You know, I was so close to finishing the last sections of this story that day I updated chapter 32, the one day a week I have completely off. Then, just before I finish—I get called in to work.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU—! DX


~33~ Liberation

Merlin ghosted across the camp like a wraith, making for the three carriages at the north edge of the clearing. He dodged from tent to tent, using the shadows cast by uncertain light to his advantage. The horses tethered there sensed his presence and began to stamp nervously, nickering and tossing their heads. The warlock winced at the sounds, noticing for the first time the three guards standing at the points of a triangle around Arthur's prison. They were watching around them warily, but seemed in no hurry to go anywhere.

Blast, Merlin thought, glowering at the guards as if hoping to eliminate them through his eyes alone. No Blackhand can be looking my way when I do this, else they will See my magic, he reminded himself, and ducked behind the first construction, a supply waggon.

The rocks made no sound as each of them lifted from the ground and hovered. Simultaneously, they threw themselves at the three guards, cracking against their temples and knocking them out cold.

Merlin's eyebrows rose to hide in his bangs as the Blackhands slumped to the ground in heaps.

"Well, that was easy."

Now, he warlock opened a hand towards the unsettled horses.

"Cëssabít, fratrės," he whispered, and gradually, the beasts calmed, lowering their heads and ceasing their incessant whinnying.

Hoping that Arthur wouldn't notice their sudden tranquillity, Merlin slipped past the beasts to the middlemost waggon and peeked inside the barred window.

"Arthur," he hissed. "Arthur!"

For a few heart-stopping moments, he thought that it was empty. But then he heard something shift in the darkness.

"Merlin?"

The voice was weak, agonized, but definitely the king's. Merlin heaved a sigh of relief.

"You're alive. Thank gods."

"Merlin, what's happening?"

The warlock glanced over his shoulder, trying to see if Gwen had retrieved the Heart from Argus Vane's tent yet. "I think we're getting you out of here, but I can't be sure."

"You know thinking's bad for you."

"It drowns my sorrows birthed of your abuse."

"Aw, poor muffin."

Merlin snorted and fiddled with the door. "Locked."

"You don't say?"

Arthur certainly sounded lighter than he had a moment ago. He would be in absolute agony, but with the prospect of freedom...

"I'm going to have to rip the door off," said Merlin smoothly, investigating the lock and hinges carefully.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"It's going to make a hell of a lot of noise though."

"Did you say, 'rip the door off?'"

Merlin glanced over his shoulder again, realizing that most of the Blackhands had charged into the woods to find the people chucking rocks at them. That was to say, Baldwin and Tiberius. Not many remained to guard the camp, and even they were focused on the surrounding trees, calling out to one another.

A sound barrier would be like waving ten torches around, he thought. I'll just have to risk it.

"I hope one arm will be strong enough," he muttered to himself, remembering his ravaged left shoulder. He grasped the handle with his right hand, put one foot on the waggon, and yanked with all his might.

There were three loud cracks as the hinges tore free and the lock shattered. The waggon bucked. Merlin staggered, the weight of the door hauling him back. Abandoning the debris, the warlock hurried to the open void of the carriage, trying to see inside. There was a heavy stench of old blood and dried sweat, but he ignored that in his desperation to see his friend.

"Bloody hell, Merlin," said the king quietly, his face a pale blur in the darkness. His eyes were wide. "That must have been...the most amazing thing you've ever done."

"Come on, there's no time to waste."


Arthur dragged himself painfully to the open exit of the waggon, grimacing as innumerable wounds split open, oozing fresh blood. His arms trembled with the effort, and he collapsed.

"I can't," he said, shivering. "I can't..."

"You must, Arthur," Merlin hissed urgently, glancing over his shoulder again. "They'll come back any second, and Gwen is getting—"

"Gwenevere's here?" the king demanded, perking. "What the hell—? Why is she here, Merlin? Go! Get her somewhere safe!"

"We're not leaving you, clotpole!" he snapped, reaching into the darkness for Arthur's hand. "Now move. Don't make me come in there..."

But Arthur just wanted to lie there. It was painful, oh so painful. It was as though he'd been mauled by a pack of ravenous dogs and left to die.

"I can't, Merlin. Please, just leave me—" Arthur recoiled as his manservant leaped into the waggon and proceeded to pick him up. Merlin, pick him up!

"What're you doing? Let me go!"

"Shut it!" the servant hissed, pulling the king to lean on his right shoulder. His left, it would seem, was handicapped. Arthur wondered what happened. "We're risking everything for you! Don't ruin it by being a girl's petticoat."

"You can't talk to your king that way."

"What are you going to do? Fire me? Go ahead. It'll be a nice reprieve."

Arthur was too pained to construct a comeback as Merlin helped him off the waggon. He may be strong, but he wasn't gentle.

"Ow," he grunted, freezing in his tracks. Merlin said nothing, probably because he'd just seen the clumsily-bound wounds covering the king's whole body.

"How on earth are you still alive," he breathed, and Arthur harrumphed.

"The beast isn't ready to die yet."

There was a commotion rising near the edge of the camp. Blackhands were returning.

"Damn. We have to go, now." Merlin started to drag Arthur back into the darkness, and as realization of the energy penetrated the king's consciousness, adrenaline began to seep into his blood.

"Wait. I can walk." He pulled away from Merlin, who looked unsurprised at the sudden strength.

"The werewolf is lending you energy," he said softly with a wince. "I've been running on it for the past several hours."

"Wait, how badly are you hurt?" It was too late to smother the visible concern Arthur displayed, but Merlin didn't seem to care for the empathy.

"I'll live. Now let's move."

Arthur limped towards the trees, casting nervous glances about the camp. "Where's Gwen?"

"Like I said, she's getting the Heart. In a few moments, she'll join you at that knoll, there, on the hillside." Merlin pointed. "As will the knights."

"Hold on...You said, 'She'll join you.' What are you doing?"

"Causing a distraction."

Arthur stopped, forcing his servant to do the same. "Oh, no no no. You're coming with us."

"Sire, there's no time! We'd have no chance of getting away. Besides," he added, hitting Arthur lightly on the shoulder, "I'm a werewolf. What's the worst that could happen?"

To the east, Rowan howled.

Ͻ Ϫ Ͻ

"Locked, locked! How could it be locked?" Gwen's irrational protests were as helpful as a bucket with a hole, yet she couldn't help but kick the fastened trunk in frustration.

"Maybe there's a key in here," said Sophia calmly, scanning Argus Vane's tent carefully. But besides the cot, the chair, and the chest, there was no other furniture in which it could be hiding in. "Maybe one of the guards has it."

"Or Vane himself," Gwen said flatly, fuming. "Should have known it wouldn't be this easy."

Ha, 'easy,' she sneered inwardly. It only took killing a man and skulking around the tent in fear that she would be caught, which would have been a fatal mistake. Just an everyday task for a queen of Camelot.

Sophia searched the guards, but the endeavour proved fruitless. She stared at Gwen, hard. "Come. We'll take the whole thing."

"What?"

"What choice have we? Take that end."

Together, both women took a handle on either side of the chest, bending at the knees. Sophia grasped hers with only one hand, her other wrist bound in a cast.

"Ready? One, two, heave."

They hoisted the chest up with twin grunts, breathing through their noses as they held the full weight. There must have been a suit of armour in there, with the owner still wearing it!

"Grab the bottom! Good. Now let's go."

The pair of them shuffled for the entrance of the tent, Sophia going backwards, Gwen moving forwards. Tearing free of the canvas flaps, they found themselves back in the night, dark after the candle-lit interior of the tent.

"Where to?" Sophia gasped, and Gwen jerked her head.

"Towards that hill. We're to rendezvous at that rocky knoll, there."

"You want to carry this thing all the way up there?"

"If you have any better solutions—"

"Oi! Halt!"

Gwen stumbled in surprise, forcing them both to drop the chest with the Silver Heart and whirl around. Two Blackhands rushed towards them, each bearing a spear.

"Get back, my lady!" Sophia pushed Gwenevere behind her and made ready, but the queen knew she had no chance against two armed men, well-trained or no.

"You can't face them alone—!"

"Intruders!" one cultist roared, thrusting his spear at the Silverblood. "We're under attack—awk!"

For a moment, Gwen thought that Sophia had done something to the sentry. But the Silverblood warrior was just as shocked when the man slumped forward, a dagger buried in his back. The other Blackhand was too slow to react before Gwaine slammed into him, knocking him onto his face.

"My lady," said the knight gracefully, bowing at the waist before his queen.

"No time for formalities! They've heard the alarm!" Leon limped past Gwaine, Elyan and Percival in tow.

Sure enough, at least a dozen Blackhands were jogging back into their camp, bristling with drawn weapons and scanning about for the interlopers.

"Percival, get the chest!" Elyan scooped up one of the sentry's spears and kicked the living one in the head, knocking him out cold. Sophia took up the other spear, while Leon snagged a sword.

As told, the huge knight lifted the chest with a grunt, doing alone what Sophia and Gwen could barely do together.

"Damn," he grunted. "I thought you were supposed to get the Heart, not loot the place!"

"Move it!" Gwaine kept Gwen ahead of him as they fled the incoming Blackhand horde. It didn't help, though, when more of the cultists emerged from the northeastern end of the camp, the direction of their meeting point. They were surrounded.

"Get ready for a battle of your lives," Gwaine grunted, and rushed forward to meet the first cultist.


"They've been caught!" Arthur turned around at the sound of the alarm, already running back towards the camp.

"No, Arthur!" Merlin lunged and snagged his loose, bloodstained cotton shirt. "You stay here. I'll go back and cause the distraction. We cannot waver from the plan!"

"What distraction could you possibly do?" the king demanded impatiently. Gwen was in danger!

"Just—trust me, okay?"

Arthur was torn. He couldn't be much help even with the werewolf blood. But he needed to help Gwen...

"I'm not leaving you," he said in determination, and Merlin growled.

"You're not leaving me. I'm leaving you. Now stay—here!" With that, he charged back towards the clearing, leaving Arthur alone in the woods.

The king waited for about thirty seconds. Then he ran after his servant.


Go get 'em, mate.

"The brethren know they face extinction. All that remains is where they make their final stand." ~ Cutler Beckett (Pirates of the Caribbean)