(Warning: References to physical abuse of a spouse and child. Nothing graphic.)

Merlin doubted that there was anyone in the five kingdoms with as much experience sneaking into and around cities as him. After the number of times he'd had to move himself or someone else through the citadel and streets of Camelot without being seen, Lintone was hardly a challenge. There weren't even any undead soldiers.

He and Will moved swiftly and cautiously toward the manor house in the city center. It was obviously the seat of power, though built more for comfort and style than martial defense. Looking around the city, it was clear that the small skirmish with the slaves had shaken the people quite a bit. They were used to buying and selling their way through life, not fighting.

Soon, they stood before the mighty doors of the manor. Will started toward them, but Merlin grabbed his shoulder, shaking his head. Instead, Merlin lead he boy around the side of the house, strolling casually among the guards and servants, who seemed to be mostly gossiping about the slaves' escape,. A washtub with a group of women clustered around it came into view. They chattered as they worked, occasionally turning to hang a garment on one of the many lines surrounding them. Merlin walked among the lines nonchalantly, tailed closely by Will. Grinning, he plucked down two acid-green tunics. Both had identical crests of a coiled serpent. Merlin quickly pulled his on, and Will did the same.

They continued along the wall until they came to a plain wooden door near the back of the house. Merlin was pleased to see that the servants passing in and out wore livery that matched his and Will's newly acquired garb. He and Will slipped through the door without anyone giving them a second glance. Descending a short flight of stairs, they found themselves in a sweltering, noisy room. Merlin felt his anxiety settle slightly in the familiar setting of the kitchens. Smoothly, he picked up in a bowl of fruit and pressed it into Will's hands before grabbing a pitcher of wine for himself. From there, it was easy enough to join the stream of servants heading out of the kitchen into the main area of the manor.

The crowd of green-clad people bearing trays and platters of food moved up stairs and through hallways. Finally, they entered a large hall, full of richly dressed people. There were musicians and dancers, but no music rang out. The room was still, quiet, and oddly tense. All attention seemed focused on the middle of the room.

There was Gwaine, surrounded by guards, speaking with a man who seemed to be of some importance. His friend's face was filled with anger and barely suppressed fear. He seemed to know this man. As Merlin moved closer, he heard the man say something that almost made him drop his pitcher.

"Welcome home, Son."

Gwaine's stomach twisted at Lot's words.

"I am not your son," he spat.

"Really, Gwaine," the king sighed. "I would have thought you'd be past all that by now. Your sister has accepted me as a father. For your own benefit, you should do the same."

Gwaine glanced at his sister, Bridget. She shook her head as she met his eyes, brown curls spilling over her shoulders. It was clear she wanted him to be silent. Well, he had never been good at doing what he was told.

"My mother never would have married you if she'd had a choice," Gwaine growled. "You made every day in your household a living hell for her."

"You exaggerate," Lot said with a bored look. He turned, strolling back to his throne. The guards dragged Gwaine forward, forcing him to follow. "I merely had a different set of expectations than your late father. It took a while for her to understand that. Seemed I could never get that understanding through your thick head."

Gwaine fought back a flinch, glaring daggers at the man before him.

"Still," Lot said, lazily holding out his chalice to a nearby servant. "I've kept an eye on you over the years. Looks like you finally made something of yourself. Knight of Camelot. Part of King Arthur's inner circle. I could use a warrior of your talents and influence."

Gwaine glanced up as the servant came forward with wine for the king. He was less surprised than he should have been to meet Merlin's confused and concerned gaze. He kept himself from reacting, and neither the king nor the guards gave the servant a second glance.

"You caused quite a stir today," Lot continued. "Cost a lot of people a great deal of money, and they want to be paid back with your blood. However, for my son, emissary to Camelot, I could easily grant a pardon."

The king leaned back, taking a long, slow drink.

"So, what's your answer, Son?"

Gwaine could feel both Bridget and Merlin's eyes on him. He knew he should hold his tongue. He was surrounded, outmatched, pinned in. There was no way that speaking out would end well from him. He felt the weight of his mother's crest around her chest. He thought of her smile. He thought of her tears.

He met Lot's eyes.

"My answer," he said, loud enough for the whole room to hear. "Is that I would sooner serve a serpent than you. Even crawling on its belly, it's higher than you. Eating rats and mice, its breath is sweeter than yours. Even shedding its skin every new moon, it's less of a turncoat, and hiding under a rock, it's less of a coward. Hiss and spit all you like. I serve men, not vermin."

A murmur passed through the crowd of onlookers. Lot smirked carelessly, but Gwaine could see color rising on his neck even as his fingers turned white where he gripped the cup.

"Foolish as ever," he sighed, standing and setting his cup on the arm of his throne. "I'd hoped you'd gained more sense in the years since you left. Very well, Sir Gwaine, if you hate me so much, do something about it." Circling his throne, he unsheathed a battle axe from behind it.

He stepped forward menacingly, but Gwaine stood his ground. If this coward was going to cut him down, he wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing fear in his eyes. That was long in the past.

Lot lifted the axe and brought it down swiftly. Gwaine saw Merlin jerk forward out of the corner of his eye, but didn't pay much attention as the bindings were sliced from his wrists. Lot offered him the axe's handle. Gwaine just looked at it, rubbing his wrists.

"Go on," Lot said, "I'll give you one free swing."

Brow furrowed, Gwaine slowly grasped the handle. As he began to pull it away, the king tightened his hold and moved in close.

"But," Lot continued menacingly, "In three day's time, you must allow me to return this blow with a matching one of my own. Do I have your word of honor?"

"You do," Gwaine nodded, pulling the axe from Lot's hands. "But you won't be alive to take it."

With that, Gwaine swung the axe at Lot's neck with all his might.

A dull thud sounded through the hall. Then silence.

Gwaine stood in shock, arms ringing from the blow, as he stared at the mocking eyes of the uninjured king before him. The axe hung limply at his side where it had rebounded from the force of the blow. Hitting the king's neck had been like hitting a stone wall, except he might have done a wall some damage.

Smiling, Lot took the axe from Gwaine's limp fingers, gesturing to the guards.

"Escort Sir Gwaine to our finest guest quarters," Gwaine barely heard the king through his shock. "Watch him, but let him do as he pleases. Let him see the life he could have lead, if he hadn't indulged in petty revenge. He has a few days to enjoy it."

Gwaine didn't even have the presence of mind to try and catch Merlin's eye as he was dragged out of the great hall.

Gwen felt tears of relief pricking her eyes as she finally entered the city of Camelot. It had been a long, hard week, cleaning up the wreckage of the Sarrum's castle, searching nearby for the sorcerers, reassuring people of surrounding villages that they were safe at last. The people had been so frightened. Sarrum had been a cruel and uncaring ruler, taking what he wanted and killing indiscriminately to prove his power. When people in nearby villages had heard that his castle was burned, they first feared retribution or war. Gwen had reassured them, promising she would do what she could to prevent both.

Through all this, the absence of Merlin and Gwaine had weighed heavy on her heart. Elyan had told them what had happened in the castle— how one soldier had been lost and another badly wounded in their desperate search for Merlin, how the sorcerers had devastated the palace, how Gwaine had run in alone at the last minute. Hope of finding their friends alive had faded fast. It broke Gwen's heart to see her brother and Percival look up expectantly every time a search party returned, only to have their hope dashed away again and again. There were a few scattered reports of something bursting out of the fire and flying north. These were too strange to put any real faith in, but there was no either sign of Merlin or Gwaine. Captured, killed, escaped—Gwen didn't know, and it made her sick to think about.

Gwen didn't know how she was going to tell Arthur. She had received word of his recovery on the day they left Amata. Though her heart had swelled with relief, she found it odd that he hadn't ridden to Amata himself as soon as he woke. Gwen preferred that he stay out of danger until he was fully healed, but she knew he was a stubborn man. He had once ordered Leon to tie him to his horse so he could finish a hunt after taking a heavy blow to the head. She couldn't imagine Arthur voluntarily staying in Camelot while she and the knights might be in danger. The fact that he had made unease curl like a snake in her belly as she finally made it to the citadel.

Leon was there to meet her. Not Arthur.

Gwen swallowed down a sick feeling as she dismounted.

"Leon," she said, walking quickly to the man. "What's going on? Where's Arthur?"

"He's alright, Your Highness, really," Leon quickly rushed forward, taking her hands in his. "He… hasn't been himself since returning. You should talk with him."

Guinevere nodded, pushing back her exhaustion.

"Elyan and Percival can give you their report," she said, glancing at the knights as they dismounted. Both nodded. "Where is he?"

"The west tower," said Leon. He gave her hands a final squeeze before moving away with the other knights.

Gwen made her way toward the castle, head held high. Taking brisk steps, she made her way up the stairs and through the door. But as she crossed the threshold, she paused abruptly, like a flame snuffed by a sudden breeze. She stumbled back slightly, leaning on the wall next to the door, breathing deeply. Her knees felt watery, and she could see her hands tremblingly from stress and exhaustion. She clenched her fists, pressing her head back against the solid stone behind her. Banishing all trace of wetness from her eyes, she pushed off the wall and set out to find her husband.

If he was going to die in three days, Gwaine figured he might as well take Lot's supply of ale with him. And his wine. Well, there had been wine. A pitcher and goblet had been set politely on the table of the guest suite that now served as his prison. Gwaine had downed it quickly, though he didn't care much for wine. It was done mostly out of spite, though also out of a profound and deeply spiritual need to get drunk as quickly as possible. By the time a string of servants arrived with the four casks of ale and six jars of pickled eggs he had bellowed for, he was already feeling warm and slightly cotton-headed. This was fortunate for him, because one of the servants didn't leave. He closed the door behind the others and fixed Gwaine with a familiar piercing blue stare. Gwaine knew Merlin would have questions. He also knew he wanted a lot more alcohol before he answered them.

Sighing, Gwaine made his way to the first cask and filled his goblet.

"How are the others?" He asked, not meeting Merlin's eye.

"Fine," Merlin replied, moving away from the door and keeping his voice cautiously low. "A boy came with me to run messages. He's keeping an eye on things downstairs for now. Everyone else is safe in the forest. Thanks to you."

"Nah," Gwaine smiled, glancing at Merlin. "Didn't do all that much."

"Why do you do that?" Gwaine could sense Merlin moving closer as he spoke. "Can you not just accept that you're a hero?"

"I'm no hero, Merlin," Gwaine said, finally facing his friend.

"No?" Merlin said. "First time I met you, you faced a dozen men to help Arthur and me. Then, you stood up to two nobles for me, and saved Arthur from them in the Melee. You kept Gaius and Elyan alive when Morgana took Camelot. You helped save Gaius form Agravaine. You've faced wyverns, dorochas, and immortals—"

"And I lost," Gwaine said quietly. "Every time I fight, I'm beaten, banished, bested. I survive, yes, but barely. I don't save people. I can barely save myself."

"Tell that to the slaves in the forest," Merlin said. "They're free now because of you.

"And they'll be dead in a few days along with me," Gwaine growled. "You think Lot's just going to let them go? He'll have them hunted down. There won't be a safe place to hide. He'd sooner burn the forest to the ground then let them go free. His word is the only law."

Merlin shifted uncomfortably, and Gwaine knew what was coming next. He stepped around Merlin to refill his cup.

"Gwaine…"

"What I told you before was true," Gwaine said, keeping his back to Merlin. "My father was a knight, fighting for Caerleon. He died soon after I was born and, well, you met that bastard Caerleon. He didn't care about my mother, my sister, me. He took my father's land and money. All he left her with was a her title. She came from an old family; all the land and money was gone, but the blasted title stuck somehow. Lot was just your average warlord back then. He courted my mother, if you could call it that. Married her, got the title, came to Essetir to be one of Cenred's dogs. He put a roof over our heads and food in our mouths and never let us forget it. He was the only father I've ever known and growing up was…"

Gwaine stopped, washed away the sudden dryness of his mouth with ale and refilled his cup.

"I learned to fight. Defend myself. Tried to defend my mother, but I was never strong enough. One day, I finally did it. Landed enough blows, knocked him to the ground. But his guards stepped in, pulled me off. Then, they beat me within an inch of my life." Gwaine paused, taking a long drink and then helping himself to more. It splashed over the lip of his cup. Suddenly, the chalice was pulled from his fingers. Steadying hands braced him, guiding him to a nearby chair. The cup reappeared on the table, barely in reach. Merlin sat across from him, eyes filled with inner fire.

"How old were you?"

"Twelve," Gwaine picked up the cup once more, avoiding Merlin's gaze. "I was dead to the world for nearly a month, bedridden for at least another after that. When I could finally walk again, my mother snuck me out at night, put me on a horse and told me to run and not look back. This is all she could give me." Gwaine wrapped his hand around his necklace. "The crest of my mother's house and my father's ring."

Slowly, he emptied his cup, then set it aside.

"I found my way, kept moving. Got stronger. Always told myself I'd come back and rescue her. Always too afraid to go through with it. Five years later, I got word from Bridget that Mother was dead and buried, and that she never wanted to see me again."

"But she's your sister," Merlin said, leaning forward. "Surely—"

"She's heartless, Merlin," Gwaine said roughly. "Always has been. She knew that that beast would sleep around with other women, then strike my mother for looking at him wrong. She watched him knock me down a flight of stairs for speaking out of turn. She did nothing. She didn't speak, didn't move. Never put a toe out of line. She actually helped that monster run his estate, helped him grow his filthy coffers. No, she's his daughter, not my sister."

Silence stretched between them.

"I'm sorry, Gwaine," Merlin said quietly. "I don't know what to say."

"That's why I didn't tell you in the first place," Gwaine smirked. "Easier to end the story with 'my father died, nobles are worthless blighters.'"

Merlin grinned back half-heartedly.

"So," Gwaine said quickly, hoping to end any further heart to heart discussion of his tragic past. "What's the plan then?"

"You mean, how are we going to keep you from getting your head chopped off?" Merlin paused, brow furrowing. "You know, I'd gotten use to being the only one in danger of beheading. This is new."

"Well," said Gwaine, standing with only a few minor wobbles. "Start thinking, mate. "

"Alright," Merlin said, beginning to pace in a circle. "We know that the axe didn't harm Lot, so he must be protected."

"Right," Gwaine agreed, as he followed Merlin on unsteady feet.

"He's probably protected by magic…"

"Yes."

"And he probably keeps the source of his protection a secret."

"Sounds right."

"But, someone must know. Someone he's close to, someone he trusts."

"Someone."

"If we find that person, we can get them to tell us how it works, and we can use it to save your life!"

Merlin stopped, grinning as he turned to face Gwaine. Gwaine slipped on the carpet.

"Merlin," he said as the younger man gripped his arm to keep him upright. "That is a brilliant plan. I have another. We sneak out of here right now, we call the dragon, and we fly away forever."

"Gwaine," Merlin said gently, "Aren't you tired of running from this?"

Gwaine straightened for a moment, eyes going distant.

"No," he said finally. "I'd feel alright about running."

"Well I wouldn't," said Merlin, guiding him toward the large four poster bed. "Lot needs to be stopped and those slaves in the forest need our help. We've got a chance to save them. I won't leave without trying."

"Fine," Gwaine said, sighing and flopping down on the bed. "How about a compromise? We try your plan, then run away if it doesn't work."

"Deal," said Merlin. Gwaine felt the servant pull off his boots and shove his legs on the bed. "But it'll work. Have some faith."

Gwaine heard Merlin's footsteps headed toward the door.

"Merlin," he called, sitting up to look at his friend. "Thank you."

Merlin nodded back to him, smiling. Then, he slipped out the door.

Once Merlin found Will, the two headed back outside. Hiding their uniforms carefully in an alcove, they made their way to the edge of town.

"Go back to the others," Merlin said, glancing around to make sure they weren't overheard. "Tell them to be careful, but start arming themselves. Use rocks and sticks, sneak into town and steal knives, make short bows, whatever, just make sure every man is armed in three days time."

"So," Will said, swallowing hard, "You think Lot is going to try and send guards after us?"

"Of course he will," said Merlin smiling. "But he won't get the chance. In three days, we're going to start a rebellion."

(AN: Thank you for all the encouraging reviews. They keep me going. Shout out to Lya200, who recognized the nod to Gwaine's lineage in the legends. Again, you guys are the little pellet things that fill my plot bunnies' tummies and make them grow strong and bouncy. Except, you're way better looking and smelling than those pellets. I mean, I'm guessing. You must be, right? Anyway, thanks for reading!)