-XXX-
As expected, Arthur didn't get a wink of sleep. He spent the entire night either staring at the dwindling fire, searching for constellations, or checking Merlin's breathing. Leon had bundled up in his bedroll in an attempt to get some shut-eye, but Arthur doubted he got more than an hour of rest in total. Lancelot didn't even bother to try sleeping. He stayed next to Merlin, drawing in the dirt with a stick to pass the time and occasionally sharing a word or two with Arthur when the king got up to see to Merlin's health. Despite Kilgharrah's promise to watch over the camp for the night, the dragon had laid down his head next to Merlin and closed his eyes, never once interacting with any of them. Arthur had a feeling he didn't need to see his surroundings in order to know what was going on around him, and he seriously doubted any passing bandits would dare to attack them while a dragon was around, so he figured Kilgharrah's promise could be considered kept.
By the time the first hint of the sun's rays filtered through the surrounding trees and washed their camp in tender light, Arthur and Leon had already gotten to work packing up their supplies while Lancelot fed and watered the horses in preparation for their journey.
Arthur cast continuous glances toward the still-unconscious Merlin, always hoping that the next time he looked, his friend would be awake and making inane jokes to lighten the mood after his near-death experience. As it was, the possibility of death remained too prominent for Arthur's comfort, and he had to bite down on his tongue to avoid making unreasonable demands of the dragon in their midst. Kilgharrah had done all he could to help, which Arthur wouldn't have believed if he didn't see the genuine, if not exasperated, affection in the dragon's gaze. Arthur wondered if Kilgharrah's care for Merlin stemmed from the warlock also being a Dragonlord, or if it was simply due to Merlin's likable nature. Merlin hadn't spoken about either of his dragons since the night he'd revealed his magic, so there was much Arthur didn't understand. That would need to be rectified, seeing as how they'd apparently stick around for the foreseeable future. That is…if Merlin lived.
Shut up, Arthur berated himself immediately, tightening down the straps around his bedroll with more force than necessary. He'll be fine. Arthur nodded firmly, not considering any other alternative.
He patted Hengroen's flank, then stepped back to assess the now barren camp. Everything was ready to go, except for his manservant.
Arthur eyed Kilgharrah warily as he approached, Leon and Lancelot looking on unobtrusively from where they stood by their horses. The dragon returned the king's gaze intently, not offering any greetings or farewells. His attention was daunting, but Arthur resolutely ignored him altogether as he crouched at Merlin's side, grasping his friend's hand and rubbing his thumb over each knuckle. The skin wasn't as cold as the day before, but it wasn't quite warm, either.
"Hey," he said softly, strangely hesitant to break the calm air of morning. Merlin's face was tilted towards him, his angular features bathed in pale light. It made his skin glow with an elfin appearance, and Arthur could almost pretend he was simply asleep. He looked serene, not at all like the troubled, pensive man he'd become over the past couple years. He'd seemed more at peace the last few weeks, more like the boy he used to be, and Arthur wished Merlin would've shared his secret a long time ago, if for no other reason than to be able to smile again.
Arthur leaned forward, curling his free hand lightly around the back of Merlin's neck and pulling him into an impulsive embrace, resting his cheek against the warlock's temple. He was reassured slightly by Merlin's breath ghosting over his neck, and pressed a quick kiss to Merlin's hair, closing his eyes against a sudden, unwelcome sense of grief.
"You hang in there, alright?" He whispered into the servant's ear. "You keep fighting. That's what we do. We keep fighting. Don't leave me, Merlin," he half commanded, half begged. His voice was shaky, but he didn't think Merlin would begrudge him the show of weakness, considering the circumstances. There was no response, but Arthur liked to imagine the cold fingers in his grip twitched just the barest amount in acknowledgement.
When Arthur pulled away, he was a king again. Without preamble, he scooped Merlin gently into his arms, turning to take him to the cart. Lancelot stepped forward with intention to help, but Arthur shook his head, claiming he had it handled. The knight didn't argue.
"I can ride with him in the cart today, Sire," Leon offered as Arthur tucked Merlin in the warmth of the furs and made sure his head was lying at a comfortable angle.
Lancelot didn't bother to hide his surprise at the suggestion, and Arthur raised an eyebrow. It was no secret that Leon didn't quite share the same relationship with Merlin that the others did. They were friends, of course, but Leon was noble-born and proper and reserved, and Merlin was the opposite of those things. Their personalities simply didn't mesh well when they were alone together.
Leon raised his chin determinedly. "I will watch over him with the utmost care, Sire. If something…goes wrong," he euphemized, "I will alert you right away."
Arthur hopped back out onto the grass, brushing Merlin's unruly hair out of his eyes as he ambled along the side of the cart to where his knights stood.
"I appreciate it, Sir Leon. Thank you." Arthur dipped his head gratefully, and the knight wasted no time before striding past him and jumping into the cart himself to settle in next to Merlin.
When Arthur felt a breeze rush over his skin, he turned to find Kilgharrah standing in the center of the clearing, stretching his wings.
"You're leaving?" Arthur asked, unnecessary since he already knew the answer. He wasn't sure if it was relief or disappointment in his tone. On the one hand, he had a special sort of loathing for the beast that had burned half of Camelot. On the other, he had the dragon that might have saved his best friend's life.
"I've done what I can for the young warlock. It is time I return to Aithusa," Kilgharrah responded.
Arthur swallowed, suddenly nervous to be left alone again with Merlin's life in his hands. "And you're sure whatever you did will help him?"
Kilgharrah blew air out of his nostrils indignantly, but his voice carried only weariness as he replied, "It will buy him time."
"How much time?" Arthur questioned, unable to let the dragon fly off without squeezing as much information out of him as possible.
"A week, at most."
Arthur's eyes widened, and he heard Lancelot's strangled exhale behind him. "A week? What if he's not better by then?"
Kilgharrah contemplated for a moment, his expression resigned. "If the spell wears off and there is no improvement to his condition, bring him to the edge of the city, and I will take him," he said solemnly.
Arthur's heart stuttered in his chest. "Take him," he repeated in disbelief, the words sounding foreign on his tongue.
"As I told you last night, Merlin has no ordinary wound." Kilgharrah sighed. "His brazen use of so much power has torn open his well of magic, allowing it to flood out like a river through a broken dam. If Merlin dies before he is unable to rebuild that dam, his magic will wreak destruction the likes of which Camelot has never seen. If you don't wish for that to happen, then I must take him far away, beyond the reach of men," Kilgharrah explained.
Arthur didn't like speaking of any option that implied Merlin wouldn't live through this, but he couldn't bring himself to decline the dragon's offer. The people of Camelot depended on him to keep them safe.
"If…" He paused, letting the panic recede from his voice before he continued. "If Merlin—" He clenched his fists, cursing his inability to get the words out.
Kilgharrah blinked at him knowingly, dipping his head. "I will be waiting at the city's border in a week's time, Arthur Pendragon. Hopefully I will not be needed."
With that final, grave statement, the dragon beat his wings and leapt into the air, leaving the four men behind in a cloud of dust and ash. Arthur stared forward for a few minutes, not really seeing anything, until his most basic instincts kicked in and he spun around to mount his horse, determination steadying the beat of his heart.
"Come on. We have a lot of ground to cover."
-XXX-
-XXX-
The strange feats of magic that occurred on the first day of their journey were absent the second day, and Arthur found himself missing them. If nothing else, they had been signs that Merlin was still alive. Now, Leon had to give constant updates on Merlin's condition to assure the two riders that their friend's heart was still beating. It was a harrowing situation; Arthur wasn't sure how much more stress he could take.
In an effort to distract himself, he turned his attention to Lancelot, who had been riding in stride with him for most of the day, quiet and sullen. He looked utterly exhausted but no less determined to get Merlin back to Camelot than Arthur.
Arthur had to remind himself that Lancelot had been Merlin's friend as long as Arthur had, despite the missing years in between. The knight had been one of the few people Merlin could confide in about his magic throughout the years. Arthur had been jealous of that fact at first, but then he realized that Lancelot knowing the secret was exactly what Merlin had needed. Lancelot was kind and unprejudiced and encouraging; he was the sort of friend Merlin could rely on to support him no matter what.
"Lancelot," Arthur called softly, not wanting Leon to overhear.
Lancelot blinked back into reality, having zoned out a while ago, and immediately steered his horse closer, sensing Arthur's desire for a private conversation.
"Sire?" His expression was earnest, always ready to perform whatever duty was required of him.
"Do you…mind if I ask you a question? About Merlin?"
Lancelot was clearly taken aback by the inquiry but recovered quickly. "You can ask me anything, Sire."
"Why did you never tell anyone about his magic?" Arthur wondered. "I mean, back at the beginning when you were practically strangers," he clarified.
Lancelot's lips twitched upward ruefully. "I knew the penalty for that sort of crime, Sire. I would've never wished to see him burn." They both shuddered at the image. "It was obvious that there wasn't a corrupt bone in his body. I'd never really felt one way or another about sorcerers, but there was never a question when it came to Merlin. He's a good man. He cares about people."
"He does," Arthur agreed quietly. "He was quite upset when you left the first time. He's always been very fond of you."
Lancelot cast a glance over his shoulder at the warlock, smiling affectionately. "He tried so hard to get me that knighthood, and not just because he felt he owed me a debt for saving his life. He simply…wanted to help me."
Arthur snorted in amusement. "It was an interesting plan, if a bit poorly thought out."
Lancelot cringed. "I still can't believe I let him talk me into it. He had such faith in me, though. I couldn't help trying to prove it wasn't misplaced."
"It wasn't misplaced," Arthur assured him, nudging the knight's knee with his own.
Lancelot pressed his lips together, forming a question of his own in his mind. Arthur waited patiently to hear it.
"Are you… Are you really going to repeal the ban?" He asked finally, his tone full of awe and only a hint of disbelief.
Arthur nodded. "I can't continue ruling a kingdom that would see Merlin and others like him burned at the stake. It will take a lot of work to get it done, but it is well worth the effort. I only regret that I didn't make the decision sooner," he admitted wistfully. Regardless of Merlin revealing his secret, Arthur should've come to his own realizations about magic years ago instead of blindly following in his father's footsteps. That was a mistake he'd carry with him forever.
Lancelot frowned thoughtfully, staring off into the distance ahead of them. "One of the hardest parts of keeping his secret was knowing everything he's done to save us, all while those around him only saw him as a fool." Bitterness rang through his words, as well as regret.
"I never thought he was a fool," Arthur murmured, the words tumbling out without permission. "Foolish, yes. I mean, he insulted the prince of Camelot his first day in the city and then proceeded to use magic in front of said prince and dozens of witnesses." Arthur chuckled at the memory of a young Merlin challenging him. He'd never been spoken to that way before and hadn't quite known how to react other than to laugh. He'd been ecstatic to see the servant wandering through the market later on. Merlin was an enigma he'd wanted to figure out, and it was fun throwing insults at someone who wasn't afraid to throw them right back. Arthur's life had changed irrevocably upon Merlin's arrival, and he couldn't be more grateful for it.
"During his first few weeks as my manservant, I thought he was a clumsy, ill-mannered chatterbox. It seemed like he'd been sent to Camelot by the gods just to torture me with his ineptitude," Arthur continued, ignoring Lancelot's attempt to stifle an amused smirk behind a cough. "But I could always see it there…beneath the surface. He tried to play the idiot, and he did it quite well, but I always knew there was more that he refused to show. Not the magic, but…the real Merlin. The Merlin that drank a cup of poison to save my life. The Merlin that believed in me even when I thought all was lost. He was never a fool. He was just Merlin."
Clumsy. Ill-mannered. Sneaky.
Loyal, brave, smart, kind, unique.
Arthur wouldn't have him any other way.
"Does that mean you won't call him an idiot anymore?" Lancelot asked, his eyes twinkling with mirth.
Arthur snorted, digging his heels into Hengroen's flank when he veered slightly with the intention of finding a snack to munch on along the roadway. "Don't be ridiculous. Someone needs to knock The Greatest Sorcerer To Ever Walk The Earth down a peg or two," he quipped, and Lancelot grinned and shook his head.
-XXX-
-XXX-
The rest of their journey back to Camelot was thankfully uneventful. There were no bandits, and Merlin's heart kept up a steady, if sluggish, beat. They hadn't even made camp the second night, pressing on with a sense of urgency. Normally they wouldn't risk traveling at night on horseback, but the road so close to Camelot was well-maintained and low-risk for the most part, so they hadn't seen the harm in continuing on.
Thus, it was just past dawn when they arrived at Camelot's gates, dirty and exhausted. The guards didn't hesitate to let them inside, offering hasty bows to the king even as they eyed the injured Merlin behind him. It was clear they were curious, but they were too well-trained to ask questions.
The streets were bustling with activity even as early as it was, so their slow ride up to the citadel was observed with a mixture of excitement at their return, confusion at their ragged state, and concern at the sight of the well-known and beloved servant lying comatose in a horse cart. A few people ventured closer, but Leon gently warned them to keep their distance, and they all complied with only mild disappointment.
Unsurprisingly, word of their arrival spread like wildfire; by the time they made it to the castle courtyard, Guinevere was waiting anxiously on the steps, her hands clenched tightly in front of her to prevent them from fiddling nervously. Gaius was at her side, his expression smooth and unreadable as usual, and a small band of knights and servants stood behind them.
Arthur dismounted as soon as possible, and upon turning around was immediately enveloped in a desperate embrace. He automatically wrapped his arms around his queen, letting his chin rest on top of her brown curls as he whispered soothing reassurances that fell deaf to his own ears.
"Oh, Arthur. What happened?" She wondered sympathetically, pulling back to search his expression, hoping to read the answers in his gaze. Whatever she saw obviously wasn't comforting, as she visibly fought back a shiver and squeezed his hand.
"Not here," he murmured, casting a quick look at the surrounding crowd. Far too many eyes for such a conversation, and he had other priorities at the moment anyway. "Gaius," he called. The physician had already made his way over to Merlin and was currently leveling the Eyebrow at Sir Leon, who bravely stood his ground against the protective old man's questioning. Gaius paused in his quiet tirade to look over his shoulder at the king expectantly. Arthur swallowed, feeling like the child who had interrupted his parents arguing. "I'm bringing Merlin to my chambers. Gather whatever supplies you need and meet us there. We will discuss everything then," he decided. Gaius was silent for a moment as he took in that information, then nodded in acquiescence.
"Very well, Sire," he responded politely, sparing a concerned glance for Merlin before he headed away to his tower.
"Shall I carry Merlin to your rooms, then, Sire?" Leon asked from where he stood at attention next to the cart, ready to be of service.
Arthur considered for a moment, then shook his head, letting go of Guinevere to approach the knight and gesturing for Lancelot to follow. Once they were close enough, he lowered his voice. "I need the two of you to speak to the council on my behalf. They'll want to hear the details of what happened." No doubt the group of nobles was already convening a meeting in the council chambers, awaiting a report of the mission.
"How much do you want to tell them?" Lancelot asked hesitantly, casting a pointed glance at Merlin.
"Tell them everything you can pertaining to the raids and Morgause, but make no mention of Merlin or his magic. We escaped the tunnels before they collapsed. That's it. Understood?"
"Yes, Sire," they spoke simultaneously, giving short bows before heading off to their new duty. Arthur was glad to have men willing to do their job without complaint or reluctance, despite the fact that they were probably near the point of keeling over in exhaustion.
Arthur rounded the cart, taking a few moments to scan Merlin for any signs of improvement. There was no change that he could see, and his heart sank like a stone in his chest. He hoped that having a warm, comfortable place to rest would help Merlin heal, but it was starting to feel like a pipe dream. Nevertheless, he gathered the sickly servant in his arms, cradling him close as he turned toward the castle.
Guinevere was at his side in an instant, biting her lip fearfully as she ran a hand delicately through Merlin's dark locks. Arthur carefully made his way up the steps, servants and knights clearing out of his path without him needing to speak a word, all of them wearing worried expressions. Everyone in the castle knew Merlin, and most liked him. It was no surprise they were unsettled by his unhealthy appearance.
Only two guards followed behind the king and queen, and soon enough they had traversed the corridors and reached the Royal wing of the castle. The guards opened the doors of Arthur's chambers since his hands were otherwise occupied, but stayed posted outside in the hall as he and Guinevere entered, allowing the monarchs their privacy as they closed the doors once again in their wake.
Arthur set Merlin gently upon his bed, rearranging the sheets and covers around him so he'd be comfortable, not that he was awake to appreciate it. Merlin's arm fell limply over the side of the bed, and Arthur hastily readjusted both his arms so his hands were folded over his stomach, then he lowered himself to sit beside him, unable to look away from the warlock's gaunt face.
A light touch to his shoulder startled him, but he didn't flinch. "Arthur?"
He blinked, shifting his gaze to his wife. "Guinevere, I—Merlin—" Arthur inhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"What happened, love?" She wondered, sitting behind him and resting her head upon her hand on his shoulder.
"It's kind of hard to explain," he replied slowly.
"Why don't you start at the beginning?" She suggested encouragingly, placing a chaste kiss on the nape of his neck.
He nodded, feeling a piece of himself click back into place, and began the long, confusing tale.
-XXX-
-XXX-
Arthur had to repeat the story when Gaius finally appeared with medical supplies in hand, but he didn't mind. In a way it was nice to rehash the details. It lessened his bafflement at the whole ordeal, if only slightly. Gaius and Guinevere listened attentively as he paced about the room telling the events of the past week, though Gaius kept his gaze trained on Merlin as he worked. Arthur wasn't quite sure what he was doing. There weren't really any physical wounds, but the physician still checked his breathing and his heart rate and plied him with tinctures of all sorts that may or may not have been magical in nature, and a few times he simply held a hand over the servant's chest and spoke some words of the Old Tongue. It all made very little sense to the king, so he focused on getting his story told rather than bombarding Gaius with incessant questions.
Guinevere's expression changed often, from confused to affectionate to concerned to furious to shocked and everything in between. When he reached the part where the dragon showed up, both Gaius and Guinevere snapped their gazes to him.
"You spoke with Kilgharrah?" Gaius demanded, seeming to forget he was talking to the king, not that Arthur ever noticed that type of thing anymore.
"Unfortunately," Arthur responded, rolling his eyes. He went on to explain to the best of his ability what the dragon had told him, though he wasn't quite sure he understood any of what he was saying. Gaius looked more and more horrified, though, so obviously the dragon had been right to be concerned.
"Oh, my boy, what have you done now?" Gaius whispered forlornly, shaking his head at his ward.
"Do you think… Will he be okay?" Arthur asked, his voice scratchy from overuse and high emotional toll.
Gaius sighed, looking every bit his age. "Kilgharrah's spell certainly gave him a fighting chance, but Merlin has quite the mountain to climb if he's going to survive." Arthur deflated, and Guinevere stubbornly wiped away tears.
"I shouldn't have let him go," Arthur berated himself, dragging a hand through his dirty hair. He needed to bathe, but he couldn't find the motivation for it right now.
"No offense, Sire, but there is nothing you could have done to prevent Merlin from going with you," Gaius interjected with a hint of exasperation for the wayward servant.
"I could've ordered him to stay, or locked him up," he muttered petulantly, and Gaius didn't bother responding to that suggestion.
"If he hadn't been there, you and the Knights would be dead," Guinevere pointed out reprovingly.
"Story of my life," Arthur grumbled, earning an amused smile from his wife.
"I have more patients to see, but I will return regularly to check on Merlin. Is there anything else you need, Sire?" Gaius asked, folding his hands into the sleeves of his cloak in a manner oddly reminiscent of the Druids.
"No, that will be all. Thank you, Gaius," Arthur said quietly, stepping over to the window that overlooked the courtyard. The horses and cart had been taken away, and everyone had gone about their usual business. It looked like a perfectly normal day in Camelot.
Out of his periphery, he saw the old physician bow respectfully before taking his leave, the clang of the doors shutting behind him loud in the sudden silence.
He and Guinevere didn't speak for a while. He was content to brood and sort through a myriad of thoughts ranging from Merlin to Morgause to inevitably dealing with the council, and Guinevere busied herself with running a warm wash rag over Merlin's pallid skin, cleaning off the dirt and grime of the past week and humming softly all the while.
Every time he closed his eyes he saw Merlin's golden ones staring back at him, apologetic and determined and afraid. He saw the warlock's muscles shaking, blood dripping out of his nose and down over his lips, visible signs of the life draining out of him with each passing second of frozen time. He wanted to shout at the servant lying in the bed behind him, demand to know how Merlin could've possibly measured up his life against Arthur's and found it to be worth less than the king's. In that moment in the cave, with the walls falling down around them, Arthur had flashed back to the night all those years ago, when a young, wide-eyed Merlin came to his chambers and told him goodbye without ever giving Arthur a chance to say "No, you idiot! I won't let you give your life for mine!" It was infuriating and heartbreaking and Arthur couldn't understand it except for the fact that he could because he'd do anything in his power to save Merlin, too. He'd give up his crown, his life, his soul. This self-sacrificial cycle they were stuck in seemed to have no end, and Arthur didn't know how to fix it. All he could do was his best, even when it wasn't good enough. Merlin deserved that, at the very least.
Guinevere's soft, reassuring voice broke into his morose contemplations. "Merlin will be fine, you know."
Arthur shifted just enough to put her in his line of sight, his expression unchanging. "How can you know that?" He asked dejectedly, crossing his arms and gripping his elbows.
She was holding one of Merlin's hands, tracing undefinable figures into his palm with a feather-light touch, and her red-rimmed eyes were focused on the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
"Because he'd never leave you. He loves you too much," she answered simply, a fond smile quirking her lips.
Arthur inhaled shakily, digging his fingers into his skin to ground himself. "I know," he murmured, swallowing heavily to suppress the sob that wanted to rise up. "But you didn't see it, Guinevere." He pressed his lips together, shaking his head at the floor. "Merlin put the weight of the world on his shoulders in a single instant, and it broke him. He knew it would break him, but he did it anyway. To save me. To save the others. It's—"
Guinevere glanced up at him, troubled yet understanding.
Arthur took a steadying breath, then continued, "It's not fair that he should have all this responsibility. It's too much for any man."
"He has you to help shoulder it, Arthur. And the Knights. And Gaius. And me. He isn't alone, and he never will be again," Guinevere declared.
"Is it enough? Are we enough?" He wondered, not really expecting an answer, but Guinevere offered one anyway.
"I hope so."
-XXX-
-XXX-
Percival winced, turning his head but unable to completely look away from the bloody mess Gwaine was making of the bandit's face. He'd never been a fan of violence, but his roguish friend had quite the penchant for it. It probably didn't help that he had so much pent up anger and worry that he needed to release. This bandit was simply the closest target for Gwaine's emotions.
There were most likely arguments to be made for what was proper of a knight's behavior regarding a prisoner, but Percival figured Gwaine would be rather deaf to such arguments, and the king had tasked them with getting as much information about Morgause as possible. It wasn't really their fault the bandits weren't cooperating as much as they hoped.
"Just tell us what Morgause's plans are," Elyan tried again, clearly bored and irritated from having to stand around doing absolutely nothing for the past three hours.
It hadn't taken the knights long to track down the ragtag group of criminals, and took even less time to overcome their mediocre numbers and emerge victorious. Most of the bandits had been killed, but Gwaine had ordered the Camelot knights to leave a few alive for questioning. Then he was all too happy to take up the task of said questioning for himself.
Overall, Percival was tired and hungry and he just wanted to find the nearest bed and collapse onto it. He's sure one of the villagers in the nearby town wouldn't mind the imposition, if he informed them that all their troubles involving the raiders had been taken care of. As it was, he had a job to do and he couldn't relax until it was finished. King Arthur was expecting them to be successful, so they would be.
The bandit Gwaine was holding up by the collar glared at his captors, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ground next to him where the body of the previous prisoner to be interrogated lay, dead from a sword through the heart, quick and clean. Percival might let Gwaine get his punches in, but he drew the line at torture—not that he thought Gwaine would advocate for that method, either. He was more honorable than he let on.
"Go ahead and do your worst. I know what Morgause does to them that cross her," the bandit grunted, swaying slightly on his knees. His hands were tied behind his back, so if Gwaine let go, he'd get a face-full of mud. "I ain't gettin' cursed if I can help it."
"You'd rather die?" Percival said blandly, raising an eyebrow.
The man shrugged. "Gonna die either way. Might as well make it as painless as possible."
Gwaine punched him again, this time letting him drop sideways into the dirt. "Not so painless, maybe," he huffed, sweating with the exertion of his workout. He tossed the hair out of his eyes and stomped over to Percival and Elyan, leaving the other knights to watch the rest of the prisoners that were bound and sitting in a haphazard circle, awaiting their turn. "These guys aren't talking," he claimed with finality, lowering his voice so he wouldn't be overheard.
"We've gotta keep trying. One of them must know something," Percival argued.
"Oh, they know something all right," Gwaine agreed. "They just don't wanna share."
"We can't leave until we get one of them to talk," Elyan cut in. "Arthur is expecting answers, and I doubt he'll be in the mood to hear any bad news."
They all exchanged miserable glances at that, having experienced first-hand what it was like to be around the king when he was worried about his servant. Percival could still remember the pain of the bruises he'd received in training after the Lamia incident. No one wanted a repeat.
"I say we let 'em go crawling back to their master," Gwaine announced, loud enough to get the attention of the group behind him. "Morgause won't be very happy that they failed. Might as well let her deal with them how she will."
One of the bandits still tied up paled dramatically at the overt threat and began shaking his head. The man sitting at his side elbowed him roughly, hissing at him to be quiet.
"W-Wait!" The bandit cried out, his voice shaking with fear. Gwaine sent Percival and Elyan a wink, then spun around with an unimpressed glare.
"What?"
The bandit shifted uncomfortably, biting his lip as he considered whether it was smarter to be quiet or not. "I… If we tell you Morgause's plans, you'll let us go?"
Gwaine frowned. "I'll make your deaths quick. Better than what Morgause will do to you," he countered, feigning indifference.
The bandit wilted but seemed to accept that he had no better options. "F-Fine, then."
"Shut up, Ralphie!" The man next to him snapped. "You damned fool!"
"You heard Gunther!" The bandit retorted. "We're dead either way! I don't wanna be left for Morgause to pull apart piece by piece!"
His companion scoffed and jerked away, shaking his head derisively, but fell mercifully silent.
Percival took that as his cue to approach, and he grabbed up the one called Ralphie, maneuvering him to a more isolated location, away from the prying eyes and ears of his fellow bandits. Gwaine and Elyan followed on his heels. Ralphie went willingly enough, grimacing as he stepped over the pummeled forms of less lucky men. When Percival finally had him settled back against a tree, he nodded to Gwaine.
"Talk," Gwaine ordered gruffly, too impatient to be gentle.
Ralphie flinched, but quickly acquiesced. "Morgause, she…she came to us a few months back. Told us she'd pay us good money if we just roughed up a few villages here and there. It was easy work for the amount she offered." He shrugged, and Gwaine gritted his teeth.
"Yeah, I bet it was real easy cutting down a bunch of untrained farmers and women and children," he retorted icily.
Ralphie glanced away, ignoring the barb to the best of his ability.
"Why did she target the villages?" Percival questioned, trying to move the conversation along.
Ralphie shrugged again. "Said she wanted to draw out some fellow named Emrys. Said he had a thing for rescuing the weak types, and that he'd come running soon enough."
Percival glanced at Gwaine in alarm, seeing the same reaction in his friend's expression. That would explain what Morgause had said in the caves. She hadn't been setting a trap for Arthur, but for Merlin. Ralphie was merely confirming their suspicions.
"Why draw out Emrys if she didn't plan to fight him?" Elyan wondered aloud, too curious to be strictly intimidating.
Ralphie huffed, avoiding their gazes. "Alls I know is… She wanted somethin'. Somethin' magical, I don't know. She said it was in Camelot, but I don't know where. She made us keep raiding the villages, even the ones who were getting tired of doing the same old job, and she made an example out of anyone who didn't follow orders. We learned quick," he complained with a grunt.
Percival crossed his arms, rubbing his chin in thought. "She wanted Emrys away from Camelot," he muttered, all the individual pieces beginning to come together to create a pretty distressing picture.
The other two knights were just as quick to catch on.
"She wanted him far away, dealing with destroyed villages and caves collapsing on his king, so he would be too distracted to notice what she was up to," Gwaine added, dragging a hand over his face at the implications.
"Morgause was in Camelot," Elyan stated with dread.
"Fuck," Gwaine cursed heatedly, starting to pace.
"Do you think she's still there?" Percival fretted, momentarily forgetting the prisoner sitting in front of them.
"Arthur should almost be back by now," Elyan pointed out. "Surely Morgause wouldn't hang around long enough for Emrys to show up? She's terrified of him."
"No. No, she would've gotten whatever magical item she was after and fled as soon as possible," Gwaine claimed. "She wouldn't risk a run-in with Mer—Emrys," he corrected at the last second. "Why do you think she went through the trouble of making a fake version of herself? She didn't have the balls to face him head on!" He growled.
"So what's the magical item, then?" Percival questioned, not speaking to anyone in particular.
"Nothing good," Gwaine muttered.
-XXX-
