Merlin could easily say that he had never been more confused in his life.
He was in a clearing. In the woods. At least, it looked like a clearing. Somewhat. There were skeletal trees with things hanging from the branches like overgrown, swollen fruit, and the grass looked like it was valiantly trying to stay green but was gradually being worn down to a dead, brownish color.
His head ached, with what felt like memories, but memories he had never had before, like remembering a woman who was stabbed and had screamed, loudly, hoping for someone to hear her, except nobody had, and an image of the woodsman scuttling across the floor of the cabin to press up against the fireplace because he was in pain, and others, many others that made his head want to burst with the abrupt stimulation.
But what grabbed his attention the most was a small boy who was screaming on the ground.
Merlin got out (or, rather, fell out) of the sled-like thing he was on, and gasped as the sudden movement sent a wave of protestation through him. There was a flare of pain on his left wrist, and he looked to see the silver cuff from before, twisted and very obviously broken. The jagged edged pressed into his wrist.
Ignoring it, he reached out to the boy, and tried to turn him over.
The boy flinched back, and screamed louder.
Merlin then saw the boy was covered in blood.
"Got him!"
With a spasm of shock, Merlin turned his head to look to his right.
Arthur.
Arthur was here.
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With vicious satisfaction, Arthur watched as the woodsman fell. It had been quick, oh so quick, when he had been distracted by throwing something and had diverted his attention, it had given Arthur an opening just long enough to snatch up his sword and run him through. Briefly, he felt a flash of confusion as to how easily he had gone down.
Still, he supposed, even sorcerers weren't invincible.
Immediately, the dizziness relented to a manageable level. Arthur almost staggered at the change in his perception. The cut on his hand throbbed, the blood seeming oddly hot, almost burning.
Except, then, he registered the screaming.
With a start, he turned around, and his heart simultaneously stopped beating and dropped to his stomach.
Merlin was up.
And Bedivere was down.
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It hurts, it hurts, make it stop, stop it, it hurts, make it stop because it's like fire and I don't want it, make it go away, stop it and I'm sorry, I'm sorry if I did something wrong just make it stop and I want to go back home and be with the pretty lady and just make it stop, make it stop…
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Merlin's attention was jerked from Arthur by the small boy screaming again. There was blood, a lot of blood.
Then, suddenly, he saw the boy's face.
More importantly, his eyes.
His eyes, that were colored a bright, lurid red-gold.
Merlin's breath caught in his throat.
He looked back to Arthur, who appeared to have just heard the boy's screams, and was stepping toward them both.
Merlin didn't know what was happening. He didn't know why he was here, why he had memories that weren't his, where the woodsman was, why Arthur and the knights were here, who the tiny boy was, or why he was hurt. But one thing was clear. The boy was a magic-user, and Arthur couldn't know.
In desperation, Merlin reached out a hand to turn the boy's head so his eyes weren't showing.
And then the boy broke off his screaming and fell silent, going limp and absolutely still.
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Gwaine sprinted the short distance to Merlin and Bedivere, only a heartbeat behind Arthur. With a quick glance at Merlin, he assured himself his best mate was okay, if a little peaked-looking, but that was to be expected.
He wanted to pull Merlin into a hug, but he made himself crouch next to Bedivere. Immediately, Gwaine saw the problem. His eyes widened.
"Oh, gods."
A knife, wickedly sharp and perfect for throwing, a woodsman's knife, was embedded deep in Bedivere's right hand. In fact, Gwaine realized, the knife was embedded so deep that a good inch and a half had come out the other side.
Gwaine felt the nausea he had been experiencing earlier make a full return.
He heard Arthur take a sharp breath, and bark out, "Stop the bleeding!"
Bleeding. Right. There was a lot of blood, so much that Bedivere was nearly covered in it. Gwaine forced his body to respond and firmly pushed down the rising bile in his throat. He had seen injuries before, some even worse than this - but never on a child.
"What -" Merlin's voice was scratchy and rough, and he coughed. "What's going on?"
Arthur knelt down and put a hand on Merlin's shoulder, like he had to prove to himself he was real. Any other time, Gwaine would be surprised, but he figured that Arthur was understandably shaken up at the moment; and as such, his guard was down.
Finding a friend previously thought dead, then thought alive but insane, but now confirmed alive and okay was a lot to take.
Merlin looked, surprised, at Arthur's hand on his shoulder. He struggled briefly to sit up, and without a word Arthur helped him to lean against the sled. Merlin blinked, then gave a lopsided smile. Then he caught sight of Bedivere and it faded. "Who is that?"
Gwaine tore off part of his shirt and tried to find a way to wrap it around Bedivere's hand without aggravating the knife. He glanced at Merlin, and said, "Someone who helped us find you."
"You brought him with you?"
Merlin sounded aghast, and there was a note of incredulity in his voice. Gwaine winced. He couldn't really blame him, since bringing the boy along with them had led directly to him bleeding on the forest floor.
"We were running out of time." Arthur sounded as if he regretted it, but Gwaine knew that if they had known what would happen, Arthur would have brought him anyway. It had simply been the only option.
Before Merlin could reply, Arthur started to snap out orders. "Gwaine, get that tied tightly. Take my horse and bring him to Gaius before he bleeds out." Glancing at the wound and grimacing, he added, "Try not to bring him around. It's better if he's unconscious.
"Can you walk, Merlin?"
Merlin blinked again and said, "I think so."
Gwaine blocked out the rest of the talking, and finished tying the strips of shirt around Bedivere's hand. Scooping him up, he flashed back to when he had carried the boy because his ankle was hurt. Now it was a much more serious cause.
Gwaine ran to where the horses waited, and hoped he would be fast enough.