Hi! Sorry - I went away on vacation for a few days without much internet access, but I'm back.
THE WATER WITCH AND THE BLACK DOGS
By TIPPER
…
CHAPTER EIGHT: THE FORCED MARCH
Merlin knew what tunnel vision was, and he knew he was succumbing to it (literally) as they shuffled forward into the darkness, his sight narrowing to just the backs of the men they were following and the feel of Pieter's arm over his shoulder. His head was throbbing unmercifully, almost as painfully as when he'd first woken up yesterday morning, and what had just happened hadn't helped.
He'd tried to help Gwaine. A little bit of magic to break a hole through the wall of water she'd encased him in, to get him some air, but it had backfired horribly. He'd seen Gwaine stumble forward and open his mouth, sucking in all that water. For a heart-sickening moment, he'd thought he'd killed him…and then Thiernan had ordered Gwaine freed. Merlin almost fainted from relief.
But it also made him wonder at just how outmatched he might be. Her magic was incredible, and, from the way it had reacted to him, seemingly indestructible. Most magic could be attacked, but hers…. How had Pieter put it? You can't stab a river? You can't kill it with magic either, apparently. Though, to be fair, the way he was feeling, he wasn't sure he could even conjure a light much less kill a monster right now.
He blinked, tripping a little on the rough stone floor, and tried not to give into hopelessness. But, right now, with his head pounding, his body aching, and two badly injured men to look after, it was pretty damned hard not to.
And then the silliest memory came to him—of sitting in a cell with Arthur, terrified, and Arthur completely unconcerned, certain they would escape. He just needed a little of that courage. So, what would Arthur be doing right now? Obviously, first and foremost, the king would be focused on getting his men out of this alive. Since he wasn't here, that focus had to become Merlin's. He had to put all his energy into keeping Gwaine and Prince Pieter alive, no matter what the cost.
He steeled his jaw, and tried to shake off the pessimism cobwebbing his mind. He was going to keep Pieter and Gwaine alive, he was going to stop Thiernan and Peg Powler.
He had to.
There was a shout from above, and the group stopped. Merlin barely managed not to walk into the mercenary in front of him, and looked up, feeling trapped in the black tunnel with this mass of heavily breathing and smelly men. Somewhere in front of them, he could hear some harsh grunting, and then a sharp crack.
Bright light suddenly filled the cave, nearly blinding. It soon resolved itself into daylight, and Merlin could see the outlines of trailing ivy and trees on the far side of the opening, dark green against a bright blue sky.
He hefted Pieter a little higher on his shoulders, feeling the prince trembling through the thin rags covering him. He was probably the only one not overheating in the cramped space. He wished he could see Gwaine, to convince him to not take as much of Pieter's weight as he was, but Gwaine was ignoring him, focused on what was before them. Merlin frowned, and adjusted the bandage on his head, wincing slightly as he felt it catch on the gash on his head. It felt squishy. Was it bleeding again?
Scarface, as Merlin had dubbed him, gave him a push when the group started to move again, and the three of them followed the crowd out of the cave, past a thick black door that had the appearance of something incredibly ancient. Ducking under a thick overhang of ivy, they were soon out in the sunlight, and it was fairly clear that it was well past mid-day. There wouldn't be that much light left this day, but it'd be enough to get them to the border, only half a league away.
"Start marching," Scarface ordered.
With no better recourse at the moment than to do as they were told, Merlin and Gwaine supported Pieter between them and started hiking through the rough brush after the others. Merlin took a look behind him at the hill—just in case they needed a back way into the castle, and watched as three men muscled the ancient wooden door closed and hid it behind the ivy, causing it to vanish. He could tell Gwaine was also looking around, trying to map landscape as well, before Scarface pushed them onwards again.
For the first couple of miles, it wasn't so bad, mostly downhill and the terrain was fairly smooth. Pieter was growing weaker with each step, though, and his head was dropping to his chest. How he was even walking at all after being starved for days was sort of amazing, but it also couldn't be endless.
Merlin tried to reconcile this thin, spindly prince with the boisterous man who had visited Camelot with his father and older brother Aymon a few years ago, perhaps a year after Merlin had arrived. Aymon had been aloof and cool—a little like his father—someone who obviously took his position with extreme seriousness. He'd barely spoken to anyone outside of his father's presence, and Arthur had declared Aymon "unbearably boring." Prince Pieter, however, had been a whole different matter. He was second-in-line, only a couple years younger than Aymon, but you'd have never known they were related. Where the crown prince had been stern and aloof, Pieter had been funny, bright and mischievous. He'd loved to talk, a little like Gwaine, and had known everyone's names—even the scullery maids—within a couple of days. Merlin had learned quickly that all the servants apparently loved him, for the Steward had to hold a lottery to decide who would attend him while he was visiting, something which Merlin had watched with some amazement (something about the prince being generous with gifts). To Merlin's mind, you could learn a lot about a person by how they treated their servants, and the general consensus in the kitchens had been that it was a shame Pieter couldn't be the crown prince. But then, Merlin wondered, perhaps it was because he wasn't the crown prince that allowed Pieter to be who he was. Merlin knew better than anyone the heavy weight Arthur had carried as the heir of Camelot, and Aymon had the same look, though he'd obviously been carrying it much longer, being a good ten years older than Arthur at the time. Arthur might have grown that stern and cold if things hadn't changed.
As for the other two brothers—Princes Renaud and Thiernan—Merlin hadn't met either until now. And Thiernan was giving Morgana a run for her money as the most evil royal sibling in Albion. Although, if he was being fair, Morgana had some reasons for being the way she was. He couldn't for the life of him guess what had turned the youngest prince of Mercia crazy, or how he could so easily kill his brother.
As if hearing him, Pieter suddenly slumped completely—whatever resources he'd been tapping into had clearly burned themselves out—and Merlin and Gwaine almost collapsed with him to the fern-covered ground.
"We need to stop," Merlin said to the mercenaries with them, as he and Gwaine struggled to get Pieter up on his feet again, finding his breeches had gotten snagged on some brambles. "Please. He can't go on."
"And not just him," Gwaine muttered, looking at Merlin worriedly. "Your head is bleeding again."
Merlin frowned. It had been squishy, and, if he thought about it, he realized he could feel something dripping down his cheek. Similarly, he knew Gwaine's ribs couldn't possibly be taking this extra weight well.
"We have to stop," Merlin said again with greater force, this time directing the words back at Scarface, since he seemed more leaderish. The mercenary just shook his head.
"Not happening. No time."
"The prince needs rest, water and food," Merlin insisted. "He's been subsisting on nothing for days. You can't expect him to walk the ten miles to the border without having some of that replenished."
"Then carry him."
"What, us?" Merlin asked, flabbergasted. "We're hurt; we can't carry him for ten miles."
"Not my problem, peon."
"But he's your prince!"
"So?" Scarface replied, giving Merlin a dark look. "Some accident of birth means I have to give him some measure of care? Why?"
"Because he'd give it to you," Merlin replied, ignoring the arched look Gwaine gave him at that, probably not understanding why Merlin was so certain.
"Please. Being Nobility don't mean they're actually noble." Scarface sneered. "They're all the same and none of them are worth the loyalty they're given. If it were up to me, I'd hang 'em all."
Merlin saw Gwaine wince slightly, obviously recognizing the sentiment.
"But you follow Thiernan," Merlin tried.
"I'm loyal to his purse, boy, not the man and definitely not his title."
Merlin frowned at that. "But—"
"Enough," Scarface snapped. "I'm bored. Keep moving."
Merlin frowned even more deeply, and looked over at Gwaine. Gwaine just shook his head. With a grunt, they lifted Pieter's limp body higher and continued on down the hill. It was awkward, as Pieter was taller than both of them, but if they canted forward, they could keep his boots from dragging on the ground, much.
But Merlin was growing angrier by the minute—unable to get over the absurdity of carrying Pieter the whole way to Camelot if something didn't change, and remembering his promise to himself back in the cave. When they reached the bottom of the little depression they'd hiked into, and they reached a thin, trickling stream, Merlin planted his feet, forcing Gwaine to stop as well.
"We're putting him down, and I'm giving him some water," he said, jaw set.
He heard Gwaine sigh and mutter, "this isn't going to end well," but he stopped anyway, and together they lowered Pieter down. The prince only mumbled slightly, completely insensible. In the sunlight, his bruises were even harsher, all yellow and purple under the grime—one whole side of his face looked like it had been kicked. It was amazing he was even lucid—Merlin had seen blows like that to the head turn a man's brain into mush. It was also easier to see just how frail the man really was—skin and bones would be an understatement.
"Hey! No stopping!" Scarface barked. Merlin ignored him, and went to get some water from the trickling stream. Scarface followed him and Gwaine stood up, clearly ready to act if Scarface tried to hurt his friend.
"I said, no stopping," Scarface shouted, grabbing at Merlin's shirt and causing him to yelp. "Get your ass back—"
Gwaine shoved into him from the side, and Scarface fell into the mud with a wet squelch. That stopped the procession of mercenaries in front of them, and even Thiernan and Peg, at the head of procession on the top of the ridge, came to a stop. Mercenaries jumped on Gwaine, shoving him down into the mud, one of them even sitting on his back to keep him down, while Scarface swore invectives at the top of his voice as he scraped mud off his clothes. Determined to make his point, Merlin ignored it all, soaking his scarf in the thin stream of water and carrying the sodden fabric up to Pieter. He wrung it out over Pieter's lips for him to swallow. Pieter came to groggily as Merlin then used the scarf to wipe some of the grime off his face.
"You shouldn't…" Pieter whispered. "…trouble."
"Shh," Merlin hissed, standing up to get more water.
Thiernan shouted something from up top the ridge, and Scarface quit cursing. He stomped up the muddy earth and grabbed Merlin's arm where he was soaking the scarf in the water again, pulling him to his feet.
And then he drove his mailed fist hard into Merlin's already bruised stomach. For a half second, Merlin couldn't see or hear, the pain so overwhelming as he fell to his knees, pressing his hands to his abdomen, as if that could somehow alleviate the agony spiking through his entire torso. He didn't even realize he was hacking until he felt the hand in his hair again, and a hand slammed across his cheek, sending him onto his side. Oddly, it helped him get his breath back, and, with it, his sight and hearing.
He could just make out Gwaine making inarticulate threats from where he was being sat on a few feet away.
"I'll punch you in the stomach with a knife in my hand next time, boy," Scarface snarled over Merlin's back. "You do as you're told."
Merlin coughed some more, but stubbornness pushed him up onto his elbows. Twisting his head, he glared up at Scarface.
"He…" Merlin coughed again. "He needs water. Just some water. Please."
"Call me lord, and…maybe I'll permit it."
"Please..." Merlin almost gagged as he spat out the next words, "My lord. Please let me give him some water."
"Better." Scarface walked away and knelt down by the stream. He pulled a tin cup off his belt and filled it with water. And then he turned and held it up. "This is all he's getting. After that, you carry him the rest of the way, without the knight's help."
"Wait," Gwaine tried, but his voice was obviously strangled by lack of air, so the word came out sounding more like "wuh." He was probably having trouble inhaling fully with the behemoth sitting on his back and his mouth half submerged in mud. Merlin needed to get them off of him—his ribs surely couldn't take more abuse.
"Fine," Merlin said. He took the cup, glanced at Gwaine, and then knelt down next to Pieter. He soon had Pieter drinking it, using the method of massaging his throat that he had seen Gaius use to get nearly unconscious patients to drink. When most of it was down, Merlin took a sip from what was left and then looked at Gwaine.
"Him too," he said. "Let him up."
Scarface frowned, but gestured, and the mercenaries holding him down got up abruptly, leaving Gwaine coughing and spitting out mud as he struggled to get up with his hands bound. Merlin knelt next to him, helped him sit up, and gave him what was left in the cup.
"You know I had some back at the cave," Gwaine tried. Merlin just frowned and pressed the cup to his lips, brooking no argument. It forced the mercenaries to get off his friend, and he wasn't going to give them an excuse to change their mind. With some reluctance, Gwaine finally opened his mouth and drank what was left in the cup. Merlin handed the cup back to Scarface and, with a sigh, walked over to Pieter and started to pull him up.
"Let me help him," Gwaine said, pulling with obvious frustration at his bound hands as Merlin struggled to Pieter's greater bulk over his shoulder without falling over. Merlin's head was pounding something fierce now, and, combined with the now searing pain in his stomach, he realized he wasn't going to be able to do this without a little help.
"He has to learn," Scarface replied coldly. "But I'll let you carry him by yourself tomorrow, if you like." He grinned wolfishly, and Gwaine looked like he was resisting the urge to shove him in the mud again.
Hoping their bickering would be enough of a distraction, Merlin whispered a tiny spell under his breath with his eyes closed, and felt Pieter's weight get instantly lighter. It would have to do. He shifted Pieter a little higher on his shoulders and then started walking before being told, crossing the muddy stream and leaving them behind. He heard someone run up behind him, and then Gwaine was by his side, looking at him with concern.
"Are you-?"
"Fine," Merlin mumbled.
"I'm beginning to hate that word, friend," Gwaine replied softly. Merlin didn't have the energy to disagree.
When they reached the top of the rise, most of the other mercenaries had marched on, but Thiernan and Peg had waited. Despite the magic he'd used to lighten Pieter, Merlin was already beginning to grow unsteady on his feet, and they'd only climbed one rise. Sweat was pouring down his brow, heavier and hotter than before. Or perhaps some of that sweat was blood—he couldn't tell—he just knew he hurt.
"What happened down there?" Thiernan demanded of Scarface.
"Boy wanted to give your brother some water, and wouldn't listen when I told him we weren't stopping."
"Is that right?" Thiernan said, now staring at Merlin, who was actually having a little trouble seeing clearly. Thiernan stepped closer, pushing Gwaine out of the way when he tried to get between them. Scarface pulled Gwaine back, holding his arms tight.
"Leave him alone, Thiernan!" Gwaine snapped. Thiernan ignored him, and also Merlin, instead poking at his brother's arm.
"What's the matter with Pieter?" Thiernan asked. "Why isn't he walking? You knock him out?" He looked at Scarface. "He the one that pushed you in the stream?"
"No. He collapsed on the way here. He's sick."
"He needs food and water," Gwaine stated, glaring at Thiernan. "Otherwise, he'll die long before you want him to."
Thiernan snarled, and lifted up his brother's head, his eyes narrowing as he studied his condition.
"Didn't think he'd be such a weakling. If we have to carry him the whole way, it's going to slow us down."
Gwaine snorted, pulling free of Scarface's grip. "Probably should have thought of that before you—"
"Shut up," Thiernan said, without much fire, as if it was beneath him to even have to make the order.
"I'm just—"
Thiernan slammed a hand across Gwaine's face, sending him to his knees without his hands to brace himself. "I will not tell you again, boy." Again, it was delivered almost dismissively, and Gwaine snarled. Merlin begged him silently not to make this worse.
"Can you fix him well enough so he can walk on his own?" Thiernan was looking at Peg now. "I've seen you do stuff like that before."
She gave a light shrug. "I may be able accelerate the healing process." She looked at Gwaine, her voice still that horrible husky rasp as she continued. "And I can replenish some of what he's lost, and expel the infection in him." Peg looked at Thiernan again. "With some food, it will get him back on his feet long enough for us to reach Camelot, but it will only be temporary as he is so frail."
Thiernan frowned, as if the very idea of even remotely helping his brother sickened him. Clicking his tongue in disappointment, he nodded. "Needs be," he muttered. He looked at her, gesturing at his brother. "Go on then. Get him on his feet."
She shook her head. "We need to get to water first, something more substantial than a stream. I need its strength."
Thiernan sighed heavily. "There's a river in the valley below us." He pointed at one of the mercenaries. "Go inform the sergeant we're taking a detour into the valley, to get to the river. Tell him I want the quickest route in and out." The mercenary nodded and jogged away to get to the head of the still moving legion.
Merlin looked sharply at Gwaine at the mention of the valley, but Gwaine shook his head imperceptibly. It was the valley of the black dogs. But how likely was it that they would attack a group of mercenaries like Thiernan's hideously ugly band?
"I thought you said to stay out of that valley," Scarface said, as if reading their thoughts. "Said it was dangerous."
"No one will approach us if we're with Peg," Thiernan said, with confidence. "Not even the black dogs are that foolish." Peg just smiled, all jagged yellow, blue and green teeth, and Merlin had to look away. He'd seen dried out skulls with better teeth.
…
…
True to her word, upon reaching the river below—thankfully a different meadow than the one Merlin and Gwaine had been in two nights before—nothing approached them as Peg stepped into the water. Merlin gently lowered the prince to the ground by the river near her, placing Pieter on his back. When he stepped away, his legs shaking with exhaustion and rubbing at burning shoulders, Gwaine moved with him, sticking close to his side.
Peg exhaled happily as the water swirled around her legs, the cape floating around her on the surface as she stepped deeper. She extended her arms out from her sides almost in exultation, and the heavy wool sleeves slipped down to her elbows revealing faintly bluish-green skin lined with stripes of green and yellow. If she wore anything under the cape, it didn't have sleeves.
"Look," Merlin whispered, squinting slightly as he looked at her. Gwaine nodded—he clearly saw them as well. The river witch's arms were bare except for a pair of silver bands around each wrist—identical bracelets that looked fused to her skin. Merlin could feel the magic in them, the whisper of binding. "Think they're manacles?"
"Well, I can't imagine something like that being into jewelry," Gwaine replied out of the corner of his mouth, looking around at the mercenaries surrounding them to make sure no one was listening. He needn't have worried—they were all staring in wonder at the creature laughing now in the river. She looked on the verge of melting into it and disappearing.
"Peg!" Thiernan barked.
Her laughter stopped abruptly, and she turned around to face the prince. There was nothing but pure hatred in her gaze, eyes black as pitch instead of the yellow-green they were normally. Without a word, she returned to the bank and sat on the edge, keeping one leg in the water as she reached out to Pieter.
The whole valley seemed to hush and lean closer, and even Merlin found himself enraptured as water spilled out from her hand and across Pieter's chest. He could feel the magic ringing out of her like music. It surrounded the prince's torso and rose to his face and into his mouth, similar to what she'd done to Gwaine in the cavern. Pieter spluttered, choking slightly until his body figured it out and started to drink. Peg studied him as she "worked," the water soaking into his filthy clothes, leaving them clean and dry as it disappeared, perhaps being absorbed by the skin underneath, the water falling away from his now clean face at the same time.
When she lifted her hand, Pieter convulsed, arching off the ground, and started to cough violently. Merlin was instantly by his side, rolling him onto his side so that he could spit out water from his mouth. Peg backed off, but not before she ran a hand across Merlin's cheek and head in passing, and he felt a chill run down his face. When she let go, his headache was completely gone, as well as much of his tiredness. He shuddered slightly, not sure what just happened. Shaking it off, he refocused his attention on Pieter, looking up when he heard Thiernan approach.
"It's done?" Thiernan demanded as Pieter's coughing subsided. Peg inclined her head.
"He will be able to walk. But he should have some sort of sustenance as well."
"Then here," Thiernan said, pulling a piece of dark bread from the pack hanging off his belt. "You, boy! Make him eat this." He tossed it at Merlin, who caught it deftly. Gwaine moved closer to Merlin, to see that Pieter was awake and, as promised, looked almost alert.
"Can you sit up?" Merlin asked. Clearly bewildered, Pieter just nodded as he pushed himself up on shaky arms, pressing a hand on his chest as he did so.
"I almost feel well," the prince wondered, his voice soft for Merlin and Gwaine's ears alone. "My chest is clear and I feel…healthy. How?"
"Not sure," Merlin replied, his voice just as low. "Peg did it."
Pieter grimaced. "Oh. So…is it real? I mean…permanent?"
"I don't know."
"Is he eating?" Thiernan boomed, finally stepping into their little circle. "Because I want him on his feet now."
Pieter looked up at his brother, and it was an expression Merlin knew well. He'd seen it on Arthur's face enough times when he thought about Morgana—somewhere between hurt, anger, disgust…and despair over the loss of something once dear.
"Well?" Thiernan demanded. "Why isn't he standing?" When Merlin didn't immediately reply to the question, Thiernan kicked Merlin harshly, shoving him to the ground with a pained gasp. Gwaine growled but before he could act, Pieter was between Merlin and Thiernan, up on one knee and hands outstretched.
"I'm getting up," Pieter snapped. "I'm getting up. Leave him alone."
"Good," his brother snarled. "Because we have miles to go before I'm letting you sit again. So eat the bread and let's get moving."
Pieter frowned deeply, but he stood, even though his legs clearly shook with the effort after so long without use. But his back was straight, and, once his brother had turned away to shout orders for the mercenaries to move out, Pieter turned and helped Merlin to his feet as well.
"You alright?" Pieter asked. Merlin just gave a tremulous laugh, brushing the dirt from his jacket.
"Yeah. Fine. I'm almost getting used to being one giant bruise." And it wasn't as much a lie as before. His body still ached unmercifully from all the abuse it had taken in the past three days, but without the headache, he felt almost normal. He pointed towards where Scarface was glaring at them. "We should get moving."
…
…
The mercenaries surrounded them as they walked, almost carrying them along as they headed up the tree-covered hill out of the valley. Scarface walked directly behind them, his hand on the knife on his belt as he watched them.
"That our keeper?" Pieter asked, glancing over his shoulder.
"One of them," Merlin replied.
"He win the job in an ugly contest?" Pieter asked. Gwaine snorted a laugh.
Scarface growled, but didn't do anything, and Pieter smirked slightly. He just rose another notch in Gwaine's estimation. Add it to the point he'd earned protecting Merlin earlier, it put Pieter in almost the same camp as Arthur, on the short list of nobles Gwaine didn't automatically feel contempt for.
"You should eat this," Merlin said, handing Pieter the bread. "Small bites, since you haven't had anything solid in your stomach for a while."
Pieter nodded. "Thank you." He broke off a small piece and chewed it as the walk became more of a climb as they headed back up to the ridge. They weren't following any obvious path, but it hadn't been difficult going along the verdant valley floor. Now, though, they were starting to wind their way up through trees and around rocks, sometimes skirting bits of limestone cliff and it was getting harder to find a clear route. The mercenaries continued to herd them, a bit like being in the middle of a pack of gnats, the nasty creatures constantly swirling around you no matter how much you'd like to throw them off. Gwaine snorted at the image, wanting nothing more than to start swatting.
As he followed Pieter and Merlin scramble up through a gap between two sharp boulders, he shrugged and rolled his shoulders. His shoulders and arms were really bothering him now, tied back like this. It also wasn't helping his balance either, but he wasn't about to let it show if he could help it.
Especially since they probably had a long way to go.
A goat track offered some respite from the uneven climb, and they followed it for a while until it widened enough for them to walk nearly side by side again. Gwaine noticed that he could see the top of the ridge now—about half the mercenaries were already up and over it.
Suddenly, Merlin stumbled hard, like something had tried to take the legs out from under him, nearly going down, but Pieter caught him under the arm, setting him aright. Oddly, though, Merlin didn't look at him. His attention was focused upwards, narrowed as if in pain, and Gwaine found himself following the gaze.
Ahead of them, already on top of the ridge, Peg was staring down at them. If Gwaine didn't know better, he'd swear she was looking directly at Merlin.
"You alright?" Pieter asked, his hand hovering near Merlin's elbow in case he fell again. Merlin shook his head, as if clearing it, and smiled at Pieter.
"Yes. Sorry. Just clumsy."
"That all it was?" Gwaine asked, looking from Merlin to Peg and then back again. Merlin paled slightly at the unspoken question, but nodded.
"Yeah." He walked ahead of them into the lead as the track narrowed to a single file path again.
Gwaine's eyes narrowed, wondering if Merlin had just lied. Peg had touched all three of them, now—he hadn't missed the touch Peg had given Merlin down at the river. He wondered if she'd left something behind in them—something that gave her some control over them. He wouldn't put it past something like her having that sort of power.
"We need to find a way to kill her," Gwaine muttered softly. Pieter was behind him, and he felt a hand on his shoulder conveying agreement. Merlin just sighed…and stumbled again, this time more obviously out of tiredness. Gwaine's arms strained against his bonds, wanting to help him.
When they finally reached the ridge, and started down the wider path that would lead them to Camelot, the three men returned to walking at each other's sides. Merlin stumbled for the third time, this time on an exposed root, and he was rubbing at his belly where Scarface had punched him. Thiernan's kick probably hadn't helped. Gwaine winced as Merlin hacked an ugly cough and cleared his throat.
The noise startled a rabbit out of a burrow, and it dashed across the trail, startling them to a stop. Merlin chuckled lightly, grinning at Gwaine, but then Scarface shoved at him from behind and the grin vanished.
Having eaten about half of the bread, Pieter handed it back to Merlin. "You have the rest. You look like you could use it."
"I'm fine," Merlin promised, waving it off as he scrambled over a boulder. "That's for you."
"I'd take it as a favor, please," Pieter said, climbing over the same boulder. "And also some for…" He frowned, glancing at Gwaine. "Sorry, what was your name again?"
"Gwaine."
"Sir Gwaine," Pieter nodded.
"Gwaine's fine," he said.
Pieter smiled lightly. "Gwaine, then," he said, as if Gwaine had just done him a kindness. He held the bread out to Merlin again, since Gwaine obviously couldn't take it. "Please, Merlin. The two of you need to eat as much as I do."
Merlin sighed, and held out his hand for the bread. When Pieter grinned and handed it over, Merlin proceeded to put it into the pouch on his belt. Pieter's smile fell.
"But—"
"Later," Merlin replied tiredly, rubbing at his head. "We've a long way to go."
Pieter grimaced. "Merlin…"
"I'm fine."
"No, I…I was wondering something." Pieter frowned. "Did my brother do that?" he asked softly, gesturing at Merlin's head. Merlin reached up and lightly touched the bandage that was still there, as if he'd forgotten about it. Gwaine noticed it was still spotted with blood but it was no longer leaking, and it didn't seem to have gotten worse, thankfully.
"No, this was…." Merlin blinked, as if trying to remember. "This was from before."
"We were attacked before we reached the castle," Gwaine supplied. "Merlin was hurt, as was I. It's why were stayed behind while Arthur continued on to see your father. To recuperate."
Pieter's expression darkened at that. "Ah. I see. And, instead, you got caught up in my brother's mad scheme."
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry."
"Not your fault."
Pieter grimaced, but didn't reply to that.
"Hell," Merlin muttered, and Gwaine realized he was pressing down on the bandage. Frowning deeply, Merlin reached under his mop of hair and found the end of the cloth holding it in place.
"What are you doing?" Gwaine said. "You need to leave that be."
"No, I…I don't think I do." Hildy had only wrapped the cloth around once, so it was easy to undo, and Merlin quickly released the bandage off his head. Blood had dried on his forehead, but the skin underneath…was unmarked.
"It's gone, isn't it?" Merlin asked softly, gingerly touching where the gash had been.
"Not even a scar," Gwaine replied in wonder. "It must have been when she touched you by the stream."
"I don't have a headache anymore either. My head feels perfectly clear."
"She also fixed by ribs," Gwaine whispered, "back in the caverns." Merlin gave him a surprised look, and Gwaine just nodded.
"Why?" Pieter asked, keeping his voice low, glancing over his shoulder at Scarface, who was far enough back that he didn't seem to be listening. "Why would she do that?"
Merlin's frown turned dark, and he looked ahead, though none of them could see Peg Powler at the moment.
"Who'll bet me that we don't want to find out?" Gwaine asked, flashing a smile.
"No bet," Merlin muttered.
…
…
Gwaine frowned as he glimpsed the turrets of Lord Corin's castle in the distance, the gray stone brightly lit in the wake of the setting sun. They were skirting through a thick forest to its east, traveling south along the river that he knew would eventually lead them all the way to Camelot. Corin Castle, and this river, marked the border.
Despite whatever "healing" Peg had performed, they were all exhausted from the long trek, and, if they didn't do something soon, in two days they'd be in the shadow of Camelot's turrets instead of Corin's. Gwaine could barely feel his arms, his fingers so numb he wasn't even sure they were there anymore. He was tripping as much as Merlin, and Pieter had been keeping a hand wrapped around his arm for the last hour or so. At some point, Gwaine had lost the will to even be proud and reject the prince's help.
So when the stumbled up to the top of a hill, through a gap between thick rhododendron bushes that towered well over their heads, he was unbelievably grateful to see that the mercenaries were using the sheltered, hidden copse to set up camp.
"Thiernan!" Pieter shouted angrily, and, oh yeah, he was feeling better, Gwaine realized, if he had his royal attitude back. Thiernan gave a heavy sigh, and turned to face his brother as Pieter strode towards him, still carting Gwaine in tow. Merlin kept up, jogging a little.
"Something you need, brother?" Thiernan asked, not hiding his condescension.
"Release the knight's bounds. He will not fight you this night."
Thiernan smiled thinly. "And you know this because…?"
"I make the promise on his behalf. You have my word on it."
"Um…" Gwaine said, frowning. "I don't—"
"Your word?" Thiernan grinned. "Well, isn't that sweet." He looked at Peg, standing coolly by his side. "My brother actually believes in that sort of thing. It's somewhat sickening."
She said nothing, her yellow eyes focused instead on Merlin. Gwaine shifted to block her sight of this friend. Merlin huffed.
"Please," Pieter said then. "He needs to eat and relieve himself. Do not demean him by having others do it for him." Gwaine winced slightly at the words, flushing slightly.
"My lord," he said to Pieter, "Don't bother. I'll be fi—"
"And how will you make him behave?" Thiernan asked his brother.
"He'll give is word. He is a knight. He will keep it."
Despite his exhaustion, Gwaine was getting a little tired of being spoken of as if he wasn't there. "Excuse me, your Highness and Lowness, but—"
Thiernan grinned and looked at Gwaine. "Will you? Will you give your word to, what was that, 'your Lowness?'"
Gwaine sneered. "Not on your life, you sick, homicidal piece of—"
"Sir Gwaine!" Pieter hissed, gripping his arm tighter. "A moment please, brother," he begged, and hauled Gwaine back a couple of steps. Merlin moved with them.
"While I don't doubt your stubbornness, sir knight," Pieter whispered, "you cannot hope to defeat Thiernan's whole army and Peg Powler tonight. You need your strength back, and I know your arms are hurting right now. A few hours relief will help. And…" His gaze was earnest. "…I have a feeling they will use Merlin against both of us tonight. You'll be in a better place to help me defend him, unfettered."
"I don't need defending," Merlin whispered, clearly affronted. "I'm not a girl. I'll be fine."
Gwaine glanced at Merlin, saw the lines of dirt and exhaustion on his face, the dried blood still on his face despite the lack of a wound. He also saw the purpling bruises visible beneath his loose shirt collar, where his scarf normally was. While Peg had healed his head, she'd obviously not healed the rest of him, and Gwaine had seen how stiffly Merlin had walked the last few miles to this place.
As much as he hated it, the prince was right. He sighed and nodded at Pieter. The prince smiled, clapping him on his shoulder, and turned them back towards where Thiernan was watching them with a tiny smile.
"You have my word," Gwaine said, scowling deeply. "I will behave this night."
Thiernan nodded. "How sweet." He grinned. "But I don't think so. Ghuron!"
Scarface stepped forward.
"Ten lashes to my brother for his impertinence. Against that tree over there should be fine."
Merlin gasped and Pieter visibly paled. Ghuron grabbed the frail man's arm and pulled, dragging Pieter away even as the prince tried to keep his chin raised, staring defiantly at his brother. Gwaine tried to stop them, but it only took a hard shove from Scarface to land him on his rear. The sick smile he wore as he continued to drag Pieter away only made the scarred skin more ghastly.
"Don't do this!" Merlin shouted, stepping in front of Gwaine. "He was only—"
"As for you," Thiernan said, "I think it's about time someone taught you your place, boy. Grab him!"
"What?" Gwaine snapped, scrambling up to his feet as three mercenaries grabbed Merlin and shoved him to his knees. "What are you doing?"
"You want to stop it?" Thiernan snarled, turning his bleak gaze on Gwaine. "Then start earning your keep, Gwaine. I brought you along because I wanted information on Camelot. Are you willing to give it?"
Gwaine opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He couldn't betray Camelot. He couldn't…
"Do it," Theirnan snapped. The first hit cracked across Merlin's face like a whip, and Merlin gasped in pain, reaching up to touch his cheekbone. They hit him again before he could recover, and then they were beating on him, worse than any beating Gwaine had ever seen. Merlin tried to fight back as they punched and kicked, he even managed to get in a good hit or two, but one of them slammed a gauntleted fist across the back of his head, and he went down, sprawling across the dirt, blood spurting from his lips and nose.
"Stop! Leave him alone!" Gwaine yelled, moving to intervene, only to feel a grip of iron on his arm. Peg held him tight, her hand as unyielding as a rock. No matter how hard he tugged, she was stronger. She didn't even look like she was trying very hard to hold him.
They were kicking Merlin now, and his friend tried to curl in on himself. Then one of them caught his arm with a visible crack and he howled, gripping the now obviously broken arm to his chest. Gwaine shouted for them to stop as they continued to beat him, twisting desperately in Peg's grip.
Suddenly, the crack of a lash echoed over the clearing, and he saw a shirtless Pieter slump against a tree, the first red welt appearing on his pale, bone thin back. Horribly, it was already marked with scarred over welts—apparently this wasn't the first time Thiernan had his brother whipped.
"Stop this!" Gwaine yelled again, looking at Thiernan. "Enough, please!"
"You'll tell me what I want to know?"
"Please, you can't—"
"Kill him," Thiernan snapped, pointing at Merlin, who was now completely out cold, a crumpled, bloody mess. One of the mercenaries pulled out a dagger from his belt and raised it over Merlin's back.
"NO!" Gwaine yelled. "Stop! Yes! Fine! I'll tell you what you need to know! Anything! Please! Just stop!"
Thiernan held up a hand to the man with the dagger. "About time," Thiernan said coolly. "They're rolling the maps out in my tent as we speak. You will tell me the best way to enter Camelot unobserved, and I want to know where all the main water sources are."
Gwaine could feel the tear run down his flaming face, his jaw trembling with sheer rage as he looked at Merlin's broken body on the ground. In the background, Pieter gasped as another lash sliced at his back. Gwaine looked over-five welts were already bleeding down the prince's back.
"Him, too. Stop the lashes," he choked.
"Not part of the deal, I'm afraid," Thiernan said. "You have no say over how I deal with my brother."
Gwaine shook, and he felt the blood rush painfully into his still bound hands as Peg suddenly released her hold. She gave him a knowing look and stepped away. She'd loosened the bonds—not enough to free him, but enough to get the movement back in his hands and fingers.
"Peg," Thiernan said then. "Take the serving boy down to the river and put him back together. If my brother-in-law here needs more incentive, we may need to repeat this lesson tomorrow. I wonder…" He smiled at Gwaine. "How often can I break your serving boy, do you think, before he loses his mind?"
Gwaine's shaking increased—he had never in his life felt hatred like this. Not even against King Caerleon. He set his jaw. He'd find a way to kill this madman. He would.
Peg walked over to Merlin and, with one hand, pulled him up and over her shoulder, like she was picking up an empty shopping basket. She looked at Gwaine, gave a nod, and walked away, Merlin flopping against her back like a broken puppet. The mercenaries grinned, one of them licking the blood off his knuckles as he grinned at Gwaine.
"Shall we?" Thiernan asked, smiling at Gwaine and indicating the tent the mercenaries had set up.
…
TBC...
If you think Gwaine and Merlin aren't going to put up with this for much longer, you'd be right. Only a few chapters left!