of whatever he has to say.
As the ceiling finally gives up it's battle with gravity, Merlin spins on the spot and speeds down the corridor he last saw the knights in. Clouds of dust chase his heels, desperate to envelope him in the destruction he has wrought.
Lungs burning, he finally glimpses a flash of cloak disappearing round a corner and he redoubles his efforts to catch up. A breeze hits his face and he knows they've found an exit. Spirits renewed he round the corner and finds himself face to face with an open doorway and a congregation of knight waiting expectantly for him.
"Merlin!" exclaims Gwaine, relief colouring his voice. "We thought we'd lost you. We need to go."
"No rush," Merlin pants, bending double and resting his hands on his knees. "Roof came down, they'll be some time."
"That's convenient," Arthur snarks and Merlin looks up. In the pandemonium he'd almost forgotten the state of affairs between him and his master.
Arthur is sitting against a tree, to intents and purposes taking an afternoon siesta although Merlin knows it's so much more than that. He's obviously hiding the extent of his injuries from his fellow knights and the warlock knows this can only lead to trouble further down the line.
"How's your head?" he enquires softly.
Arthur snorts and looks away from his servant.
"His head?" Sir Percival is nearer than Merlin had realised and has clearly picked up on the words. "What's wrong with his head?"
"Sire?" Leon turns his attention to the prince who simply glares at his servant.
"We should go," he replies, and Merlin isn't at all surprised at the deflection. "Give me your hand, Leon," he demands, holding out what Merlin knows is his good arm.
Leon frowns as he complies with the request, hand fastening round Arthur's wrist. Merlin can see the effort it's taking the prince not to grimace, or be sick, and he watches the colour drain from his face as he struggles to his feet.
"My Lord," he begins, but Arthur has already turned his back on his servant and is pulling away from Leon's grasp.
"It's this way," he commands. "They may be delayed but there's more than one way of out a castle."
The knights cast a puzzled look at Merlin before following in their leader's footsteps, heading back into the forest that separates Escetia from Camelot.
They travel in silence until the sun starts to drop in the sky and the temperature falls. At Gwaine's suggestion they look for a suitable place to make camp. It's easy for Merlin to fall into his normal role of servant, gathering firewood while the knights decide how to split the watch through the night.
There's enough warmth still for Merlin to take his time finding the best firewood and, if he's honest, time for his to clear his mind. The journey has been tense. Arthur is showing no signs of thawing and Merlin hasn't tried to talk to him. The knights must have picked up on the atmosphere.
He's lost in thought when a twig snaps behind him. He drops his armful of wood and whirls round, fists raised in a ridiculous show of bravado.
Gwaine laughs and shakes his head. "Relax, Merlin. It's only me." He nods at the fallen wood at Merlin's feet. "I came to help you, you've been a while."
"Oh." Merlin feels stupid and relieved in equal measure but accepts the help willingly. He likes Gwaine and is fairly sure the feeling is mutual.
As they set about retrieving fuel for the fire, Merlin can't help but think there must be an ulterior motive for Gwaine's visit. It doesn't take long for his feeling to be proven correct.
Gwaine stops gathering wood and looks at Merlin. It's a strange moment that goes on a little too long for Merlin's liking. Eventually Gwaine sighs.
"Why did you ask about Arthur's head?"
"Cenred," he replies, really not wanting to go into detail. Gwaine's a knight, after all. He must have seen these things before, worse probably but Merlin's never asked, never wanted to know.
"And why is he not talking to you?" Gwaine continues.
That one's a lot harder to answer and Merlin doesn't really know where to begin.
"Oh," he starts, forcing a smile on his face, "that's just the way he is when he's tired and a little bit hurt. He'll be back to cursing me as normal in no time."
"Hmm." Gwaine's glare is piercing and Merlin suddenly knows what it must feel like to be on opposite sides to the knight. "Why do I find that hard to believe?"
"I don't know?" Merlin tries. "I never lie?"
There doesn't seem to be an immediate reply coming to that so Merlin takes a couple of steps towards the knight, intending to return to the camp to continue with his work. He goes to pass Gwaine when a strong arm stops him. He halts and looks sideways at him.
"I don't know what's going on between you two," Gwaine says, "but whatever it is, it needs to wait until we get back to Camelot."
Merlin nods. He knows Gwaine is right but he's worried that even when they get back, Arthur may not listen and may not forgive him this time.