A/N: So, yeah, this is a little earlier than I normally update. I got inspired, so I wrote. I'm sorry if maybe Gwaine seems a little OOC . . . he's kind of hard for my to write.

This chapter is dedicated to mishapocalittica, a loyal reader and new reviewer! And yes, I want to hug poor Merlin too . . . .

R&R everybody!

Lancelot POV

As if his day hadn't been bad enough to start with. Lancelot had been worried about Merlin after what had happened with the girl, what was set to happen to her in three days' time. But he'd never thought of this as a possible outcome. The idea of Merlin hurting himself . . . it was one that didn't fit. One that did not fit who Merlin was, the man Lancelot knew him to be. The young man who put up with Arthur and Gwaine with a smile on his face (Gwaine was actually not too bad, come to think of it), who had made Arthur into the great, kind king he was today. The Merlin who laughed at jokes and blanched at the idea of killing rabbits.

Lancelot sprinted through the lower town, scanning the crowd for Gaius; not seeing the old man anywhere. Suddenly, a familiar building came into view. Perhaps he would find help there. Well . . . actually there was no perhaps about it. He would drag Gwaine away from whatever rink he'd bought if he had to.

He entered the tavern, maneuvering around the crammed tables toward the back where Gwaine was entertaining a young lady with what appeared to be a grossly exaggerated story.

"Gwaine," Lancelot hissed, pulling the other knight up by the arm.

"Wha' is it man? Come on . . . get offa me . . ." The slurred words and empty tankard on the table told Lancelot all he needed to know. His friend was drunk, but not too drunk to help.

"It's Merlin," he said, his tone conveying that it wasn't something good about Merlin.

Gwaine paled, plunking a coin on the table and saying good-bye to the girl before standing up in a hurry and following his brother in arms out the door.

"What happened?" He asked, urgency coloring his words. Lancelot debated on what to tell him. The knight was at least as loyal to Merlin as Lancelot was, perhaps it would be a good idea to withhold the details for now if they were to find Gaius.

"He's hurt, badly. Gaius is in the lower town, but I can't find him."

"You check the market, I'll look around," Gwaine said, and turned to go.

"Wait," Lancelot called, a thought coming to him. "If you find him, come find me after he gets to the Citadel. There can be no delays."

Gwaine nodded, and disappeared down the street. Lancelot turned, shielding his eyes against the sun, and plunged into the busy market.

GWAINE POV

It hadn't taken too long to find Gaius, actually, it was lucky coincidence. Gwaine had just turned the corner and there he was, stepping down from a building's stoop, closing his bag.

"Gaius!" He called, catching the old physician's attention.

"What is it, Sir Gwaine?"

"It's Merlin. Lancelot said he's badly hurt," Gwaine said, and suddenly learned how fast an old man could move. Gwaine jogged to catch up to the physician, trying to part the crowd in front of him so they could get to the Citadel quicker.

"Oi! Lance!" The knight looked up as they passed through the market place and ran to meet them.

"Sir Lancelot," Gaius greeted him.

"Gaius," was the curt response as they passed through the Citadel gates. "He's in his room . . ." Lancelot said, and Gwaine noted the tremor in his voice as he said it.

"How badly is his wound?" he asked quietly as they made their way to the physician's chambers. Lancelot just shook his head, pressing a hand over his mouth . . . and . . . were those . . . tears!? No way. No way in Hell was Lancelot crying . . . Gwaine had never seen him cry. Sure, he'd looked sad before . . . but as for tears, well, now Gwaine was almost afraid of what he'd find in Merlin's room.

The door to Merlin's room was open when they got there, and Gwaine entered the room behind Gaius. He almost didn't need to look at Merlin to know what happened. The smell of blood, the knife abandoned in a blood-drenched corner. He'd seen this before, done by men with nothing left but a bunch of debt and no way out. But . . . Merlin? No, oh gods . . . please no . . . .

When Gwaine turned his attention to the bed, where Gaius was instructing Lancelot to grab things from the other room, his breath stopped. Arthur was sitting on the hard mattress, Merlin pulled against him, tear tracks glittering on the King's face. Gwaine stumbled towards them, shaking hand pressing lightly into Merlin's neck, searching for a pulse. Gods . . . he was so cold, so pale, so . . . still. Gwaine felt the ground dropping out from under his feet. There was blood on the sheets, blood on Arthur's hands, blood on Merlin's clothes, his feet, soaking through the bandages on his arms. Blood everywhere, so much of it that Gwaine almost looked around for another body. Then he felt the pulse of life under his fingers. Thready, weak, and tired, but there. Oh gods . . . Merlin was alive.

"What happened?" he asked, voice hoarse.

"Don't know," said Arthur, shifting slightly under Merlin's weight. "Gaius . . . do you . . .?"

"I have . . . an idea, Sire," Gaius said as Lancelot came back with water, a pot, and clean bandages. "What was the verdict on the Mair girl?"

"Sentenced to hanging in three days' time," Arthur murmured. Then he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall with a groan. "She told me," he said. "The sorceress told me, as her dying request, to find Merlin. Do you think she knew?"

"It's possible, Sire, if what she said about being an enchantress is true." At Arthur's questioning glance, Gaius continued. "Before the ban on magic, there were different known types of magical beings. Enchantresses were often times also seers, able to see the future."

"Like Morgana." Arthur's voice was tired, and as Gwaine pulled a chair from the wall to sit on, he winced. Morgana was not something that should be brought up in a time like this.

"Not . . . exactly. Morgana is a seer," Gaius said as he unwrapped the clumsy, blood-soaked bandages from Merlin's wounds. "But she is not an enchantress. Enchantresses are healers, are much like druids in their peace. Very few high-priestesses were enchantresses. Battle-magic is not an enchantress' forte, such as healing-magic is not a mage's forte. There were many different names for magic-folk than sorcerer, Sire."

The pale skin that had been under the bandages was coated with blood, some of it dry, but much of it gleaming and fresh. Gwaine balled his hands into fists to hide the shaking. Gaius dipped one of the bandages into the water, gently cleaning away the blood from the skin. Lancelot stood in the doorway, watching with his hand still firmly over his mouth. Gwaine couldn't blame him. They were knights, they were used to blood . . . but not this. Not this, never this, not Merlin. It was enough that he was injured, the servant was never injured, no matter what situations he got himself into. But the knife, with its blood-stained blade seemed to be taunting him. As if it were saying 'Ah, but there was a side to him you didn't know, wasn't there? A side that you never even imagined, not even when you were most worried.'

A muffled cry from the bed brought his thoughts back to reality. "What is that!?" Arthur's strangled voice had cut through Gwaine's thought like a knife through butter. Gaius had washed away the blood on Merlin's left arm, and the cuts there formed a word.

Gwaine saw red. He was suddenly unable to breathe, unable to speak, hardly able to think. Because the word Merlin had carved into his own skin was a word that . . . that almost explained everything.

MONSTER.

A/N: Thoughts? I don't know . . . I think it went better than I thought it would. But tell me what you think! (And many, MANY thanks for reading.)