Chapter 7
Warning/s: A bit of slightly graphic whipping later on.
Disclaimer: I definitely don't own Merlin.
A/N: Sorry this took so long to get up – see my profile for more details. I literally wrote this in one hour, just sitting on my bed with my laptop, and I've checked through for errors – still, please alert me if I've missed anything.
Emrys has been stolen.
The Elder's head snapped up and he frowned at the small boy in front of him. Who has stolen him, Brennus?
The boy's face was composed and devoid of any emotion; his telepathic voice was much the same. Morgana.
How are you possessed of this knowledge, Brennus? The Elder raised his eyebrow.
His friends approach – the Once and Future King, who will bring about this Golden Age, and his fellow knights. Brennus showed his first hint of emotion since the start of their conversation, his eyes glowing at the thought of Albion.
Are they aware that you have read their thoughts?
Brennus snorted derisively, and then resumed to be audible only in his mind, Of course not. They are ignorant to matters of magic. Brennus whipped his head to the side. They are close. It will be less than a minute before their arrival. I suggest we flee.
The Elder held up his palm in a peaceful, calming gesture. If they are looking for Emrys, it is likely they will not attack. We will be patient, young one.
Brennus's eyes flashed. The boy had a hot temper and did not like being overruled, even by the much-respected Elder. Very well, he finally agreed, but I am retreating to my tent.
The Elder watched him march back to his tent with a sigh. He knew the man's father well; indeed, he was one of the most intelligent and skilled druids he knew; but that came with the cost of an extremely short temper and a desire to rush into things with no real thought for the consequences. It looked as if they boy was heading the same way.
The Elder had no more time to ponder on the matter, for as Brennus had predicted, a group of fix or six horses rode into the proximity of the camp. "Arthur Pendragon!" he called, standing with all the grace he could muster with his creaking joints, instantly recognizing the face of the King of Camelot.
Arthur looked surprised to be noticed, but dismounted and moved forward to the edge of the camp. "How do you know my name?" he asked curiously, as his knights followed his example and also advanced towards the camp.
"I know a great many things, but your name is known by everyone; it is by no skill that I recognize you." The Elder inclined his head in respect, and was mildly surprised when the King did the same.
"What else do you have knowledge of?" said Arthur, glancing around at the druid camp that he stood in.
"I know that these are your fellow knights who are your most trusted, most noble, and most brave of all those you have command over: Sirs Gwaine, Percival, Elyan and Leon." The knights looked shocked and flattered to be addressed in such a matter. The Elder continued, "I am also aware, due to the skills of a young boy within this camp, that you are searching for your friend."
Arthur regarded the Elder warily. "How did you know about Merlin?"
The Elder smiled slightly, "I told you; I know a great many things." He moved back two steps, and gestured for the knights to enter the camp. "Please, come and rest. You must have travelled for many days. I will ensure your horses are tended to as we speak."
The knights looked dubious of the offer, but were quick to follow Arthur when he accepted the offer with a small sentence of his thanks. The Elder led the five to a clearing in the middle of the camp, reaching out to Genovefa. Would you please tend to our guests' horses while they rest and speak with me? They are at the edge of the camp.
Of course, Elder.
Just as the small group approached the middle of the camp, a young woman, by Arthur's estimation just starting to step into her twenties, ducked out of a cloth tent and headed towards the six. "What form of care do the horses need, Elder?" she asked politely, curtsying when she saw the knights behind him. They bowed their heads in return.
"Some food, I think, but not too much; and some water."
"Thank you, Elder." The woman scurried off to the river that ran alongside the camp, collecting a bucket along the way.
The Elder sat down on a small log and invited the others to sit in a semi-circle around him. They lowered themselves onto the oaken benches and extended their thanks for his kindness.
"There is no need," the Elder protested, waving away their thanks, "I am glad to be of assistance to you."
Arthur started, "The woman back there – she called you Elder?"
The Elder chuckled. "Just a formality. The young ones call me by that name to show their respect, and likewise everyone does in front of visitors, such as yourselves. Please call me Morchant."
Arthur swallowed. "Morchant, we are grateful for your offer of help, and gladly accept. Please tell us if we can do something in return for your selflessness."
Again, Morchant shook his head. "Nothing is needed. I wish only to inform you of what I know." Morchant leaned forwards, suddenly much more serious than before, the small grin he had upon his face dropping off. "I know the approximate whereabouts of your manservant and friend, Merlin. He is being held by Morgana, but she has many, many residences."
"So he could be almost anywhere?" Arthur asked, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.
Morchant's eyes flickered to the man sitting on the end of the row. "That is true," he spoke eventually, after evaluating the man. "However, we are in contact with many other druids scattered among the country, and we all report to the leaders of each camp whenever there is a sighting of Morgana."
He pause before he spoke again, a great gravity underlining his words, "We believe she is trying to force information from Merlin in a desolate area. She is far away, for Morgana is lucky, and possesses the natural gift of teleportation, which is a hard task to most magic wielders." Morchant watched Arthur closely when he mentioned magic, and was pleased when Arthur did not even flinch, but continued staring at Morchant with an expression of great worry on his face.
"We cannot tell you an exact location, but I know where you can find someone who will be able to help you. It could take a week to reach her, however…" Morchant trailed off, his lined face furling in concentration. "Depending on your steeds, it could take you any number of days, but most likely less than a week, unless an accident befalls you. There is a lake, due north of this camp, and there you will discover more directions."
"If I may," Arthur said slowly, "do you know what information Morgana wants, and by what means of extraction she is using?"
The knights suddenly tensed, with the realisation of the impact of Arthur's words. They had been too caught up in the flurry of excitement to pay much heed to what the Elder said.
Morchant sighed heavily, clasping his hands together. "We believe she may be planning to invade Camelot once more, and she may have kidnapped Merlin to question him upon Camelot's defences and soldiers."
"Why not kidnap one of us?" Elyan interrupted. "We have far greater knowledge of weapons and the like than Merlin."
"Merlin knows more about weapons and war than any of you believe; he is a creature of intelligent mind and soul," Morchant said rather harshly. "It is my belief that she stole Merlin as he would cause a far lesser cry of outrage than if she was to take the King, or a Knight of the Round Table." Morchant regarded them all with his heavy-lidded eyes. "It is also more likely that he will break under her force, as he has not been subjected to as much training as knights."
"I'm assuming that by force you mean physical?" Arthur questioned.
Morchant raised his shoulders in a sign of defeat. "I am not entirely sure of that," he admitted. "That is most likely…although there is also the possibility of emotional trauma; that is sometimes an easier way to break a person's soul."
A young druid girl came towards the group. "Elder," she said respectfully, and waited for her greeting.
"Oanez," Morchant answered, "please tell us what you came to say."
"I was wondering whether the visitors wished for some water and food while they rest here," Oanez said, gesturing behind her to where two other girls stood, with trays of food and water.
Morchant turned to his guests, and arched his eyebrow. There was a unanimous nodding among the knights and the two other girls approached with their trays, offering them to each of the knights in turn, who gladly accepted the fruit and water.
"Thank you, Luigsech, Loeiza," Morchant said with a smile.
The three girls replied in unison, "Thank you, Elder," and skipped off.
Morchant sat patiently as the knights ate hungrily, and drank quickly. They had nearly run out of food and had been rationing, nibbling on a piece of stale bread throughout the day, nearly collapsing from hunger. The fresh fruit was a luxury.
"Thank you, Morchant, and to your people," Arthur said finally, when all had finished. "We should be on our way if we wish to recover Merlin." He stood to leave, and shook Morchant's hand gratefully.
"I wish you luck, Arthur Pendragon, and to Sirs Gwaine, Elyan, Leon and Percival. Let me accompany you to your horses."
The knights followed the Elder as he strode through the camp, his robes covering his feet, giving him the appearance of almost floating on the earth.
Now there were two men standing by their horses, fixing their saddlebags back onto the horses. "Elder," they greeted simultaneously.
"Teutorigos, Vercingetorix," Morchant replied.
"We have filled the saddlebags with fresh food, seeing as they were almost empty, and the little food left within was rotting," one of them said.
"Our greatest thanks," Arthur said graciously, bowing his head. They both returned the gesture and made their leave.
The five mounted their horses and settled themselves in the saddle, preparing to turn and leave.
"Do not forget my words," Morchant reminded. "Due north until you come across a forest, and then a lake. Go straight through and then you will meet rocky caves. There will be a desert and mountains. Along the way, there should be a helping hand every now and then. That is where we believe Merlin is captured."
Arthur memorized the words, his quick mind processing the words as he pushed his horse into a gallop, the other knights copying his example.
"Merlin, Merlin, Merlin," Morgana pouted, a long leather whip in her hands. She let the tip trail down Merlin's back, enjoying his wince as it bumped over deep gashes recently created. "If you'd just answer, everything would be a lot simpler."
"I'll never talk to you," Merlin ground out against the pain, determined to not let the stinging along his back overpower him.
"You will, soon enough," Morgana said nonchalantly. "I'll ask you again: how many soldiers does Camelot currently have?"
There was only silence from the young, half-naked man in front of her. She moved round to see his face, and forced his head up, the chains that held him up jingling. "Answer me," she hissed.
"Never," Merlin choked. Morgana dropped his chin and took a step back, regarding the annoyingly resistant man in front of her.
He was standing on his toes to avoid suffocation; if he lowered himself at all, a manacle around his neck would become taut and strangle him. His arms were held above his head by another manacle which encompassed both of his wrists, and was attached to the ceiling with a short chain that was yanking his arms up painfully.
Morgana drew the whip back, "Last chance."
There was no reply from Merlin and Morgana's face morphed into a scowl. She flicked her wrist skilfully and the whip cut into Merlin's back, splitting the skin as Merlin howled in pain. Blood trickled down his back and added to the stain at the hem of his trousers.
"How many soldiers does Camelot have?" Morgana yelled, over Merlin's cries of suffering.
Merlin's shouts died down to whimpers as he shook, the chains rattling irregularly.
"We'll try again," Morgana said clearly, running her hand down the whip to cleanse it of as much blood as she could – she had discovered that the deft flicking motion required to use the whip effectively had the unfortunate side effects of splattering whatever remained on it over the user of the whip.
"What is Camelot's defence plan?" Morgana tried, wiping her bloody hand on her dress, disregarding the stain.
"Elephants," Merlin said mockingly, even through his pain feeling the need to ridicule Morgana in any way possible.
"I don't take kindly to being mocked, Merlin," Morgana almost screeched. Her anger was getting the better of her and she lashed out again with the whip, once, then two more times.
Merlin's shrieks of anguish calmed her considerably and she dropped the whip on the floor, realising nothing would make Merlin talk. She moved closer to Merlin, admiring the pattern of gashes on his back, and touched them gently, appreciating the hiss of pain it elicited from him.
"I'll come back tomorrow," Morgana whispered in his ear, running her thumb along a split in Merlin's back. "You can stay like this tonight, and I'll see if you're willing to speak tomorrow morning."
She exited the cell and locked it shut behind her, slipping the key down the top of her dress. "Bye, Merlin, sleep well," she smirked.
A/N: Reviews? They do inspire me to write more, and please tell me where you think the story's going – I'll let you know if you're right!