Chapter Sixteen

Hi!

Once again, I'm later than I'd thought I'd be...but this chapter is actually rather long, and encompasses several different POVs.

On another note: Thank you everyone! You've given me so much support for this story! So thank you to all those who have read/reviewed/favorited/followed this story!

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.

Breathe…

Gwaine slumped into the tree stump he sat against, trying to keep his breathing steady. The forest seemed to keep tipping sideways, as if he'd been at the ale again. But he hadn't been drunk in weeks.

Just keep breathing; this isn't the time to be passing out in the middle of the forest…you're just about lost anyway…

The air was barely chilly, but Gwaine found himself shivering nonetheless.

Don't you feel anything right now?

Besides strangely cold and very tired, not really. Yes, at first he'd been breathless with shock, anger, confusion. But now…

Numb.

It still hadn't really soaked in yet, honestly. Though he kept reliving that moment when Aldwyn had shouted out the truth like Gwaine was expected to know it already.

My father is alive.

It didn't seem real. And yet the pain of believing that he was dead seemed like a distant nightmare.

Unless this is the dream and that the reality?

It was all so blurry and confused. Like the other memories that were pressing down on him.

His father teaching him to ride a horse.

His father in the council chamber with the king, staring down a deranged man who had tried to murder the queen.

His father showing him how to disarm an opponent in a swordfight.

His father listening with a smile to a story Aunt Gytha was telling.

His father calling out orders to the guards.

His father riding through the woods on high alert, intent on the hunt.

His father sparring with four knights at once; and winning.

His father laughing at something Harlan had said.

His father comforting him and Elen when they were very young and frightened during a fierce windstorm.

His father laying on the ground, bright red blood seeping across the earth beneath him.

Once, he would have thought the knowledge that his father was alive would cause him to be overjoyed.

But now; remembering his father, wondering how he survived, and wondering if he had changed from the man he had used to be; Gwaine felt almost…scared.

No one blames you for it! No one! Least of all your father!

"Is that true?" he whispered. "Or is Aldwyn just saying that?"

"Gwaine? Where are you?"

Gwaine looked up at the sound of Merlin's voice; just in time to see the warlock trip over a tree root and fall flat.

"You alright there, mate?" Gwaine couldn't help but smile a bit as he stood up to assist the other man.

"Yeah." Merlin dusted himself off and grinned sheepishly for a moment before taking on a concerned expression. "The real question is: Are you all right?"

Gwaine failed to hold back a bitter chuckle. "Oh, yes, I'm absolutely fine right now, Merlin."

Merlin flinched. "Sorry."

Instantaneously guilty, Gwaine looked down at the ground and replied awkwardly, "No, I'm sorry, Merlin…it's just…" He paused, not sure what to say for several long minutes. Merlin didn't try to force a conversation; he just stood there quietly, waiting.

It took Gwaine a long time to start speaking again. "For the longest time now…I've felt like there's this trail of blood following me everywhere…It started with my father, then on to the other people I killed. It seemed like every person I even pretended to get close to ended up worse off than before they met me. Until I ran into you and Arthur, I guess. I saved the his life, and yours…then I ended up a knight; and I felt that maybe I actually could belong in Camelot…" He looked up, meeting Merlin's calm gaze. "And now I know that I didn't kill my father. I didn't have to run away. Anything I've been telling myself for the last ten years is a lie. Except…I still hurt him. I still stabbed him and he could have very easily died as I believed he did. And now…nothing makes sense anymore." Gwaine turned away, not trusting his voice any longer.

Merlin spoke a few moments later. "Exactly; he's not dead, Gwaine. You didn't kill him. It was an accident and you running off was a…a misunderstanding."

Some misunderstanding, Gwaine thought bitterly. A misunderstanding which stole ten years of my life.

Before that one rainy day, Gwaine's future had always been at least a bit predictable. He had known what was expected of him, to a certain point, and that beyond that it was his choice. He hadn't had a problem with that. It had been a generally accepted fact that he would eventually become a knight of Bernicia and perhaps one day an advisor to the future king. Even if he didn't achieve advisor status (which back then seemed a likely thing) his future was secure. After that day, nothing had been certain.

But speaking of the future king of Bernicia…"Where's Aldwyn?" Gwaine turned to face Merlin again.

Merlin shrugged. "I didn't think you'd want to talk to him, so I told him to go back to the camp with the firewood."

He's right; I don't think I could talk to Aldwyn right now. "Thanks." he muttered.

"What are friends for?"

Cleva was just starting to clean the dinner dishes (such as there were) when Aldwyn came trudging back into camp with an armful of firewood (which he promptly dumped next to the fire pit). Then, ignoring any inquires from the others ("Is something wrong? Where are Gwaine and Merlin?") he marched over to where Everard and Elwin were lounging, grabbed each twin by the arm, and dragged them to where the horses were tethered a short distance away. He clearly wanted to speak to them alone. By the glower on his face, he probably wanted to berate them for something.

Usually, Cleva wouldn't take much note of this sort of behavior; it was normal amongst the brothers. But she'd been concerned ever since Aldwyn had followed Merlin and Gwaine into the woods. What if Aldwyn decides to confront Gwaine for being a traitor or something similar? The fact that he'd returned alone and in a huff didn't comfort Cleva in the least. It merely convinced her that something had happened. And, wanted to know what exactly, she left the dishes and followed the three Barclayns over to the horses.

"Why didn't you tell him?" Aldwyn snarled as Cleva approached, giving both his brothers a shake.

"Tell who what? And that hurts, Aldwyn!" Elwin exclaimed, trying to tug his arm from the man's grip.

Aldwyn blinked and released his brothers; Cleva suppressed a chuckle. Well, of course he's going to release them if they say it hurts. As I told Merlin; he's acting soft.

However, there was nothing soft about Aldwyn's voice when he spoke a moment later. "Exactly how much have you been speaking with Gwaine? Everard?"

The older, more responsible twin didn't hesitate. "Not much. I've…We've been keeping our distance, mostly. Gwaine and I had at least one long conversation…mostly about what the hell he was doing in Camelot, but other than that…We haven't talked about home at all, really. For instance, I don't think he knew about Hertha until we were already on this journey and Elwin mentioned her to the knights."

"He didn't know about her." Elwin interrupted. "Didn't you see his face? He looked like you could knock him over with a…with a meat pie." A slight grin played about his mouth.

Cleva suddenly remembered a hazy image of Everard with the remains of a meat pie smeared into his hair. I can't really remember when that had happened, but Hertha was probably involved…

"Well, you should have talked to him a bit more," Aldwyn snarled, ignoring Elwin's half-joke, "and told me what he remembered of home. That way I would have known to break the news that his father is alive to him a little more gently than I did. Or you could have told him that and saved me the trouble."

"What?" Everard and Elwin yelped at the same time.

"He thought his father was…" Cleva couldn't finish the sentence.

Aldwyn ran his hand through his hair. "He thought Uncle Goddard was dead." he said bluntly. "And that he killed him in that little 'accident'." He snorted loudly.

"He believed that he killed his father." Everard said blankly. Elwin, looking oddly pale and upset, moved a couple inches closer to his brother.

Cleva was still contemplating Aldwyn's words. "How did you tell him, exactly?" Then, remembering the emphasis Aldwyn had placed on a particular word, "Aldwyn! You don't honestly think that he did it on purpose, do you?"

"Keep your voice down!" the prince snapped as the heads of the Camelot group turned towards them. Lowering his own voice, he answered Cleva's question. "Cleva, don't believe for one second that I'm accusing my own cousin of intentionally harming his father. Gwaine would never do such a thing. It's just…it's so bloody stupid in hindsight…" He glared at nothing for a moment before adding, "I just told him that no one blamed him including his father and he kind of…freaked out. That's when I realized…" He trailed off with a sigh.

"No wonder he ran off." Everard murmured softly.

Yes, no wonder. A heavy, cold feeling settled in Cleva's stomach. All these years we wondered how he could have just up and ran, even given the circumstances…But he was calling himself a murderer…

For a moment, Cleva was tempted to go after Gwaine herself. Then she realized that she didn't know where he was. "Aldwyn," she asked quickly, "did he run off or…"

Aldwyn shook his head. "No, he just kind of walked away from me and Merlin…he trusts that manservant, apparently…Merlin went after him."

Elwin asked, unusually timidly, "Will he be all right?"

Aldwyn hesitated briefly before answering. "I hope so."

Everard gave his older brother an unreadable look before heading back to the glowing campfire. Elwin trailed after him, leaving Cleva and Aldwyn alone.

The prince seemed more vulnerable than Cleva had ever seen him before. "Do you think he'll be all right, Cleva?" he whispered, his grey eyes suspiciously misty.

Cleva looked down at her boots, not certain if she should reply or not. Finally, she said, "You were right; no one blames him."

Aldwyn sighed heavily. "I wonder if he really believes that. Even though it's the truth. The look on his face…"

Cleva felt an awful sadness weighing down upon her. Oh, Gwaine. No one ever blamed you, so you shouldn't blame yourself.

But she knew well enough that it was never that easy.

The mood in the camp the next morning as they prepared to depart was…less than cheerful, to say in the least.

Well, I guess the good weather is wasted on this lot, then, Merlin mused. The day was lovely; the sun bright, the sky clear blue dotted with wispy white clouds, the breeze warm and sweet-smelling.

But amongst the travelers, tensions were running high.

Gwaine hadn't spoken a word since last night and wasn't responding to anyone. Everard was ignoring Aldwyn a little too obviously. Aldwyn and Ryle had had three verbal altercations already; the last one would've turned into a fistfight if it hadn't been for the timely intervention of Percival and Leon. Cleva was clearly frustrated with the behavior of everyone else, particularly when she tried to talk to Gwaine and he shrugged her off like everyone else. And Elwin was very quiet and his eyes were suspiciously red.

For some reason, this bothered Merlin most of all. Especially since Aldwyn and Everard was so busy ignoring Aldwyn and Aldwyn was so busy arguing with Ryle that neither was paying attention to their brother.

Around noon as they were all riding northward in more or less of a line, Merlin noticed that Elwin was riding alone and urged his horse to walk next to the boy's. "Hey, Elwin."

"Merlin." Elwin wouldn't look at him.

"What's the matter?" Merlin asked gently. "I promise not to tell anyone, if that helps."

Instead of an answer, he got another question. "Does Gwaine really trust you?"

Merlin glanced around to make sure that no one was eavesdropping before saying, "Yes, I…I like to think that he does."

"Hmm." Elwin frowned. "You know, I was just…Last night and this morning, I was just thinking…of how awful it would be if I thought that I'd been responsible for the death of one of my parents."

Merlin rested his hand briefly on Elwin's shoulder, and a look of understanding passed between them.

Elwin cheered up somewhat after that.

"Good morning. It's not often that I see you this far from the city, my lord." Hayden took care to keep his voice at a respectful monotone. Inwardly, he was very surprised. It wasn't every day that a person ran across one of the royal family alone in the woods surrounding the city. Particularly if that person was Goddard Barclayn.

The gray-haired prince smiled and nodded in greeting. His pained fatigue was obvious by the way he leaned heavily against a tree. "Hayden. Good to see you. Which one is that?" He gestured towards the young wyvern scampering around the tree trunks, hunting for insects.

Hayden smiled at the creature fondly. "Topaz. He's Obsidian and Citrine's offspring."

"Is Obsidian the one that ate my saddle all those years ago? I'm still amazed that he didn't try that while it was still on the horse."

Hayden couldn't help but laugh. "Emerald helped, as I recall."

Goddard chuckled. "Ah, yes, Emerald. I remember him because…" The older man trailed off, his expression suddenly troubled.

Hayden looked away. He knew perfectly well why Goddard remembered Emerald.

Emerald's the one Gwaine liked the best.

An awkward silence later, Hayden worked up the nerve to ask, "What brings you out here, my lord?"

"No need to 'my lord' me, Hayden, I've known you too long." Goddard sighed. "I get tired of the city, sometimes. And it's not so easy to leave it anymore." He frowned slightly, his gaze distant. "It's hard to be a cripple, Hayden."

Good Lord, what am I supposed to say to that? Hayden found himself watching his wyvern a little more closely than was necessary.

As it turned out, he didn't need to say anything. Goddard started talking again. "I shouldn't say that. I'm not really crippled; just weaker than I used to be. Walking only hurts; it's still possible. I'm being ungrateful."

It's incredible: Even when he's upset, he never raises his voice.

Topaz went a little farther into the trees than Hayden was comfortable with; he whistled and the little creature came scurrying back. "Come here." Hayden held out his arm and Topaz scrambled up in onto his shoulder.

When Hayden redirected his attention back to Goddard, the older man was watching him with a sad expression. "I'd better be headed back to the city. It was nice seeing you, Hayden."

"Likewise. Would you…Do you want me to come with you?" He'll refuse; he may be one of the most selfless men I've ever met, but that doesn't mean he'll allow himself to appear weak.

Goddard shook his head. "It's not necessary. As I said; I'm not really a cripple." The prince reached out and patted the head of the wyvern perched on Hayden's shoulders before turning and walking slowly away through the trees.

Hayden sighed as he watched him go. "Lesson number one, Topaz." he told the little animal who was now nuzzling his neck. "Barclayns are ridiculously stubborn. At times to the point of idiocy."

The combined smell of sweat, vomit, and mildew permeated the lower levels of the ancient castle. The soft dripping sound of water echoed against the slimy stone walls.

The guards were playing cards again as they drank watered-down ale; they complained about the weakness of the drink but belched appreciatively after every deep gulp.

They were disgusting. They made Elen sick.

But everything makes you sick right now.

"Everything" included the light which was filtering through the tiny cracks high in the cell wall. Elen whimpered and doubled over on the floor, covering her head with her hands. But even her slow, careful movements set off another wave of nausea and body pain.

Just kill me now and end it.

What a fool she had been. Even before she'd suspected Arthur Pendragon as the instigator of the twins' kidnapping, she'd been an absolute idiot not to consider that the "buyer" of the twins might be leaving his henchmen in the south to collect the boys, while in reality he was in the north. Strategically, it made more sense.

It's clever, I'll give him that.

She didn't want to give him anything else. Not information, not satisfaction. The latter she had no choice on, though…

I've never been this pathetic…

The man was clever. He'd had the enchanted shackles ready for just such a prisoner as herself. They were on her day and night, preventing her from using her magic.

Just another thing I've done wrong. I allowed myself to become so dependent on magic as a means of defense that I'm useless without it.

She'd tried reaching out for her brother, hoping against hope that whatever happenstance had allowed her to contact her brother in a dream recently would allow it again. But as far as she knew, no good had come of it.

Oh, Gwaine…I'm sorry… Though she could not, in her present state of mind, quite pinpoint exactly what she was sorry for.

Another waved of pain racked her damaged body. Why can't I just die in my sleep?

That would stop her from accidentally telling the enemy anything that could bring harm to her family and country. It would also thwart the enemy from using her against anyone. But so would escaping...

I wish I could manage that...

But at this point, as she heard another guard arrive and give the order for her to be taken out of her cell again, all Elen wanted was for the nightmare to end.

Even if that meant dying.

This story is getting a lot darker than I originally anticipated (okay, that sounds weird considering the prologue and all) but I hope that you still enjoy reading it anyway!

I'll try to update soon!