A/N: Okay, I'm going to stop apologizing for the wait. I'll still get the chapters up as quickly as I can, but I'm not posting them until I'm at least 90% happy with them. I was going to post earlier, but I was only about 70% happy. And you guys deserve better than 70%. Because you're all awesome.

It took some convincing for Merlin to assure everyone that he was fine to continue on, but they eventually mounted up again and soon arrived at the first village.

They met with the village headman, who led them to a makeshift hospital. The number of beds there was blessedly few. Merlin had insisted that Branwen teach him the basic counterspell, and together they worked to restore the victims, adding each trinket to their collection.

Next, the headman led them to a barn. The animals inside were quiet and glassy-eyed, but none of them had any kind of focus item.

Branwen put her hands on her hips and frowned. Her eyes roamed over the structure. "There," she said, pointing to something dangling from the rafters. They watched as she positioned herself underneath it. She reached out her hand, but then let it drop.

"What's wrong?" Arthur asked.

"I need to be closer." She looked around for something to stand on, then squeaked in surprise as Percival lifted her effortlessly onto his shoulder.

"Will this work?"

The bauble was hanging just within reach and, to Merlin's surprise, she smiled down at the big knight. "Perfect."

The curse was, again, slightly different, and Percival patiently allowed her to perch on him while she figured out the changes that were needed. After she worked the adjusted counterspell and collected the focus, Percival set her gently back on her feet.

The animals began recovering immediately, and the headman led the way to a blighted field.

Merlin found the focus hanging from a scarecrow and Branwen dispatched it. The effect was more subtle, but the field started to green visibly.

By this time, the day was fading into dusk. The grateful inhabitants insisted that Arthur's group spend the night in the village, and the offer was accepted with equal gratitude. The men took the now-vacated building that had been the hospital, and the headman and his wife took Branwen to stay with them.

The next morning, before riding out for the next village, they questioned those who had been affected by the curse. They all mentioned a travelling merchant, someone they'd never seen before. They also said that he'd wrapped their purchases well and persuaded them to not open the parcels until they were home, which gave him time to move out of the area before the curse affected them.

Armed with this new information, they set off.

About an hour from their next stop, they were attacked again. These men were different, though. They were thin and their eyes blazed with desperation. It was obvious to everyone that they were willing to kill to get food and the king and his group had no choice but to defend themselves, despite their reluctance to do lasting harm to starving men.

The battle was quick, with most of the men thankfully deciding on retreat after the first few fell.

Merlin took stock of everyone, looking for any wounds to heal. Everyone seemed little worse for wear, except Branwen. She was standing over the body of one of the attackers, her back to him and her arms clenched tightly over her chest. On closer inspection, Merlin saw that blood was dripping from one of her elbows. He rushed over.

Her eyes were glazed and she was breathing in shaky little gasps. He pulled her arm away from her body and blanched at the deep cut that ran up her inner arm from wrist to elbow.

His healing spell was cast before he was even fully aware of it. The wound closed and Branwen drew a shuddering breath. "Better?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Good. Stay here, I'll be right back."

He was retrieving his water skin to rinse the blood away when he heard Branwen call him. The edge of panic in her voice had him back at her side in an instant.

The wound had reopened.

His brow furrowed. Healing magic was really more Gaius' specialty, but Merlin had gotten better at it with practice. The spell should've held. He cast another.

The wound closed, and he watched it carefully. All seemed well, but just about the time he decided the spell had worked, her skin split open again.

"Merlin," she whispered, and his eyes met hers, wide with fear. "His dagger."

By now the knights had gathered around and he left her propped up against Gwaine while he hurried to retrieve the weapon from the fallen man. He was careful to not touch the blade, which bore familiar markings.

He turned back, casting the counterspell she had taught him, hoping it would work.

It didn't.

She was losing an alarming amount of blood. Her knees buckled, but Gwaine caught her and lowered her gently to the ground. Merlin knelt by her side.

"Branwen."

Her eyes found him, but she seemed to be having trouble focusing. He hoped she could still understand him.

"Branwen, the counterspell isn't working."

She blinked and gave a vague nod. She held out her good hand for the dagger and he gave it to her. She studied the blade for a moment, but then her mind seemed to wander.

"Branwen," he said, capturing her attention. "Please."

The raw fear in his voice seemed to ground her somewhat, and she again considered the blade. Her eyebrows drew together, then she took a deep breath.

The incantation's delivery was quiet and shaky, and she paused a few times as if she'd lost her place. When she finished, there was no flash of power. Her head fell back against Gwaine's chest and her eyes slipped closed. The knight jostled her gently. "Come on, Mouse. Stay with us."

Her eyes opened again, to Merlin's immense relief. "I think I've got it," he told her, having listened to the spell as she cast it, and recognizing the differences to the spell he already knew. He recited the incantation back to her with his mind.

She nodded.

He cast the spell. The dagger crackled and something seemed to shimmer away on Branwen's skin. He closed the cut once more and watched, hardly daring to breathe.

The healing held. The relief was palpable.

As Merlin lifted Branwen, Arthur announced, "Alright men. We're done traveling for the day. Find a place to set up camp."

Merlin came up to him, Branwen cradled in his arms. "Thanks, Arthur."

The king squeezed his friend's shoulder. "No need for thanks. I'd have made the same decision were it Guinevere." He shook his head. "She's such a little thing to have lost so much blood. Will she be alright?"

"I think so. I've got something in my pack that should help. The extra rest will work wonders, too, I'm sure."

"Well, working wonders is certainly your stock in trade, so I don't doubt that she'll make a full recovery."

The knights found a suitable campsite well away from the site of the battle. A large fallen tree blocked the view from the road and provided some shelter from the chilly breeze that was building.

Merlin propped Branwen against the log, then settled beside her and covered them both with his cloak. She snuggled against him and they watched the knights gather wood and start dinner. One of the knights brought his medicine bag and water skin and he mixed up a tisane that Branwen wrinkled her nose at, but drank down. He made sure she ate and kept urging her to drink water before she fell asleep.

The next morning, she was more or less steady on her feet and her cheeks had regained some color. But her face went so ghostly white when she mounted her horse that Merlin immediately got up behind her, afraid that she might topple off.

Arthur, having noted this, set a leisurely pace, for which Merlin was grateful, and there was a general sigh of relief when they reached the next village without further incident.

Here they found the situation to be very similar to what they'd seen before. The process they followed to remedy it was nearly identical, the only difference being that Branwen gave Merlin the counterspells and he cast them, so as not to put undue strain on her.

That night, they again accepted the hospitality of the villagers and they settled into different houses. Merlin, still concerned about Branwen, instructed her hostess to come and fetch him immediately if her health should seem to deteriorate in any way. The woman assured him she would.

He was awakened just before dawn by an urgent knocking on his host's door, accompanied by shouts of, "My Lord Sorcerer!"

He threw open the door to find the woman on the doorstep, crying.

Merlin fought down a surge of icy panic rising in his chest. "What's wrong?"

"Your girl, m'lord. She's… she's gone. I'm so sorry!" She dissolved into tears.

Merlin's heart dropped, and he stared at the woman in disbelief. Branwen had seemed tired the previous evening, but that was normal. Certainly not life-threatening.

The woman had started talking again and he struggled to focus on her words.

"… took her. I found this on her bed." She held a piece of parchment out to him.

Her words finally registered and his knees nearly buckled in relief. He took the paper with trembling hands.

The woman's shouts had drawn both knights and villagers out of their various houses. The king was the first at Merlin's side, and one look at his face had Arthur on high alert. "What's happened?" When he didn't get a response, he put and hand on his friend's shoulder, ducking his head to make eye contact. "Merlin?"

"Branwen's been taken."

A murmur swept through the gathering crowd.

"By whom?"

The warlock shook his head. "I don't know. But they left this." He showed the parchment to Arthur.

"A map." He studied it, then pointed. "And she's supposed to be there?"

Merlin nodded.

Leon spoke. "Sire, it must be a trap."

"Undoubtedly."

Merlin's relief was quickly reverting back to panic. He felt trapped and powerless, his mind racing, imagining all of the worst possible scenarios. He couldn't stand the thought of losing someone else he loved. Not again. Please, not again. But it was obviously a trap. He couldn't ask Arthur or the knights to put themselves in harm's way. But Branwen. He needed to think, but his brain refused to engage in any useful way.

He was fraying apart under Arthur's very eyes. The king reached up and took Merlin's face in his hands, waiting until the warlock's eyes found his before speaking. "We're going to go get her. We're going to bring her back." His words were quiet, but there was steel behind them. He raised his eyebrows, waiting until Merlin nodded before continuing, "But if we're going to do that, you can't. Be. A girl."

He waited. Merlin blinked, then blinked again. Arthur felt him relax.

"Then you can't be a prat." The familiar exchange was a lifeline and Merlin latched onto it with everything he had.

Arthur nodded in approval. "That's better."

"Or a dollop-head." He felt steadier.

"Merlin…"

"Or a clotpole." The anxiety was draining out of him. He could think.

Arthur's thumb moved to cover Merlin's lips. "It's time to shut up now."

The smile that appeared behind his thumb was little more than a ghost of itself, but it reassured him that Merlin would be alright.

"Ready the horses!" he commanded.