Chapter 2

"Wake up!"

Merlin bolted upright from his slumped position against the wall, and immediately regretted it. The bone-deep bruise across his back smarted with a vengeance, and he couldn't stop the hoarse moan that came from his throat. Not far from him, with his head leaned back against the wall, Gwaine opened his eyes and regarded the man at the cell door casually.

"Good morning to you," he said.

The guard leered at them. "Eat up," he said, tossing two hard loaves of bread into the cell. "You'll not have anything else until you've completed your work for the day."

"Work?" Merlin frowned.

"The mansion isn't going to clean itself," sneered the guard. He motioned a servant forward, and she carefully maneuvered a pitcher of water through the iron bars and set it down gently. She backed away, hands clasped in front of her midsection and eyes lowered. She followed the warden away without a single glance at the prisoners.

Gwaine and Merlin glared at the guard until he was gone, at which point Gwaine stole forward and picked up the bread and water. "Well, it's not moldy, at least," he said cheerily, sitting beside Merlin and proffering the larger of the two loaves to him. He set the pitcher between them, closer to Merlin in an attempt to discreetly minimize Merlin's movement.

Merlin sullenly accepted the bread, feeling quite stiff and sore. He didn't complain, though, and took a small bite of it. When Gwaine saw that Merlin wasn't going to talk, he began to eat as well. "It could be worse," he said with his mouth full. "Princess could be here. That'd be annoying, wouldn't it?"

Aside from a slight furrowing of the brow, Merlin did not react to Gwaine's voice.

Gwaine felt a bit put out, to say the least. So he fell silent and ate his bread, as did Merlin. Between the two of them, the water was polished off quickly, though Gwaine made sure to take as little as he could. Merlin needed - and deserved - it more than he.

They'd only had a few minutes to digest before the same man came to fetch them, heavy boots resounding loudly throughout the dungeon. He turned the key and yanked open the door. "Let's go," he said impatiently, jerking his head.

Gwaine stood and stretched leisurely, watching Merlin out of the corner of his eye. Merlin stood slowly and stiffly, obviously more than a little sore from all the walking and the blunt force of the studded cane across his back. Once he was on his feet, Gwaine moved forward to lead the way, making sure to keep himself between Merlin and the guard.

"So," he said, "what'll we be doing today? Could we perhaps work in the kitchens? I'm still feeling a bit peckish."

The guard knocked Gwaine upside the head and stalked past the two of them wordlessly, clearly expecting them to follow. The knight rolled his eyes, and saw Merlin glaring murderously at the chaperon. But when Merlin caught Gwaine looking he quickly schooled his features into one more neutral. While that hurt a bit, Gwaine was also a bit relieved that Merlin really didn't hate him - he was just in a bad mood and taking it out on Gwaine. He'd give the poor man his space for a while. It was the least he could do.

They were led up and out of the dungeons, and the two slaves saw that it was a bright, sunny morning. It did little to improve their moods, however, once it became clear that they would not be going outside. Rather, once they had reached the end of the hallway, a flighty servant appeared and escorted them to their destination, fidgeting all the way. He clearly was underfed and hadn't had enough sleep, and Gwaine pitied the young man. He decided against speaking, as the passing servants kept their eyes lowered as they attended their chores and errands.

A grand ballroom was presented to them through a pair of large, oaken doors. The nervous servant ushered them inside and gestured toward the handful of already present workers. Some were scrubbing the marble floor with soapy brushes; others wiped fervently at the huge, stained-glass windows on the right; still others carefully dusted the line of mirrors on the opposite wall. The air danced with brilliant, dazzling colors as the sun penetrated the dyed glass and then bounced off the mirrors. Gwaine and Merlin stood in awe for a long moment, but then were prompted to move by their near-silent escort.

"You'll be scrubbing," he whispered quickly, eyes darting around as though to make sure no one heard him.

Merlin nodded resignedly and headed toward one of the unmanned buckets across the room.

Gwaine, of course, dallied. "What's the occasion?" he asked loudly, voice echoing slightly.

All movement stopped, dozens of heads swiveling to look at the knight with wide eyes. The escorting servant had pressed his hands to his mouth, looking terrified. Gwaine only raised his eyebrow.

"It's a nice room," he continued, though a wary, concerned tone had crept into his voice, "but it looks clean enough now. Unless the king himself is coming over for a dance tonight, I see no reason to work our hands till they bleed."

One of the maidservants self-consciously pressed her pruning, bloody fingers into the hem of her ragged gray dress.

When he still received no acknowledgement but their petrified stares, Gwaine sighed. "All right, then. I suppose it could do with a bit more shining." He sauntered forward, breaking the suffocating ice that had held the room captive. All the servants, obviously relieved, turned back to their work. The soft sounds of scraping bristles against smooth stone and light squeaks of cloths against glass peppered the air almost peacefully, but Gwaine found it irritating. To his surprise, Merlin had knelt onto his knees and begun scrubbing without complaint, moving his arms stiffly to accommodate his back.

Gwaine sank to the floor beside him and took up his own brush, scrutinizing the suds caught in the bristles. "What is this, porcupine quills? Horse hair?" When Merlin didn't even crack a smile, Gwaine shrugged and set to work, trying not to feel hurt.

It wasn't too long before Gwaine's hands and knees began to ache. He shifted onto his rump, soiling the seat of his pants, but he didn't particularly mind. His hands were a different matter. The knight couldn't very well stop, not when everyone else was working diligently, and he was quite sure that they were probably all feeling the same way - and in Merlin's case, worse. So he settled for cracking his knuckles, which helped a bit, and then resumed his task with exceptionally pruned, peeling fingers.

On Merlin's part, he was hardly aware of what he was doing. He was too busy trying to focus on his thoughts to distract himself from the dull ache that permeated through his body. He wondered whether Arthur had found their trail, and, if he had, was he following it? Would he cross the border to search for them? Would he come to the castle and be sent away, or would he bypass it altogether? Or, maybe, he was fighting his way through the castle at that moment, the Roundtable Knights at his heels, swords flashing and felling enemies left and right.

Ah, that was wishful thinking. Merlin should know that by now nothing would go his way. Things would probably get worse if he didn't think of something. He'd need to find a way to get himself and Gwaine out - it was his fault, after all. Merlin should have acted more quickly, should have known that Gwaine wouldn't care about something like magic. Gwaine was too good a person to be put out by it.

They couldn't break out of the cell. They had nothing with which to pick the lock, and Merlin could not use his magic. So they would need to make a run for it sometime during the day while everyone was distracted with work. It seemed that the guard would escort them out of the dungeon in the morning, as he had earlier, and most likely back when the sun set, and otherwise leave them with the other servants. If that was indeed the case, that left several long hours to find an opportunity. That should be simple enough - as long as the mansion servants could keep quiet about it.

Merlin sat back on his heels for a moment and wearily looked round. The windows and mirrors had been finished some time ago, and those who had been working on them had joined everyone else on the floor, mopping up the excess soapy water. The ballroom was nearly finished. But Merlin was under no delusion that their day would be finished along with it - he knew firsthand how much there was to do around a castle, even though this one was quite small in comparison to Camelot.

As Merlin had thought would happen, when the grand ballroom was finally completed, the nervous servant who had led him and Gwaine came back to fetch them. He motioned for them to follow him again, and they did, all the while casting their eyes about to memorize the layout of the mansion and for possible escape routes. To their immense surprise, they were led directly outside into the noonday sunlight. The view of the forest was obscured behind the tall wall, which revealed no exploitable means of scaling, and the only way out appeared to be the guarded gate. They'd have their work cut out for them, surely.

The servant pointed ahead to a single well that was directly in the sight of the bored gate watchers. "Draw water for laundering," he said, then shifted his arm so that his finger pointed to an open side door. "Take it in there, follow the hall until the next door, and pour one in, and put the other on to boil. Two more trips after that, one in the tub, one to boil, and then pour in the boiling water. Wash the laundry the maids bring."

Gwaine blinked blearily at the servant's dull but crisp tone, but Merlin nodded mutely. The servant shuffled his feet for a moment, looking torn, but then nodded curtly and swiftly walked back the way they had come. Gwaine let out a huff of air.

"Jolly old chap, isn't he?" he quipped.

Merlin refused his older friend's gaze and headed toward the well. Gwaine watched him sadly for a moment, then neutralized his expression and followed after him. Even if Merlin was still angry with him, he was still his responsibility until they got back to Arthur and the others, or to Camelot. The knight kept an eye out for any means of escape, quickening his pace a bit so that he could reach the well first. Merlin was stubborn and might insist on pulling up his own bucket, but if Gwaine got it first then it would be his job.

Gwaine stooped and picked up one of the buckets from the hazardous stack next to the stone wall of the well, and deftly hooked it to the rope before dropping it. Merlin blinked at him with a trace of amusement, and Gwaine laughed aloud as he realized that the roofed well was actually quite full, and that there was no need for the rope after all. He shot his grin at Merlin, who was obviously struggling to hold back. Merlin picked up a pail of his own and scooped up some water.

Gwaine's humor faded at the pained grimace on Merlin's face as he lifted the water. He knew better, though, than to say anything. Merlin would absolutely refuse help on his deathbed, if it came down to it. He quickly filled his own bucket and matched Merlin's pace, determined to not let the stubborn warlock harm himself.

The trip to the laundering room was not too far. It was almost just inside the castle. The room was large and had two tall, high windows, both of which were propped open to allow for warm, dry air. A huge tub was at the center of the room, several washing boards balanced on the rim. A box that Gwaine presumed was full of soap was next to the tub alongside a rather menacing pile of fabrics. Merlin carried his bucket to the other side of the room and hung the water over a crackling fire. There were no logs in it, so the knight immediately knew it was of magical nature.

When he realized that Merlin was watching him, Gwaine snapped himself out of his thoughts and stepped forward to dump the contents of his bucket into the tub. He realized then that the tub was not as large as he'd first thought. Though it had a wide circumference, it was rather shallow, possibly to allow several washers at once. Giving Merlin a short nod, they went together back out to the well, bucket swinging lazily at Gwaine's side.

They repeated the process twice, as they were told. The cold water filled the tub about halfway, and Merlin's buckets were, once they boiled, pulled from the fire and dumped into the basin. Thick white steam rose like fog, hissing ominously, and Gwaine watched it for a long moment. Merlin, entirely too used to such a sight, merely sighed and knelt beside the pile of clothing, throwing a few articles into the hot water.

Gwaine, of course, had experience in clothes washing. After all, he'd had years of practice with washing his own clothes in streams when they became unbearably dirty. He was, though, unused to the heat of the water and the rough scrubbing with the bar of soap. The soap didn't even smell that good.

The knight voiced all of this aloud as he worked, but Merlin was stubbornly silent. His brows were furrowed in concentration and pain, his back stiff to lessen the strain on his bruised muscles. So, seeing that his rambling was doing no good, Gwaine at last fell silent. Gwaine's arms were burning from exertion, but he refused to slow down. It was up to him to do the majority of the work in order to spare Merlin's strength. It was only fair, considering Gwaine had gotten him into this mess. Arthur was going to kill him. Rightly so, as he deserved it.

A splash of sudsy water to the face abruptly brought Gwaine out of his musings, and, spluttering, he looked to Merlin in shock. Once the knight's eyes were on him, Merlin smirked and returned to wringing out the blue tunic he was working on. A tentative grin lit up Gwaine's expression, and he, too, continued a little less fervently. Merlin definitely did not hate him, was not even really angry with him. Gwaine understood, and knew that Merlin knew he was blaming himself. They hadn't needed words to communicate that.

As they worked through the monstrous pile, they grew more weary, but they persevered. They weren't entirely sure what would happen should they not finish or take a break, but they decided not to take the risk. The light began to fade as the hours progressed, and the skin of their abused hands were peeling - even Merlin's, who scrubbed things on a daily basis. But at last, at sunset, a guard came to fetch them.

The guard, who was a different man than their morning escort, silently led them back through the simplistic halls to the dungeons. The torches blazed brightly, casting writhing shadows as they passed. For some reason unbeknownst to them, the shutters on the windows had been closed, blocking out the last light of the day. It was strange, but Gwaine and Merlin were both too exhausted to ask after it.

The coolness of the air beneath the castle was a bit soothing on their overheated skin after all the hard work they'd done. Both were aware that the comfort wouldn't last long; their sweat would chill them.

When they arrived at their cell, their escort opened the door and bade them enter, which they did. They were glad to find that there were two trays each laden with a loaf of bread, a cup of water, and a small serving of stew. Gwaine and Merlin needed the sustenance, and they looked forward to filling their empty bellies. But not until the guard locked them in and left did they even move toward their meal. It was a bit ridiculous, but the very notion of showing any weakness such as hunger in front of the castle workers made them feel rebellious.

Once the footsteps had finally receded, the twosome sat wearily and tucked in. There was nothing to be said at the moment, only the need to eat. It did not take long to finish off the meager supper, and Merlin pushed his tray away as Gwaine leaned back and stretched his aching legs out.

"You'll take the bed, won't you?" Gwaine asked casually.

"We can both sleep on it," Merlin replied, fiddling with an interesting tear he found in the knee of his trousers. With his other hand he absently rubbed at the back of his prickling neck, still unused to not having his neckerchief. He hoped Arthur had found it - and kept it in good condition. If the king didn't, Merlin was sure Lancelot would.

"All right," Gwaine agreed. "Here." He pulled the single threadbare blanket free from the confines of the hanging manacle and proffered it to Merlin, who accepted it resignedly. It took a bit of fidgeting and maneuvering, but they did manage to lie relatively comfortably together on the mattress. It smelled a bit, but it was better than lying on the cold stone floor. Merlin lay on his side to dissuade pressure on his bruise, facing the orange light from the hall.

Once settled, the men closed their eyes for a much-needed sleep.

Until Merlin asked, "Gwaine?"

"Yes, my friend?"

"We need to escape."

Gwaine was silent for a long moment, soaking in Merlin's words. "I know," he said. "I'm working on it."

"As am I," Merlin said dryly. "I think we'll have to go out the front gate during the day."

"I do, too."

"It'll be hard and perilous."

"The chances look to be between slim and none...I like the look of those odds."

Merlin grinned despite himself, remembering their first meeting, and he could hear the humor in Gwaine's voice. "Any ideas?"

"I might have."

{MERLIN}

They were both a bit more surprised than they should have been to discover that their schedule was exactly the same as the previous day. The morning sentry woke them and delivered their breakfast, and returned after they'd eaten to take them upstairs. At the end of the hall, the head servant met and escorted them to the grand ballroom. Inside revealed the exact set-up as before: servants scrubbing the floor, polishing the stained glass windows, and dusting the wall of mirrors.

Merlin and Gwaine exchanged a look of utter incredulity.

"You," Gwaine said, clapping a heavy hand on the nervous servant's shoulder. The man started violently, turning to the knight so quickly that he might have given himself whiplash, and stared wide-eyed at him. As the day before, all movement in the room ceased in favor of warily watching the new slave. "What's your name?"

"Dougal," he whispered.

"Dougal, my friend," Gwaine smiled, patting his shoulder. "Care to explain how exactly this room got so filthy after such a thorough cleaning yesterday?"

Dougal shifted his weight from foot to foot, eyes darting about to his peers as though begging help or intervention. No one moved. "It's," he stuttered, "I mean, our job, we...Our lord wishes it of us."

"Hm," Gwaine said. "All right, then." He released Dougal's shoulder and moved toward an unmanned bucket, Merlin trailing behind him. All the servants visibly relaxed, and the suffocating atmosphere lifted as everyone returned to work. Dougal made a quick escape out of the doors to wherever he was needed.

The two slaves shared a dark look as they knelt to the floor and took up the brushes. It would be a long day ahead, yes, but thanks to the replicated schedule it would make it all the easier for them to make their getaway. They'd spent long hours discussing what to do and when, and make up rendezvous points and lies in case they were separated or caught. Both severely hoped that all would go according to plan.

Once the ballroom had been cleaned up so that it was sparkling (though it had been quite sparkly to begin with, thank you very much), their hands were in much worse shape than before. The skin that had peeled off had had no chance to grow back, leaving large white blisters on their pruning hands. Around their nails, it puckered up and was very sore. Neither dared complain, though. They needed to draw as little attention as possible in order to get out.

Dougal retrieved them and led them back out to the well so that they could fetch the water and launder what seemed to be all the cloth in the castle. If at all possible, the mountain of washing was even taller than it had been the day prior.

"Absolutely ridiculous," Merlin had ranted, throwing his hands up once they had filled the tub. "Brunhilde is even worse than the prat!"

"Good job we won't be here much longer," Gwaine smirked, smoothing out a bedsheet on the drying line so that it wouldn't wrinkle.

The men kept a diligent eye on the sunlight streaming in through the window. Everything needed to be done precisely down to the last minute. If their calculations were at all off, they would be easily apprehended, and that would most definitely not bode well. Which was why Merlin and Gwaine, as time crept by, became more and more tense and nervous. Perhaps that was how Dougal felt all the time. Gwaine once more found himself pitying the stranger.

But there was no time to dwell on that. He needed to focus. The chance to execute their plan was nearing. They could not afford to waste it. They could not fail.

Hearing the footsteps of the evening guard coming to fetch them, Gwaine and Merlin nodded and hid behind the drying linens. They'd already tested it to be sure that their feet and silhouettes could not be seen through the material. When the guard came in, he would not find them. That was, he would not find them if he did not venture into the room like a sensible idiot and check. But in that case, Gwaine was ready to fight.

As they hoped, the confused sentry entered the room and looked round, walking straight past their hiding spot. When he concluded that the slaves were not present, the guard spun on his heel to run out and sound the alarm - only to come face to face with a smirking Gwaine.

"Oi," he frowned irritably.

Whatever the man might have said, Merlin and Gwaine would never know. One strike to the jaw was enough to take him out cold, sending him sprawling back into the tub with an almighty splash. Merlin only hesitated a moment to be sure that the man wasn't in danger of drowning while Gwaine took the liberty of borrowing his sword, and then followed hot on Gwaine's heels as they made a break for freedom.

They halted just inside the servant's entrance, peering around the doorframe to see what the gate watchers were up to, and whether anyone else was about. There was only one man - his partner must have been the unfortunate fellow sent to bring them back to the cell. With a furtive last glance to be sure no one was watching, Gwaine motioned for Merlin to stay with him. The men didn't bother to crouch low as they ran, as it was still quite light outside.

Luck finally seemed to be on their side. The lone watchman was oblivious to their approach until they were practically upon him. He hardly had a chance to call out a warning before Gwaine's fist made contact with his stomach, driving all the air from his lungs. The hilt of the stolen sword to the base of his skull finished the job, and Gwaine let the man drop.

"Let's go!" he said, grabbing Merlin's wrist and sprinting out of the boundary of the mansion. They immediately made way to the forest, beyond which lay the realm of Camelot and their freedom.

"Sfeffin."

Merlin felt it before he heard it. Gwaine's grip slackened almost instantly on both his wrist and on the sword, falling to the ground. Darkness began to crowd in around Merlin's vision even as he sluggishly turned around to see who had cast the sleeping spell. The blurry figure standing in the threshold of the gate lowered his hand, and the world fell out from under Merlin's feet as he was swallowed by the nothingness.

{MERLIN}

Gwaine's head pounded with a hangover.

No, that wasn't quite right. Gwaine was sure he hadn't been drinking. He was on a mission with Princess and the others. And Merlin. The haze in his mind lifted slightly, and oh-so-slowly some snippets of memories were returning to him. There was something important, something urgent. It had to do with his young friend.

Merlin...Merlin!

Gwaine woke with a gasp, eyes darting about wildly. His heart gladdened to see Merlin lying nearby, sprawled out on the cell floor - for they were back in the cell again. Damn. So they'd gotten caught. Gwaine, for the life of him, could not remember how they'd been caught. The last he remembered was running for it, pulling Merlin along, and then nothing.

No use worrying about it now. They needed to figure out what to do.

He moved toward Merlin to wake him, but was stopped short with a loud rattle. Gwaine glared murderously up at his wrists, which were suspended in the manacles. This worried him a bit, considering that whoever had brought them back had seen no need to chain Merlin up as well. Perhaps they didn't see him as a threat? Gwaine hoped that was it - the alternative was too gruesome and frightening to think of.

"Merlin," he hissed, shooting a look to the barred door to be sure that no one was nearing. "Merlin!"

The younger man stirred slightly, brow furrowing. Gwaine, relieved that he was still alive, knew that his head was hurting a bit as well, but there was nothing for it. He needed to wake up.

"Merlin!"

At last, Merlin's eyelids cracked open lazily, and his cerulean eyes locked onto Gwaine's hazel ones. "Wha'ppened," he muttered, wincing as he brought his fingers toward his head and touched it.

"We were caught," Gwaine informed.

"Ah, right," Merlin said, letting his hand drop. "Sleeping spell."

Any further conversation they might have had was cut short by the sound of approaching footsteps. They were lighter than the familiar clomp of the guards', but very distinct. Gwaine's stomach dropped when he heard the tap of a cane on the stone floor. Lord Brunhilde was coming.

Sure enough, after a long, agonizing moment, the rotund noble appeared at the door and unlocked it with a flash of his eyes. His pallid face wore a severe frown. Gwaine was not afraid of the man - far from it - but he was terrified for Merlin. The man was willing to practically break the skinny warlock's shoulders for a tidbit of information. He could do so much worse, and, Gwaine swallowed thickly at the nauseating thought, he likely would.

"My lord," Gwaine greeted. He poorly attempted to mask his dread with cheer.

"Sir Gwaine," Brunhilde inclined his head, though there was no friendliness in the gesture. "Kestrel," he turned to Merlin, resting the cane at his side.

"What brings you here?" Gwaine asked. "Would you like to know more about Camelot? I'm sure the king will be glad to have you. I'll put in a word and have him send you an invitation, yeah?"

Brunhilde was apparently not amused. "I have heard of your escape attempt, Sir Gwaine. I am disappointed in you. I had thought you would be much more compliant than that after I made it clear that Kestrel would be paying the consequences of your actions."

The knight's faux smile faded as his nightmare became realized. "Please, my lord, leave him be. It was my idea, and he could not say no when I ordered him to accompany me. He is just a servant."

Merlin stared at Gwaine fiercely with wide eyes. The look clearly read 'Do not take the blame for something that is my fault. I will take the punishment, so just shut up!' Gwaine ignored it.

"I am sorry, Sir Gwaine," Brunhilde said. "But as your master, I must carry out my word. A strong man does not bargain with those lower than him. All the same, I take no pleasure in this." As he spoke, Gwaine looked more and more panicked, and began to wring his hands in their biting metal restraints. The lord turned to Merlin, who, despite his resignation, was feeling more than a bit resentful of the pain that was about to befall him. "I am sorry, Kestrel. I wish you no ill will."

"Then don't hurt me," Merlin snapped.

"Please," Gwaine said, giving up on the unyielding manacles. "Please, please, do it to me!"

Brunhilde ignored the man. With a golden flash of his eyes, Merlin found himself drawn up onto his knees, bowing at the lord's feet and unable to move. He squeezed his eyes shut, anticipation building up so greatly that it felt as though his heart might burst out of his chest.

Gwaine continued to plead, voice rising in pitch as the studded rod was brought up. "Please, hit me! Hit me!"

The cane came down with a whoosh and cracked against Merlin's bent back, nearly in the same place as it had yesterday. Pain erupted along Merlin's shoulders and raced down his spine, jarring his teeth. Just as before, he yelped unwillingly, colors dancing in the darkness behind his eyelids. He tried to focus on bringing the air back into his body, glad that it was over.

But the cane struck him again, and Merlin grunted more in surprise than pain, eyes snapping open. He tried to turn and look up at Brunhilde, but he was stuck fast. And then the surprise wore off, instantaneously replaced by another rush of pain. Tears collected in his bottom lashes, but he refused to let them fall. He wouldn't give Brunhilde the satisfaction.

Gwaine watched in horror as the lord raised his awful weapon again. "Please!" he screamed, uncaring of how frantic and unmanly he sounded. "You bastard! You dog-hearted, ugly coward! Hit me! Stop it! Please!" Rivulets of blood ran freely down his arms and soaked into his sleeves, but his pain was unheeded, and he continued to thrash desperately.

Another resounding crack, and Merlin's short cry, was drowned out by a peal of insults and pleas from Gwaine's mouth. Lord Brunhilde, on his part, completely ignored the knight, focused solely on the repetitive motion of raising and dropping the cane. After five strikes, he stopped and stepped back, lowering his stick. Gwaine slumped in his chains, eyes glued to Merlin's heaving figure. A small dribble of saliva dripped from Merlin's chin to the floor, tinged pink with blood.

"I'm sorry," Gwaine uttered. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

As the knight watched, Merlin was flipped onto his back with invisible hands, drawing a small, strangled cry. His brow was creased with pain, and he gasped for air in his struggle to stay conscious.

"Tintreg."

At the unfamiliar word, Gwaine's eyes flicked up to Brunhilde in confusion. He'd only a split second to register the gold in the lord's eyes before his attention was drawn back to Merlin. Merlin screamed horribly, back arching up off the floor. His face was twisted in agony, hands and feet scrabbling for purchase on the floor.

"No!" Gwaine roared, renewing his fight. "Please, no!"

Merlin writhed in a futile attempt to escape his torment, beating his hands and head on the ground. All the while he continued to scream and choke as though being burned from the inside out, tears streaming. Only when his movement became jerky and weak, eyelids fluttering, was the spell released. The warlock slackened, breathing harshly.

"I do hope you've learned your lesson, Sir Gwaine," Brunhilde said solemnly. Then, tapping his cane once, he turned and waddled out of the cell.

A terrified Gwaine had eyes only for his poor friend, still absently tugging at the manacles. Once Brunhilde had exited and locked the cell door, he magically released Gwaine. The knight was instantly at Merlin's side, scooping him up into his arms.

Merlin whimpered pathetically, his body a bundle of pain.

"I'm so sorry," Gwaine whispered, cradling Merlin's shivering form. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." He repeated the words again and again. Even when they became meaningless syllables, he said them, begging whatever god might listen to just let Merlin pass out.

Gwaine knew he was bleeding, but he could not care less. Merlin was bleeding from the numerous lacerations on his back, caused by the cut jewels embedded in the cane, and from his mouth where he'd bitten his tongue. The warlock's eyes were scrunched closed, water still leaking and trailing towards his temples. Gwaine looked him over a bit to see the extent of the damage, and decided that whatever spell the bastard had used only caused pain without actual injury. He nearly broke down completely when he saw the dark stain on the front of Merlin's trousers.

"G...Gw'ne," Merlin keened thickly, arching his back painfully.

"I know," Gwaine whispered, maneuvering Merlin so that he lay more on his side, removing a bit of pressure from his back. "I know, I'm so sorry."

" 'S'not your faul'," Merlin half-sobbed.

Then the knight's tears did fall. "Just try to sleep, my friend," he choked out. "Just rest."

At last Merlin went limp in Gwaine's arms. He'd finally fallen into unconsciousness, freeing himself from the aftereffects of his torture. Gwaine wasn't so fortunate.

A/N: Apologies for all the time skips. I was trying not to drag (or rush), don't know if it worked. Anyway, all mistakes are still my own. I've completed the story, so updates will come every few days, if I can get my hands on a computer. (My "new" laptop wasn't so new after all.)

Thanks to everyone for reading!