THE WATER WITCH AND THE BLACK DOGS
By TIPPER

CHAPTER TWELVE: BRINGING DOWN THE CASTLE

They could almost feel it when it happened, the change in the atmosphere. Merlin was looking out a small window at the end of the corridor, watching the sun cresting the tops of the trees, warming up the air, when he realized everything had gotten a little bit louder. Gwaine had clearly sensed it too, as he was suddenly looking very alert, his eyes narrowed.

Then someone screamed—short and quick—but it made them both jump. It hadn't been a scream of terror, exactly, but something else. A scream of surprise, almost.

"It's time," Gwaine said, nodding at Merlin. Merlin nodded back, and they quickly opened the doors to Clarrisant's chambers and pulled out the body of the guard Gwaine had killed last night. Stripping off their armor, Gwaine quickly dressed the man back into most of it, then left him lying on the ground by the door. They were about to leave, to find Hildy, when the woman in question appeared around the corner and hurried towards them, her face flushed.

"Hildy?" asked Gwaine. "What's going on?"

She flashed a grim smile. "Just what you wanted," she said. "I couldn't get all of the servants to agree—many were just too scared—but I convinced at least half of them to play along. The other half we sent home." She looked at Merlin. "Your mentor's sleeping draught is working perfectly. The servants who took it started dropping like flies, falling into a death-like sleep wherever they'd been standing. The lower corridors look like they're covered in bodies. I started bustling around them, pretending to be suffering myself, and making a lot of noise about sleeping sickness and poison and how whatever the affliction is, it might be contagious, but that it's clearly magical." She smiled more fully then. "I've already watched a few of the mercenaries make a run for it—heading out through the caverns so Thiernan wouldn't find out. Most of the mercenaries are still here, but I don't think it'll take much more to convince them to all leave."

"Then they think Peg Powler has poisoned the water," Merlin said.

She nodded. "You were right—they were already expecting it to happen, and none of them want to die."

Merlin flashed a smile at Gwaine. "It's a start."

"I've been summoned to the Prince to tell him what's going on," Hildy said then, rubbing at the back of her neck.

"We knew you would be," Merlin said.

She nodded again, nervously. "I know."

"Are you sure you can do this?"

She blew out a steadying air, and then looked up at him, her gaze determined. "I can."

"Is there a place we can listen without being seen?" Gwaine asked. She frowned briefly, but inclined her head.

"Come with me," she said, indicating that they follow.

…

…

She hadn't been exaggerating; down in the lower levels they found themselves constantly stepping over servants lying on the floors or sitting on stairs, all looking pale and deathly still. Hildy adjusted a couple of them, putting their heads in more comfortable positions, and then continued on, walking ahead of Merlin and Gwaine by about ten feet so she could warn them if she came across any of the guards or mercenaries.

They had just reached the same floor as the Great Hall when she rounded a corner and suddenly went completely still. Taking the cue, Merlin and Gwaine ducked behind a couple of tapestries on the walls.

"Sirs," they heard her say, and a shuffle of fabric—she was curtseying.

"What is going on, Physician?" a man asked, his voice tense. "The servants, they—"

"They're sick," she replied. "And before you ask, I don't know the cause, but it has afflicted nearly everyone. I've been trying to find someone to help me move them out of the halls, but it's dangerous work as I cannot promise that the affliction is not contagious."

"I know the cause," a different male voice said, this one higher and more nervous. "It's Peg Powler that's done this. She's poisoned them."

Hildy hummed. "I…I can't say it's not. This sickness doesn't seem to have a natural cause, to have hit so many, so quickly and all at once."

"And you think it's contagious?" the first voice asked.

"No, I…I said I don't know." She sighed heavily, and then added. "I'm sorry, sirs. I don't feel all that well myself. I'm just trying to solve this for the prince before—"

"Before she comes in and finishes us all off!" the second voice snapped. Then, "Why are we still here, Matt? This is stupid. No purse is worth this. How can you fight something like her?"

"We have a contract, we can't—"

"Like hell. Fighting mortal men, no problem. Fighting a demon? No way."

"Well, I'm no coward. I drank last night, and I'm perfectly fine. She can't poison us if we don't let her."

"Oh, you really want to test that theory? Because I don't. You saw how she manipulates water—all she needs is a puddle on the ground and she can drown you!"

Merlin's eyes lit up at those words. Taking a chance that neither man had made it around the corner or was looking down the corridor, he crept out of the tapestry. One of the servants nearby had fallen asleep next to a bucket of water, where they'd obviously been using it to clean the floor, and it was just too good an opportunity to miss.

Pulling the bucket from the man's hands, he crept up the corridor and knelt down so he could gently tip it over, creating a puddle on the ground. Once done, he lowered a hand towards it. "Forþfléw meresteall." The water immediately started to flow, trickling towards the other corridor. Grinning, he jogged back and hid behind the tapestry again and listened to the two men still arguing.

"…let the water witch scare me off. You can run if you like, but—"

"Matt! Look!"

"What? I…oh. Christ. Where did that come from? Maybe…maybe a servant knocked over a bucket? I…yes, look. It's from a bucket."

"That just spontaneously spilled in the middle of the hallway with no one near it? And is flowing towards us? I don't feel a slant in the floor. Do you feel a slant? If anything, it should be going the other way!"

Merlin held his breath as the other man didn't immediately reply.

"To hell with this," the same man said. "I'm outta here, Matt. You do what you want. I'm not fighting mythical creatures for two pieces of gold a day." And, quite clearly, Merlin heard the sound of footsteps running away.

"Did, um…" Matt was still there, but the certainty in his voice was gone. "Did you knock that over, Mistress?"

"I've been standing here the whole time, sir. You know I did not."

"Then…um…right. You, uh…you should have someone look into that." And a second set of footsteps ran off. "Tom! Hold up! I'm coming with you!"

Merlin held a hand to his mouth to stop from laughing.

"Please tell me one of you did this," Hildy said, her voice shaking. Merlin popped his head out, and grinned.

"That would be me."

She had her hands on her hips, giving him what was probably her sternest look. "I nearly fainted, young man. That was mean."

Merlin just kept smiling. "But it worked!"

"I was wondering what you were up to when I heard you padding up and down the corridor," Gwaine said, grinning down at the bucket. "You are one devious crazy man, Merlin."

"I like to keep people on their toes."

"Well, I'm glad I don't work with you," Hildy said, shaking her head. "I'm pretty sure, once this day is done, I'll have used up all my luck." She gave them both weak smiles, and cocked her head towards the Great Hall. "Coming?"

…

…

She left them kneeling next to a grate, one through which they could feel a lot of heat emanating from the Great Hall on the other side. The boiling oil—Thiernan had apparently filled the Hall with steaming hot cauldrons of it to throw at Peg should she attack. It was his main line of defense—that and the mercenaries.

As they bent to hear better through the grate, they could hear Thiernan discussing the "sickness" with whomever was in the room with him.

"…certain it's some kind of poison?"

"What else could it be?" a man replied. "Did you tell the servants not to drink the water?" Gwaine arched an eyebrow at Merlin, recognizing the voice. Merlin gave a nod. It was Scarface.

"I would have thought they'd have been smart enough not to, once they knew she was no longer under my control," Thiernan replied.

"No one can accuse servants of being intelligent," Scarface replied. Gwaine smirked slightly at Merlin's scowl. "All I can tell you is—" He stopped talking abruptly at the same time as the sound of the main doors opening echoed through the grate.

"Ah," Thiernan said, his voice lifting a touch, "Hildy. Thank goodness. What can you tell me about what is happening?"

"Your highness," she replied, a little breathlessly, probably because she was curtseying. "I am afraid I cannot tell you much. All of the servants have been afflicted with some sort of sleeping sickness, one that, I fear, may kill them."

"All of them? At the same time?"

"No. Some were ill earlier this morning, and I let a few go home to their families, since they were clearly too ill to work and I didn't know if it was contagious. But, by now, everyone has been affected. I myself am finding it harder and harder to stay awake."

There was a distinct set of shuffling feet in the room, and Gwaine grinned, imagining that it was probably all the mercenaries in the room moving away from her.

"Can you tell me," Thiernan asked, "this sickness… Have all the servants been drinking water?"

"Water?"

"This morning."

"I do not know, my lord. I do not believe so. Some were afeard that Peg Powler might poison the water, so I know many were avoiding it. But many illnesses, once contracted, can be spread by other means. If a few have been poisoned by drinking the water, they may have spread the illness through contact."

"Contact."

"If it is waterborne, then it could be in the sweat on our skins, or in our blood. Even a small scratch might spread the disease."

"Oh hell," someone muttered in the room.

"So all the servants are down?" Thiernan said.

"Yes. And a few of the guards. And I also saw one of your mercenaries lying on the ground outside of Lady Clarrisant's chambers."

There was a long moment of silence, then, "Thank you, Hildy. You may go."

"Your highness, before I do, may I have help moving some of the servants to the upper rooms? I don't want to leave them out there, on the floors. If I could—"

"You say it can be spread through contact?"

"Yes, but, if the men wear gloves or—"

"No."

"But I can't treat them like this, spread out all over the castle, and, surely, if we're trying to prevent contagion, you'd want them out of—"

"Damn it. Fine. Jacques and Maynard, you two—"

"No way," someone said.

"I'm with him," another voice said. "I'm not touching someone who is contagious."

"I'm not asking. I'm telling."

"And you can keep on telling. We're not doing it."

"Fine. Ghuron, could you-?"

"No," Scarface replied. "Do it yourself."

"How dare you speak to me like that!"

"Like what?"

"I am a prince of Mercia, you—"

"I'm pretty sure, after today, you're not going to be a prince of anything, so, no."

"I will have you flogged for that!"

"By whom? Them? I'm pretty sure most of them agree with me."

There was the sound of consensus in the room.

"In fact," Scarface continued, using that same condescending tone he'd used on Pieter out on the trail, "I'm fairly certain that most of us are thinking that staying here any longer would be a very bad idea. We can't fight something we can't see, Thiernan. If this is Peg's handiwork-"

"It may not be!"

"Then who's is it? Hers? Look at her. She's barely standing and…oh, shit."

Something audibly fell hard to the ground. Gwaine looked at Merlin, his eyes wide, and mouthed, did she take the sleeping draught? Merlin just frowned, obviously not knowing the answer.

"She's out cold!" a voice called, high and shrill. "She's the only healer we have!"

"Don't touch her!" another voice said. "It'll poison you!"

"I'll touch her," Thiernan boomed, and Gwaine held his breath. After a moment, "She's still alive. Like she's sleeping. Someone help me carry her over to the wall." Then, "You are all cowards! She told you that if we wear gloves, we'll be fine." Finally, "Fine! I will do it myself."

"That's it," someone said. "I'm not sticking around to end up like her, or anyone else."

"What?" Thiernan sounded surprised, though goodness knows why. "What are you saying?"

"That we're leaving," Scarface said. "Good luck."

"Stop! Wait! I am your prince, you can't just leave!"

"Watch us."

"I'll pay you double!"

That stopped the parade of footsteps out of the room.

Then, "Triple," someone said.

"Triple," Thiernan agreed. "Tell the other mercenaries. I will triple your pay."

There was a pause, then, "Some have already left."

"How many?"

A longer pause. Then Scarface replied, "At least half since the sickness started. And a few went missing last night when they saw those campfires on the horizon." Gwaine gasped and grabbed Merlin's arm, but his friend just looked puzzled, obviously not understanding the import of what Scarface had just said.

Thiernan exhaled heavily. "So how many men are left?" he asked quietly.

"With your guards? Twenty at best."

"Hell and damnation."

"It's enough to hold this castle…at least, against mortal men."

"Provided we're not already poisoned," someone else muttered.

"Go tell them of the new pay. Make sure the ones that are left stay."

"How do you want them to arrange themselves?"

"Same as now. A group at the cavern entrance, and a handful by the front gate and on the walls. The rest…in here with me."

Gwaine had heard enough. He beckoned to Merlin that they get away from the grate, and soon the two were a ways down the hall.

"Now what?" Merlin asked, frowning worriedly. "That's still a lot of men."

Gwaine shrugged. "Better than forty," he said, grinning.

"So what should be our next move?"

"I'm going to make my way down to the caverns, to that door that marks the entrance, and lock the men in who are down there."

"And me?"

"Get Elyan. He's almost as good a swordsman with his left as he is with his right. Between the two of you, think you can get past the guards at the gate and get it open?"

"Why?" Merlin asked. "There's no way Pieter could have found help that quickly."

"Didn't you hear what Scarface said?" Gwaine asked, barely containing his excitement. "They saw campfires on the horizon."

"So? We're not far from the travelers road between Mercia and Camelot. There's bound to be-"

"Merlin," Gwaine said, pressing a hand to his arm again to stop him talking. "The only thing that could make a bunch of mercenaries nervous in the middle of night is a lot of campfires."

Merlin stared at him a moment longer, before his eyes widened. "Oh! Those sorts of campfires."

Gwaine punched him in the arm. "So, I'm thinking the gates should be open wide enough to let them in, don't you?"

Merlin smirked. "And after that?"

"Then, we'll see."

Merlin's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze examining. "You're not going to try and attack Thiernan on your own, are you?"

"Of course not. I'm not crazy."

Merlin studied him a moment longer. Finally, he gave a nod. "Promise?"

Gwaine tilted his head. "You don't trust me?"

Merlin snorted. "Not when you ask me if I trust you."

Gwaine shook his head. "I'll meet you here," he said. "I promise."

Merlin smiled crookedly, but nodded. "Alright." He took a step away, and looked back at Gwaine. "Be careful."

"You too."

Merlin nodded, and then shambled off, running at his limping gait. Gwaine's smile fell, and he looked at the wall that was between him and the men in the Great Hall.

He'd not lied to Merlin. He was going to meet him here. Just after he'd killed Thiernan.

…

…

He'd not lied to Gwaine, exactly, but Merlin had no intention of waking Elyan. He didn't need to.

Climbing over the sleeping forms of servants, Merlin crept out the main doors into the shadowed inner courtyard, which was empty of life other than some servants sleeping by a wagon of produce near the entrance to the kitchens. Looking up at the blue sky, he knew the sun was up, but it was still low enough that it hadn't made it over the top of the walls, bringing a decidedly cool air to the parade grounds. It added nicely to the creepiness.

Staying to the darkest shadows, he made his way around to the inner gate, took one quick look around, and slid through the open doors to the outer bailey. At the sound of voices, he quickly ducked behind a wagon near the inner gate. He could smell the oil cooking in spots around the courtyard, and more sitting in bucks on the wagon, the stench causing him to curl his lips in disgust. He mapped out the locations around the bailey with fires and cauldrons, the heavy looking tar-like substance boiling away, trying to decide if he could use them.

"Guards! Attend!" A voice shouted nearly on top of him. He ducked further into the wagon's shadow, as Scarface strode out of the same inner gate doors Merlin had just slipped through, clearly just moments behind him. It was amazing Scarface hadn't seen him. Probably because he hadn't been looking for him.

Merlin frowned, taking a moment to just listen and watch.

…

…

Gwaine ran through the castle to get to the lower levels, not pausing until he reached the doorway leading to the caverns. When he ran into the mercenary Thiernan had sent to tell the men in the caverns of the new deal, he simply knocked him out, jumped over his body, and hit the door full force from behind, slamming it shut. Grinning still, he slid three sets of bolts in place, and then rolled a couple of kegs of some sort of liquid, probably mead from the heavy honey scent, in front of the door.

Standing back, he wiped his hands gleefully, blew a kiss at the door, and then turned and ran back the way he came.

…

…

Merlin's patience was soon rewarded. Scarface had called the men into the open so he could yell the new terms of the agreement to all of them at the same time. From what Merlin could see, there were men on each wall – two on the western wall-walk and two on the eastern wall-walk, all with bows. There were also two men on the ground near the closed and portcullissed front gate, both the size of Percival (in other words, huge). Still, there were definitely far fewer than when he and Gwaine had scaled these walls the evening before. Only six men to hold the main gate? Not a lot.

Merlin glanced up towards the western tower. There were no arrow slits facing into the courtyard – they all faced out, which meant no one in the tower would be able to see him. Good. Feeling a little of his inner-Gwaine come out, he rolled his neck, cracked his knuckles, and stepped out from behind the wagon, careful not to put too much weight on his still sore ankle.

…

…

Gwaine looked down at the doors to the Great Hall, panting heavily. Two mercenaries were dead on the ground by his feet. He wasn't sure how many that left, but he almost didn't care.

Gripping his sword loosely, he grabbed the lock on the door and pushed it open. Instantly, he was assaulted by the oppressive heat in the room. He'd felt it earlier, when they'd been by the grate, but walking into it was like walking into an oven, one that smelled entirely of burning oil. It was sickening.

Inside, the room had been stripped completely of furniture. Instead, he found himself facing about ten heavily armed men standing around a dozen cauldrons, all bubbling away with oil over open flames, and, at the far end, by the largest of the cauldrons, was Prince Thiernan. The mercenaries had all tensed up at his arrival, but, upon seeing him, they all relaxed and Thiernan actually grinned.

"Gwaine!" he boomed, walking towards him. "Look at you! We thought you dead!"

"Not so much," he replied, hefting his sword up. "But you soon will be."

Thiernan's eyebrows lifted, and then he laughed. "By whose hands? Yours?"

Gwaine smirked. "Well, it's not going to be Peg Powler's. She's keen on poisoning you slowly, based on what I've seen. I prefer a quicker route."

Thiernan's smile faded slightly. "Well, you're not going to succeed anymore than she is. As you can see," he gestured to the vats of boiling oil in the room, "we're ready for the water witch. You know the old adage about oil and water, don't you?"

"Clever," Gwaine said. "But it won't be enough to stop me."

"Oh," Thiernan said, his gaze narrowing, "we don't need it for you. We need to save it for Peg. You…we'll just kill."

Gwaine grinned and crouched down, tracking the movement of the mercenaries as they approached him from all sides, swords drawn.

…

…

"Ghuron!" one of the mercenaries on the ground called, pointing at Merlin. Scarface turned around, and, upon seeing Merlin limping towards him, actually smiled.

Merlin raised a hand. "Hi. I need to open that gate. Probably shouldn't try to stop me."

"Well, look at that," Scarface said, the smile deepening into a smirk. "The servant boy's come back for another beating."

"No," Merlin said, stopping a few feet away from him. "But if you don't get out of my way, I'm going to give you one."

Scarface's eyes widened, and then he laughed. "Oh yes? And how are you going to do that?"

Merlin raised his hands up, as if to shrug. "Well, see…" He lifted his hands, palms towards them. "Pretty much like this."

"Oferswingaþ!" He shoved at Scarface and the mercenaries on the ground, sending them flying backwards ten feet into the dirt and cobblestones of the yard. Spinning around, he threw a hand up towards the bows held by the guards on the eastern wall.

"Forbearnan!"

Instantly, the weapons burst into flames, and the mercenaries yelped in fear. Merlin felt the hairs on his neck prickle, and he jumped to the side as the men on the western wall shot a pair of arrows at him, the shafts barely missing him. He pointed a hand towards the wall-walk under their feet.

"Áhríes ætforanweall!"

The walkway crumbled in a fantastic cascade of mortar and stone, the two men standing on it yelling in terror. One tumbled with the fall, the other jumped to safety, barely managing to scramble back onto the wall-walk. Merlin shoved a hand in his direction, at the bow and arrow he was still carrying. "Forbearnan!" And grinned as his weapon burst into flames, the mercenary throwing it away with a horrified cry.

Movement out of the corner of his eye showed that Scarface and the others were back on their feet, all with their swords drawn, and Merlin threw a hand towards them. "Hleap on bæc!" This time, they flew backwards even further, one of them hitting a wall and the other smacking into a cauldron of oil, toppling it and setting his trousers on fire. Merlin knew, as soon as they hit the ground, that the two of them wouldn't be getting back up again. Scarface, though, had somehow avoided being knocked out by rolling with the strike-he was the only one still moving, already struggling to get back to his feet. Merlin flipped a hand, and their dropped swords flew well out of Scarface's range.

Something hard hit Merlin hard in the shoulder, and he turned a glare to the man on the eastern wall. One of the two mercenaries whose bows he'd burned first had clearly fled, but the other was gamely throwing rocks at him.

"Really?" Merlin asked the air. The next rock, Merlin grabbed with his mind and threw it at the guard still on the western wall, who looked like he was about to join the rock throwing game. It hit him squarely in the middle of his forehead, and he toppled face first off the wall into a wagon at the base, smashing dozens of pots of oil. The first guard stopped, eyes wide, obviously uncertain of what to do next. Merlin quirked a smile—he could help with that. He raised a hand towards him, and the first guard instantly raised his hands in surrender, dropping another rock he'd been holding…and took off running down the wall walk towards the east tower.

Merlin grabbed him with his mind when he was almost at the door, and shoved him into it with a hard smack. The man collapsed into an unconscious heap on the wall-walk.

Which just left…

Merlin turned to face Scarface, who was swaying drunkenly on his feet, blinking dazedly. The mercenary glared at Merlin, breathing hard.

"What…" he demanded hoarsely, "are you?"

"Just a stupid serving boy," Merlin replied, "teaching you a lesson in how to respect your betters."

Scarface scowled. "I'll make you pay for that."

Merlin snorted. "How, exactly?"

Scarface just yelled and ran at him, hands raised into fists.

Merlin called a sword to his hand from one of the fallen mercenaries, raising it in front of him. Scarface ran right into it, the blade stabbing him straight through the middle with a horrific squelching sound. The pain of the hit jolted Merlin's shoulder and back, and he slipped back a few inches on his heels. After that, he just held on, his arms straining as Scarface's entire weight pressed down on the sword.

The dying mercenary stared at him, eyes wide. "What…?"

"I warned you," Merlin whispered. "You should have left when you had the chance."

Scarface huffed a last breath, blood spitting out of his mouth and down his chin. Then he grinned a sickly smile.

"I'll be waiting when you die, boy," he croaked.

"Doubtful," Merlin said, letting the sword go and backing up. Scarface fell the rest of the way to his knees, and then into a heap on his side, eyes still wide open in death. "I'm not planning on going where you're going," he said coolly.

Stepping back another step, he looked around the lower bailey. Except for the men he'd killed and the one he'd knocked out on the western wall, it was empty. He didn't know where that last mercenary had gone – the one that had run from the eastern wall at the beginning – and he didn't care. As long as he never saw him again, he'd be a happy man.

Shaking his head, he limped over to the switch controlling the gate, feeling the adrenalin that had been fueling him for the last hour quickly dissipating, leaving only a painful full body ache behind. Shoving the lever down, he shivered impatiently as the portcullis slowly lifted up. Once cleared, he limped the rest of the way to the doors and got his shoulder under the beam barring it. With a grunt, he lifted the solid wood, feeling every muscle in his body protesting at the motion. The heavy beam nearly toppled him when he got it free, but he managed to throw it down and away before he collapsed. Rubbing at his shoulder, he grabbed the lock on the gate and twisted, pulling the first door open.

He stopped dead cold when he saw who was on the other side. And Arthur looked just as surprised, sitting astride his horse about ten feet away, the animal dancing slightly. Behind him, the rest of Camelot's knights, and a large contingent of blue caped Mercian knights waited at attention. A ragged looking Pieter was sitting astride his stolen horse to one side, next to a handsome man who looked enough like him that he could only be his brother, Prince Renaud. Pieter's expression opened into a wide grin when Merlin met his eyes.

"Look who I ran into!" Pieter said, gesturing around him.

And Merlin started to laugh, hard enough that he started to cry.

…

…

Gwaine dove forward as boiling oil was thrown over his head, droplets hitting his head and neck as he rolled into a somersault and popped back up onto his feet. Twisting in place, he flipped the stolen knife in his hand and threw it with all his strength at the mercenary by the cauldron. He heard it hit with a sickly punch, the man gasping in pain, but he had no time to check that it was a fatal blow. Ripping a sword out of the body of another mercenary, he deflected a sword point inches from piercing him through. Spinning in place, he angled the bloodied sword up and cut down, slicing the man from shoulder to hip. Still turning, he ducked as a dagger narrowly missed lodging between his neck and ear, the blade skimming over his hair and taking a few locks with it. The mercenary who had thrown it, a bald-headed man twice his height, bellowed in annoyance and charged at him like a bear, sword raised over his head. Gwaine jumped over a body on the floor and over to a cauldron, grabbing the handle of one of the ladles, and threw a pint of boiling oil at the mercenary's face. The man screamed, dropping his sword in order to bring his hands up to his burning skin, and Gwaine followed through by stabbing deep into his heart.

Pulling the sword out with a grunt, Gwaine stepped back, letting the behemoth fall to the floor in front of him, and looked around.

Ten mercenaries had been guarding Thiernan. Now there were none.

They lay scattered about the floor, the stones around them a mess of blood and cooling, black oil. The whole room smelled like death. Only Hildy, propped up against the wall in a shadowed corner, a small smile on her sleeping countenance, looked well.

Gwaine turned to face the head of the room, to where Thiernan stood, his eyes wide. The prince was gripping a sword and a main gauche, but both were loose by his sides, as if he wasn't sure what to do with them. When he met Gwaine's gaze, he simply blinked.

"You…you killed all my men," Thiernan said, his voice soft, disbelieving.

"Not all of them," Gwaine answered. "I left a few for the Camelot knights in the tower. But, yes. They're all dead."

Thiernan shook his head. "But…you don't understand what you've done. Now there will be no one left to defend the castle when Peg Powler comes. She'll kill everyone, your sister, the servants, everyone!"

Gwaine just smiled and took a step towards him, hefting his sword. "Oh, Peg? Yeah, we killed her yesterday."

If possible, Thiernan's eyes grew even wider. "What?" He stepped backwards, away from Gwaine.

"Down in the valley. Turns out, water witches don't like fire…or big black dogs." He smiled. "Oh, and as for your servants? They're all fine, including brave Mistress Hildy sleeping over there. They turned on you, because they didn't like working for such a cretinous weasel."

Thiernan exhaled heavily, and took another step back, rubbing a sleeve over his sweating forehead. "I don't understand this. They turned….How? How did you—?"

"By being better a better man than you," Gwaine replied, smiling coldly, following Thiernan as he continued to try to back away from him, getting closer with each step.

Thiernan's eyes turned wild, and he raised his sword, setting his jaw. "So this is it, then? It comes down to you and me?"

Gwaine nodded.

Thiernan lifted his chin. "Well, we'll see who wins this final fight. I'm still fresh. Whereas you, you're-"

"Furious," Gwaine finished, lowering his head to glare at him. "And still better than you."

Thiernan snorted, hefted his sword and dagger, and crouched down. Gwaine gave a tiny smile…and attacked.

Thiernan deflected the first few blows, his strength still at its peak, and, for a minute or two, Gwaine let him think he was doing well. He backed up, letting Theirnan rain down blows, metal clashing against metal, driving Gwaine into the center of the room. But Thiernan was also tiring himself out, and Gwaine could feel the other man shaking in each crash against his own sword. A few times, Thiernan tried to follow through with the main gauche, aiming for Gwaine's middle, but Gwaine simply jumped out of the way.

Not that it was easy. He was sweating heavily, the heat in the room cooking them, and Gwaine could feel he was on borrowed time. His brain and body was operating on some sort of higher plain, where he could barely feel his pain and his speed was insane. If he hadn't known for a fact that there was no magic around, he'd almost wonder if he hadn't been enchanted. But one thing he knew—he was not going to lose this fight.

When they reached the middle, bodies of mercenaries boxing them in, the boiling cauldrons still popping and bubbling on all sides, Gwaine decided he'd had enough. Time seemed to slow as he watched Thiernan's swing go too wide, and the main gauche come in too weak to even break the leather on his jerkin. He didn't bother to move out of the way, instead he ducked, twisted and slid into Thiernan's space, throwing an elbow into his sternum and standing up to crack Theirnan's chin with his head. The prince staggered backwards, wide open, and Gwaine turned the rest of the way around, sword knocking the main gauche out of his left hand (along with a couple of fingers), and cutting a dark slice across his stomach.

Thiernan howled, bowing in half and backing up, pressing his left hand to his bleeding stomach. It wasn't a mortal wound. Not yet.

The prince tried to bring his sword back into play, to keep Gwaine at blade's length, but Gwaine snagged it with his own, spun the blades together, and pulled it out of Thiernan's grip, sending the sword flying into one of the boiling cauldrons with a heavy splash. Unarmed, Thiernan just fell to his knees, hand still pressed to his bleeding middle, and lifted his chin to stare unguardedly at Gwaine.

He was terrified. And Gwaine wanted to say, now you know. Now you know how my sister has felt for the last fifteen years.

Taking the hilt in two hands, he drew his sword back over his shoulder, eyes focusing on Thiernan's neck, at the rapid pulse beating under the skin.

"GWAINE! Stop!"

His arms froze. He was too well trained not to obey that voice, despite the fact that every fiber in his being wanted to finish this. Now.

"Gwaine!" Arthur's voice boomed. "You've won! You can stop fighting!"

Gwaine almost folded in on himself, feeling all the strength and power inside him suddenly wash out of him like flood over a dam. He looked over his shoulder, through the arms still holding the upraised sword, and stared at his king.

"Arthur?" he asked, his voice almost a croak. Still on his knees, Thiernan groaned and cowered, his back bowing around his wound like a captured beetle retreating into its shell.

King Arthur moved into the room, Merlin, Percival and a dozen more on his heels, the king's eyes never leaving Gwaine. When he reached his side, he rested a hand on his arm.

"You've won," the king promised him, his voice rich with pride. "It's done. You've saved a great many lives today. You don't have to kill him to prove it."

"Place Prince Theirnan in irons!" a new voice snapped, someone Gwaine hadn't heard before. The owner of the voice moved into Gwaine's eyeline, and Gwaine finally lowered his sword as he recognized Prince Renaud. Thiernan's older brother gave him an examining gaze, before inclining his head in almost a bow.

"Thank you, noble knight," he said, his tone respectful. "But King Bayard would like to be the one to deal with my brother's treachery."

Gwaine simply blinked once, feeling strangely adrift. He thought about protesting, about punching this new Royal, about saying a great many things….Instead, all that came out was the main.

"He beat my sister," he whispered, almost an appeal. "And he beat Merlin. Almost to death."

Renaud's eyes softened at that. "I know." He frowned. "He also beat Pieter and killed a large number of my friends. But I give you my word he will never be allowed to do anything like this ever again."

Gwaine studied him for a moment longer, searching his features for any sign of trickery or deceit. Renaud met the gaze, letting him take as long as he needed. Eventually, Gwaine lowered his head, resigned, and he felt someone gently take the sword from his hand.

"Let's take you somewhere you can rest," Percival said in his ear. Gwaine nodded, but he stayed long enough to see Mercian knights pull Thiernan to his feet and roughly clap his wrists in heavy, black chains. Only once Thiernan was being led away, the prince's head bowed, did he fully look upon his friends in the room. Arthur was right by his side, as was Percival, both looking ready to catch him if need be.

He spotted Merlin and Pieter standing next to each other a few feet away, the weight of what they had all been through evident in their eyes. Pieter gave a small smile, and Merlin waved.

Gwaine gamely gave them a crooked smile, and looked at Percival. "You know what? It's hot as hell in here. Anyone think to bring a tall, cold cup of mead? Because I could really use a drink. And please to God, don't make it water."

TBC…

Just one chapter (and the epilogue) to go! Thank you all for sticking with me!