THE WATER WITCH AND THE BLACK DOGS

By TIPPER

…

CHAPTER SEVEN: PIETER

Calling them the "caverns" was not a misnomer—they had literally walked into the bowels of the castle, past the dungeons, and then through an open doorway into a tunnel that was more natural than man-made. The mercenary leading them raised his torch high as they entered the cave, but it didn't even begin to cut into the blackness beyond the light's reach—it made the cave seem endless.

When Merlin hesitated, he got a rough shove into the tunnel, and Gwaine quickly inserted himself between his friend and the mercenaries. "Don't," he warned them quietly. It only earned a laugh—and Gwaine started keeping a tally of their faces. The ones he'd make sure to find first once he got his sword back.

As they descended deeper into the cool darkness, the tunnel grew less and less groomed. Soon, they were sliding through gaps and bowing to avoid getting their heads knocked, and passing multiple off-shoots from this main "way" that only tiny children and gnomes could fit into. Gwaine quickly lost any sense of direction. It also forced them to slow down, as it was difficult to see where they were putting their feet. He found himself tiring as well, the dull pain in his ribs growing more intense with each uneven step, and he unwittingly found himself pressing a hand to the bandages under his chainmail. When he caught himself doing it, he stopped—though, by now, the mercenaries probably knew he was injured.

Finally, the tunnel they'd been following turned and seemed to level out, and the air, which had taken on a stale quality, grew fresher. Torches appeared on the walls as the cave widened until it was at least two stories high, lessening the gloom. Oddly, there were faded red and black paintings lining the sides, as if done by children. Gwaine's curiosity was fighting his anger, and he could see that Merlin felt the same, his expression open as they turned another corner.

Suddenly, the walls just fell away. A massive cavern yawned before them, one that the entire main courtyard of Camelot could fit into. Far above their heads, shafts of sunlight cut down from gaps in the earthen ceiling, which allowed them to see just how big it was.

"Wow," Merlin whispered, and Gwaine couldn't disagree. The smooth cavern floor was marred with disused fire pits and numerous pools of stagnant water, giving it both a smoky and a damp quality. Along the cavern's walls, other caves leading into black tunnels could be seen, and there were others that looked like large rooms or alcoves. One of them, a shallow cave with a smaller opening and a flicker of light coming from inside, had been sealed with metal bars.

"That way," the mercenary behind him said, pointing towards the barred room. Naturally.

Merlin fell in by his side, but he kept looking up and around, still awed, and slowing down as a consequence. Gwaine took his arm to keep him moving before the mercenaries could shove him again.

They smelled it before they reached it, a strong, fetid smell, one common to dungeons. Gwaine screwed up his face against the strong odor, while Merlin simply seemed to pale, holding a hand against his nose. It was the smell of human waste—old, human waste. Even the mercenaries seemed affected, one of them pressing a glove against his nose and mouth as he unlocked the door.

The tiny, barred room was nearly pitch black, save for a candle in the corner next to a bedraggled-looking man with his head on his knees. Before Gwaine could see who it was, Merlin was roughly shoved to the ground at the man's feet. Gwaine was also shoved, but he managed to retain his feet, turning a glare on the mercenary who had taken his sword. The man just shrugged, smiled a gap-toothed grin, and shut the door with a clang. Gwaine watched him turn the key and then leave, returning the way they had come. Was that the only way in and out?

"Are you alright?" Merlin called softly behind him. Gwaine turned around, about to answer that his ribs were fine, when he realized Merlin wasn't talking to him. He crossed his arms and frowned at the prisoner that Merlin was now crouching next to. The healer in his friend was trying to get a better look at the clearly ill man.

The prisoner raised his head, revealing a battered face behind stringy hair and a slightly bewildered frown, as if uncertain why someone would be talking to him. He wasn't old, and beneath the grime, his hair looked full and long, reddish-brown in color, and his face—where it wasn't bruised—was mostly unlined. He looked at Merlin without recognition, and then looked up at Gwaine. Upon seeing Gwaine's armor and cape, his expression cleared.

"You're from Camelot," he said, his voice hoarse from obvious disuse. Gwaine wondered how long he'd been down here without company.

"We are. And you're…" Gwaine squinted, trying to see his face better in the dim light. Then recognition dawned. "Prince Pieter?" It was more a guess than anything. He'd seen the older prince before, around the same time he'd first seen Thiernan when he was a kid, but the beaten, trembling man sitting in squalor in this cell could have been anyone.

"For now," Pieter replied, his tone resigned. "Until my brother kills me." He frowned at Gwaine. "And you're a knight."

Gwaine nodded, shifting forward so he could crouch down on the prince's other side. "Are you alright?" he asked, repeating Merlin's question.

The prince huffed a sad laugh. "I haven't had anything to eat in nearly five days, other than bugs, and I've been drinking water from that disgusting pool in the corner, so, no." Gwaine looked at where he pointed, to the natural pool in the corner, the water as black as pitch. Considering the filthy floor, it couldn't be all that clean.

Merlin tsked his tongue, and dug into a pouch on his belt. He pulled out some nuts and held them out. "Here."

Pieter stared at them, and then at Merlin. Slowly, with a shaking hand, he took one of the nuts. "Thank you."

"Merlin," he said as Pieter chewed. "I'm Merlin. I'm from Camelot as well."

Pieter grimaced, as if it hurt to think. "Merlin…I know that name…." His eyes widened then, and he looked more appraisingly at him. "You're King Arthur's man?"

Merlin's eyes widened in surprise. "You know my—?"

"I remember you never leave his side," Pieter said, growing suddenly more agitated. He grabbed at Merlin's arm with a trembling hand, scattering some of the nuts. "Then he's here?"

Merlin frowned, glancing at Gwaine before answering. "He was. He's traveled on to see your father. I stayed behind to…I stayed here. He has no idea that we've been captured, or what Thiernan is planning."

Pieter groaned. "Then it's happening. If Arthur is with my father, then Thiernan has the window he needs. He's going to attack Camelot." He buried his head in his hands. "Dear God in Heaven."

Gwaine settled down to sit on the floor next to him. "Your highness," he said, "can you tell us, what exactly is Thiernan's plan? He didn't explain to us."

Pieter frowned slightly, looking at Gwaine. "Then you didn't see her?"

"Her?"

"The water witch." Pieter turned away, the disgust plain in his voice. "His monster."

"Water witch," Merlin repeated, leaning back on his heels. "The woman with the hair like seaweed?"

Pieter nodded.

"What is she?" Merlin asked. "I've never seen her like."

Pieter snorted. "Be glad you don't know. She's a grindylow, a hag that lives in the rivers and lakes in the north. They feed on the innocent—usually small children or young animals—capturing them if they come too close to their feeding grounds."

"It feeds on children?" Gwaine repeated, frowning. "And you allow such creatures to live?"

Pieter gave him a dark look. "I wouldn't say we 'allow' it." He sneered slightly, looking down at his feet again. "Of course we've tried to kill them. I'm not even sure they can die. They have complete power over water—they can drown whole towns with a thought, or simply poison the only water source so nothing can drink it and survive. And when they're in the water, they're as indestructible as the river or lake itself—have you ever tried stabbing a lake?"

Gwaine twisted his lips in apology. "Then how do you defeat them?"

"The only…" Pieter swallowed, rubbing at his throat as if it were sore. "The only thing you can do is make a deal with them. Which, long ago, is what my ancestors did. We promised Peg that, every seven years, we'd deliver a sacrifice to her—it could be a young animal, like a lamb or a calf—in return for her not attacking anyone that approaches her hunting grounds. She only made the deal because we threatened to dam up the river where she lives, and grindylows don't like change."

"Peg?"

"That's her name, the one Thiernan captured. Peg. Peg Powler."

Gwaine glanced at Merlin, but his friend shook his head. He hadn't heard of this water witch before either.

"How did he capture her?" Merlin asked.

Pieter shook his head. "No idea. I didn't even know it was possible. But Thiernan is going to use her to bring down Camelot."

Gwaine frowned. "You know his plan?"

"I don't know all the details," Pieter said, pressing a hand to his head. "All I know is, he plans to do it from the inside out."

"Inside out?" Merlin repeated.

"I assume Arthur is visiting my father to convince him that he had nothing to do with my and Thiernan's supposed disappearance?" Pieter asked. At Merlin's nod, Pieter frowned. "Thiernan, obviously, is the one who started and spread that rumor. He knew Arthur would want to see my father in person to proclaim his innocence. In fact, he relied on it. With Arthur in Mercia, he's going to sneak into Camelot and then pretend that he and I have been there the whole time, in Arthur's dungeons."

"What? Why?"

"He'll claim Arthur kidnapped us, for ransom."

"But surely you can refute it."

"Alas, me, I will have been too badly beaten by Camelot's guards. My father will be told I perished in the dungeons, so that Thiernan can use my death to make his glorious capturing of Camelot even more righteous."

"He's going to kill you?" Merlin asked softly. "His own brother?"

"That does put my own sibling rivalry into perspective," Gwaine noted weakly. Merlin gave him a grim smile.

Pieter's eyes were on the ground now, his voice almost a monotone as he continued. "His plan is to take the citadel, likely by using Peg to kill everyone inside, and then boldly emerge from Camelot's borders as its new king. And he'll be carrying my dead, emaciated body home," he gestured at his thin body as he spoke, "probably very respectfully. As soon as my father sees it, sees me like this, he will likely have Arthur executed right here in Mercia, along with all his knights."

Merlin had his hand over his mouth now, as if he was going to be sick, and Gwaine couldn't blame him.

"I believe my brother thinks he can leverage his capturing of my father's greatest rival to convince him to make Thiernan the heir presumptive, rather than our oldest brother Aymon. And my father will do it, because Thiernan will be able to reign over both kingdoms as one, and create the greatest kingdom Albion has ever known."

Merlin crossed his arms, looking almost affronted by the idea. "Well, that's not going to happen."

"Believe me, I'm not disagreeing," Pieter replied, coughing. "I'm not really keen about being used as a martyr for my younger brother's ambition."

Gwaine huffed at that. "Right." He stood up suddenly, looking down at them both. "Then I guess we'll have to stop him."

Merlin stood up as well, smiling slightly. "You have a plan?" he asked hopefully.

"No," he replied, smacking his hands together to rub them and ignoring the way Merlin's smile fell. "But we're going to. Because there's no way in hell I'm letting anyone hurt my friends or my family ever again."

Pieter snorted, the look of it garish under all the grime. "I wish you luck, knight of Camelot. But it's going to take more than determination to get us out of this." He lowered his eyes. "Believe me, I've tried."

Gwaine shrugged, and offered his most confident smile, the kind that usually either won him the pot, or distracted his opponents enough that he could run off with the pot. "I'm sure, but you didn't have us before."

Pieter smirked, and buried his head in his knees. "No. I had ten great and loyal knights, all of whom Peg killed without blinking an eye."

Gwaine froze for a moment, but he didn't drop the smile. That was tragic, yes, but pessimism was not going to get them out of this cell. And he'd promised Arthur he'd look after Merlin.

"Fine. I'll admit I don't know about how we're going to defeat them just yet," Gwaine replied. "But I do know a little something about locks." He lifted his cape and patted around his back, grinning when he found what he was looking for. They hadn't searched them before tossing them down here, and Gwaine had a couple of knives hidden under his chainmail. He pulled one now and pointed it at the candle next to Pieter.

"Merlin," he said, "can you bring that to the door?"

Merlin did as he was asked, picking it up and carrying it over so that Gwaine could get a better look at the lock.

"You know how to pick a lock?" Merlin asked, a tinge of wonder in his voice.

"I've been in a few sticky situations in my life," Gwaine replied. "I may have learned a thing or two." He knelt down at studied the lock—it looked fairly straightforward. To be fair—he'd never actually successfully picked a lock before, but he'd seen it done and, surely, it couldn't be that hard.

He reached up and unbuckled the clasp on his cape, and then ripped the clasp off the fabric. Bending back that metal pin that held it in place, he inserted that into the lock and felt around. He felt something give way, and smiled. Sliding the knife in, he started pushing up the pins. The key they'd used only had two prongs, so it shouldn't be…

He felt something catch, and he grinned. Holding both the knife and clasp pin in place, he simply twisted.

The lock groaned…and then popped.

"Ha!" he crowed, pushing the door open.

"Wow," Merlin said, smiling. "I'm impressed!"

"Naturally," Gwaine grinned, slipping his knife back in the sheath at his back. "I'm an impressive guy." He looked down at the ruined clasp in his other hand, and then shrugged. He'd have to leave the cape behind. Standing up he looked at Pieter and jerked his head towards the door. "Coming?"

Pieter eyes were wide now, the consternation clear on his face. "Where?"

"Somewhere else. Now, come on."

The prince frowned lightly, but he gamely pressed a hand against the wall behind him and levered himself to his feet. When he took a step, though, he nearly fell. Merlin was instantly there, getting a shoulder under the sickly prince's arm. Gwaine walked out into the empty cavern, and, spotting a torch on the wall near the entryway to the castle, went over to grab it.

Brand in hand, he began a quick circle of the room, thrusting the torch into each doorway opening. Some were just rooms, others were caves leading goodness knew where. When he found a cave, he watched the flames, looking to see if they moved. If there was a way out at the end of one of them, the torch would move.

It didn't. It either meant the cave went nowhere, or, more likely, it was sealed by a door at the far end. There was no way of knowing and he didn't know how much time they had to find out.

Swearing softly, he finished his circuit and joined Merlin and Pieter now standing in the middle of the large cavern. Pieter was looking up at the ceiling, at the sunlight streaming through the gaps in the rock with clear longing.

"We may have to go back the way we came," Gwaine said, frowning slightly. "Unless you know another way?" He looked at Pieter hopefully.

Pieter shook his head. "I'm sorry. I don't know this place. My brother brought me here the same way he brought you."

"Then we go the way we came," Gwaine repeated. He pointed the torch towards the main entrance.

"And if they come from the other direction?" Pieter asked.

"You have a better idea, your highness?"

"Not better, just modified…that you should leave me here."

Gwaine's eyebrows lifted in surprise, and he turned to look at the prince. Now that he was standing, Prince Pieter actually looked more like the royalty he was. Like his father and Thiernan, Pieter was tall. Even half bent over with Merlin propping him up, it was clear he was almost as tall as Percival. And despite being starved for days, there was still muscle definition in his arms—he'd be a good fighter if he got his strength back. But that was the problem, wasn't it? He didn't have his strength.

"We're not leaving you," Merlin said, as if the idea were preposterous.

"I'm too weak to run, and would be useless in a fight," Pieter said. "I'm only a liability right now. You escape, find King Arthur and warn him, and get word to my father of what Thiernan is planning."

"Even if leaving you were an option," Gwaine said fiercely, "your father would never believe our word. We need you there."

"He will. He already suspects. As do my brothers Renaud and Aymon."

"What?" Merlin said at the same time as Gwaine.

"It's why I came out here, I was—"

"What have we here?" a new voice called out, taunting, and Gwaine spun around to see a handful of mercenaries spill out of the entryway leading to the castle. Swearing in frustration, he pulled his knife again and took a couple steps back as they formed a semi-circle around the escaping prisoners.

"We were thinking about getting some fresh air," Gwaine replied, spreading his arms out and making sure he was between them and Pieter and Merlin. He flashed the knife, settling it in his grip. "It's a bit stuffy down here."

The lead mercenary, the same brutish man with the scar down his face, smirked. "You're not too bright, are you, knight? In case you hadn't noticed…" He swept out a hand. "You're well underground. Only way out is through us."

"Just the six of you?" Gwaine asked, eyes narrowing as he braced himself. "Doesn't seem like a fair fight."

The mercenary laughed. "Is that so?"

"I'm willing to bet my life on it," Gwaine said, smirking slightly. Broken ribs or no, he had no concerns that he could take these meatheads.

"Gwaine," Merlin whispered. "Wait, I can hear—"

"What's going on?" Thiernan's voice growled out, appearing with even more mercenaries behind the first six. He was fully dressed in armor, complete with a helmet, standing at the doorway like Hades at the gates of hell. His gaze narrowed instantly on spotting Gwaine facing down his mercenaries. "What idiocy is this? I want his arms fettered, now! And get that armor off him!" As he shouted orders, more mercenaries poured into the large cavern, ten…twenty…thirty…forty….

Hell. Even he wasn't that good.

Gwaine took a few steps back, and he heard Merlin and Pieter shuffling backwards with him. When one of the mercenaries approached with some rope to bind him, Gwaine hissed at him, and the mercenary actually hesitated.

"You really have a high opinion of your abilities, don't you, Sir Gwaine," Thiernan jeered. "Well, I've had just about enough." He stepped to one side and the black hooded figure stepped out from behind him. "Peg, please show our uppity guest what you can do."

Gwaine took another step back as the water witch lifted her hood to reveal her sickly features, and knelt to the ground, touching a wet rock. Gwaine shifted his weight, ready to take whatever she might throw at him, when he felt something snaking across the top of his boot. Frowning, he looked down to find water washing up and over his left foot, from a puddle that wasn't there before. As he watched, the water started swirling around his leg, rising with each passing second, like waves, crashing up his leg.

"What the—?"

"No, don't!" Merlin shouted. "We'll not fight you. Don't do this!"

But it was too late, Gwaine knew. He'd tried to move as soon as he understood what she was doing, but the water anchored him as powerfully as if he were drowning in it. It spilled up over his body, inside his clothes, through the chinks in his chainmail. He heard Merlin shout his name, but what could he do? With no other choice, Gwaine drew in a deep breath and then shut his eyes and mouth as it quickly encased his head. He tried to move his arms to clear it from his face, but he knew…he knew that this was it.

I'm sorry, Merlin. And I'm sorry, Clara.

Vaguely, he heard Merlin still shouting, and perhaps Pieter too, but soon all he could hear was his heart hammering in his chest, and his lungs starting to burn with the need to draw in air. The water tickled at his nose and ears, pressed against his sternum and throat.

Something hit him from behind and he gasped, the reaction involuntary, and water exploded into his mouth, filling it, and he couldn't stop his lungs from wanting to expand, and he choked, his lungs burning as the water spilled down his throat; how could water burn? Sparks flashed behind his eyes, his ears felt like they were exploding, and, Gods above, the pain as it felt like steel bands were tightening and crushing his chest…can't breathe…can't...

And, just as suddenly, the water was gone, and he was on his knees, choking and spitting and gasping in sweet air. Without really understanding, he felt someone undo his belt and rip off his chainmail, revealing just his leather jerkin underneath. Feeling much lighter now, he experienced a bit of a head rush as his arms were pulled behind him and bound, but all he really knew was that he needed to breathe. He coughed and gagged, and, only when he'd drawn enough clean breaths to clear the black spots from his eyes, did he finally look up.

She was right in front of him, staring into his eyes, and he could see the evil that she was. This creature had wanted to kill him, just because she could.

"Thiernan ordered me to spare you," she hissed, yellow-green eyes insanely bright. "But next time I will not be so held back, Maiden's Knight."

Gwaine frowned as he coughed out, "Maiden's what?"

"And you'll find," she whispered, leaning close enough that he could smell the algae on her breath, "that I have done you a favor. Now you owe me."

Before he could ask what she was talking about, she was stepping back with a garish smile, replacing the hood over her head and face, hiding it from view once again. He swallowed thickly, his throat sore, and coughed more as she faded into Thiernan's shadow. The youngest prince of Mercia was giving him a triumphant smile.

Abruptly, he found Merlin next to him, grabbing his shoulder to turn him. "Are you alright?"

Gwaine coughed wetly again, and nodded. He looked at Merlin. "You?"

"You're the only one she attacked."

He snorted. "Figures." And coughed again. It felt like he couldn't get the water out of his lungs.

Merlin gave a small smile, rubbing his back. "Try not to cough too hard. Ribs, remember?"

Gwaine nodded, and looked up at Thiernan. With Merlin's help, he got back to his feet and, somehow, managed to hold his head up high even with his hands behind his back. Merlin, apparently, didn't rate having his hands tied, as Gwaine was obviously the greater threat.

"I hope that lesson was instructive," Thiernan said darkly. "If you do not cooperate, I will have her drown your little friend there next time. And I won't tell her to stop."

Gwaine's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing to the taunt. He simply stared. Thiernan snarled, obviously unhappy that his threats weren't encouraging the right amount of visible fear from Gwaine.

"Get them moving," he growled. "I want to be across the border by nightfall."

He swept past them, and headed towards a different cave entrance about a quarter of the way around the cavern. Peg followed behind, and though the hood was low, Gwaine could feel her eyes on him as she walked by. The other mercenaries ran to some of the side caves, only to reappear after a few moments with weapons and travel gear. Gwaine swore softly—had he known that was there….

"Time to move," the scarred mercenary said, shoving Gwaine forward. Gwaine sneered at him.

"Are you always going to be the one pushing me?" he asked.

"I volunteered," the man replied, grinning.

"Why?"

"Because I like teaching pretty boys like you a lesson, to respect you betters."

"And you're my better."

"If the shoe fits…."

"Or the scarred face," Gwaine snapped. That earned him a very hard shove to the ground, from which Gwaine only recovered because Merlin caught him.

"Scarface has it out for you," Merlin hissed in his ear.

"Ya think?" Gwaine retorted.

"Try not to antagonize him. Not until you're better."

Gwaine grimaced. "Not really in my nature, Merlin."

"Just try."

Gwaine sighed, and nodded. Merlin then left him to help Prince Pieter back to his feet. The second son of King Bayard had apparently collapsed to the ground without Merlin's support. When Merlin returned to him, Pieter smiled weakly in gratitude and let Merlin help him up.

Gwaine sighed again and straightened, considering whether his ribs would allow him to help as well, when he realized something rather extraordinary.

His ribs didn't hurt. At all. He pressed a hand to his chest and pushed—not even a twinge. His eyes widened, and he looked towards Merlin as if he might have an explanation, but the apprentice healer wasn't looking at him. And then he remembered what Peg had said. His eyes searched the far edge of the cavern, and found her standing in the shadows in a corner, near where Thiernan had disappeared.

The hood lifted, and pale eyes met his. She smiled thinly and nodded, and then stepped into the cave after Thiernan.

Gwaine swallowed harshly. Had she healed him somehow? How? Why?

He'd have to ask Merlin later, but, for now, it seemed he was as healthy as he ever was. Frowning slightly, he went over to help with Pieter, ducking down to get his shoulder under the prince's other arm. Merlin frowned at him, probably worried that Gwaine was going to strain his cracked ribs, but Gwaine just ignored him.

For now, he wasn't looking a gift horse in the mouth, and the three men followed the stream of mercenaries into the dark cave entrance that Thiernan and Peg had left by.

…

TBC…

I called this story "Peg" for the entire time I was writing it. Anyone know the legend of Peg Powler, Peg O'Neill or Jenny Greenteeth? I knew the tale as a child—made all rivers and streams look like deathtraps for me when hiking. LOL! And ten points if you know what almost drowned Gwaine before Peg released him.