Excerpt:
Gaius frowned at the silver amulet, the coloring of his cheeks betraying the anxiety he clearly felt. Gazing up at Merlin with baleful eyes his mentor suddenly appeared ancient, the lines in his face deep as carved stone. "Have you ever wondered if your destiny asks too much of you?"
Merlin shook his head slightly, "I don't let myself. And even if it were not my destiny, I would do it because he is my friend."
It was the first time he had confessed it aloud, and at that moment the truth of his own words weighed heavily on his chest. It wasn't the dragon's prophecy he believed in so fully, it was Arthur. If Arthur died here, it would be like losing a part of himself, he would forever be incomplete. Severed. Merlin would remain frozen in time."
Sunlight shimmered through the cool forest canopy, scattering patches of light along a worn dirt road. A subtle breeze rustled the woods carrying the whiff of damp earth, pine, and the musky-sweet scent that only comes from leaves in late Autumn. The heady heat of an unseasonably warm day played over eight horses and their riders as they traveled along at a leisurely pace.
The small patrol had ridden out several days from Camelot's citadel to investigate rumors of road bandits. With the assistance of some local farmers, whose trade routes had been menaced by the brigands, it had been a simple enough task to flush the culprits out of hiding. The survivors of that brief skirmish had been left to the justice of the very townsfolk they had terrorized. Now returning home and only a day's travel from the capital everyone felt at ease, talking animatedly as they rode in a slow procession atop their horses.
Many of the Knights had stripped off their layers of heavy chain armor to enjoy the weather. The formal protocol was strict regarding uniforms, especially when in a royal's presence. But the thrill of a successful mission and the seductively beckoning warmth of what very well may have been the last hot day of the year had even the King turning a blind eye.
Protocol, too, would have dictated that the alert raven-haired boy at Arthur's side ride quietly a horse length behind his king. Out of sight, but close enough to be on hand should his monarch require his services. Or, if dismissed, then his place would be at the back of the line. But then again Merlin had never been much for protocol, and Arthur himself only eyed the grinning youth riding confidently alongside him with a stern fondness.
Of the group that followed in their wake, none were louder than a handsome long-haired knight comfortably entertaining in the middle of the pack. A flock of wood pigeons took flight, alarmed by the sudden ringing bark of Gwaine's irreverent laughter. He enthusiastically recounted their recent scuffle with the aid of a dramatically flourished stick, contorting his face along with the story for full effect. The mild-mannered chocolate mare beneath him tolerated the loud noise and shifting weight atop her with only a flick of her ear.
Percival rode an easy stride on a black and white piebald mare beside him. The knight's clothing had been modified to expose his thickly muscled arms, nicely framing shoulders like a draft horse. The normally intimidating visual was spoiled slightly by heavy bruising around each of his eyes which gave Percival the look of a bemused raccoon, deep purples and blues further accentuating an already heavy brow. The corners of his mouth twisted in a wry grin as Gwaine mimed someone getting hit in the face.
"Never would have had my nose broken if you hadn't ducked," He remarked dryly.
One hand flying to his chest Gwaine drew a look of profound dignity onto his face, dark eyes wide and solemn. "What kind of proficient tavern brawler would I be if I didn't know how to duck?"
"Just be grateful it was a startled farmer this time, and not a brigand with a blade," cautioned Leon, "otherwise, you wouldn't have come out of it looking so pretty."
The senior of the knights was ever practical, warm blue eyes crinkled with laughter while his voice tempered with concern.
"If you can call this pretty" grunted Percival, complexion unusually pallid under his mottled bruises, his perch perhaps a little unsteady on his steed.
Despite his wild antics and jokes, Merlin observed how Gwaine always kept one eye on Percival. As they rode, he had continually nudged his mare close enough that he could catch the injured knight should he slip from his saddle. Shaking his head Merlin wondered how Gwaine managed to be a walking paradox of unflinchingly serious adult and 12-Year-Old Boy all rolled into one.
Banter flowed easily between the friends, heedless of their varying status or social class. The two knights trailing at the back of the line seemed uncertain about where exactly they fit in the well-established group. In fact, Emmanuel, who had been knighted only last week was delicately riding backward. "Melding the saddle," as Percival called it. It made perfect sense to the group and as Leon solemnly explained, it was in accordance with the ancient tradition of Melding.
Elyan had assured Emmanuel in a low voice that they all had to do it on the way back from their first patrol. Perhaps the quietest of the group, Elyan's caring nature and easy smile acted like an open door to the new knight coaxing a grin from him in return.
Merlin felt a twinge of sympathy for the young man but not nearly enough to say anything. Every new knight had to endure an initiation, and depending on how gullible they were it could go on for some time.
A round of fresh repartee swept through the patrol.
"Well, if somebody hadn't set the medicine bag on fire as a distraction then I wouldn't have to go and search for new herbs now, would I?" Interjected Merlin pointedly, looking over his shoulder at Gwaine.
"Hey," said Gwaine raising one hand in surrender. "It was the closest thing to me at the time. And how was I supposed to know that that was the medicine bag?"
"You mean the same bag that Merlin always brings along?" posed Leon.
"Quite a distinctive look to it," added Arthur, flashing a crooked smirk.
"Come on guys, give Gwaine a break. I'm sure he was merely under the impression that they were Gareth's beauty supplies," reasoned Elyan graciously as he attempted to include the knight riding behind him in the banter.
Seemingly unsure quite how to feel about this inclusion, Gareth's mouth tightened in what seemed to be an attempt at a smile. The overall effect ended up appearing more of a grimace.
"We'll stop for a brief lunch and send Merlin off to find whatever plants or weeds he needs to dull your pain," decided Arthur, and with a flick of the reins, he directed his black stallion towards an open clearing alongside the well-traveled road.
"You rhymed," exclaimed Leon in amusement. Then he obviously couldn't resist adding, "I guess your poetry sessions have been going nicely, then?"
The glower Arthur bestowed upon Leon spurred another round of guffawing. Merlin, glad to see the look directed at someone else for a change, grinned.
Dismounting, the group set their horses to graze at the edge of the clearing, hobbling them with lengths of rope. Giving his chestnut mare a fond pat Merlin stroked the spot on her neck he had discovered she so loved. He found himself rewarded when she leaned into the touch, bending her head to lip happily at his trouser leg. With the kind of efficiency one only develops from many years of practice, he dutifully detached the saddle sacks containing the cooking supplies and a portion of the remaining food. Grunting perhaps more than absolutely necessary over the labor, he hauled them toward where Gareth had already started clearing a space for a campfire. Percival attempted to aid with set up at first, but after almost falling over several times due to persistent dizziness was ordered kindly yet firmly by Elyan to sit down. He now sat on a log with his head between his knees as Emmanuel hovered in concern.
Merlin glanced worriedly at Percival. He'd often heard Gaius speak of head injuries that resulted, either permanently or temporarily, in slowed physical response and mental befuddlement. He had even aided Gaius in tending many of them during tournaments or in training accidents. Because of that, he also knew there were few known treatments. The physician would know better than he, but in the meantime, he could manage the pain.
Dropping his jumble of supplies in a heap next to the rapidly forming fire pit Merlin straightened.
"I'm going to go find those herbs."
"Go on then Merlin, just remember you also need to make us lunch so there is no time to waste!" encouraged Arthur mockingly.
"Wouldn't it be best if you finally just learn how to cook by yourself?"
"Why? That's what I have you for."
"What happens when I'm not around?"
Arthur scoffed at that, "Don't be stupid Merlin, I couldn't be rid of you if I tried. Now off you go then." He made little shooing motions with his hand.
Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Merlin folded his arms. "Do you always have to be such a dollop-head?"
"No matter how many times you use it," said Arthur in a matter-of-fact voice, "that will never be a real word."
"Whatever you say, your Majesty." The way the manservant said the title made it seem more like an insult than anything else.
Feeling a tad rebellious, Merlin made sure to dawdle just long enough to make it clear he was going on his account and not on Arthur's orders. As finally he turned to stride towards the forest Gwaine jogged to catch up with him, grinning.
"I'll come along."
Smiling back, he nodded his acceptance of the offer, glad for the help.
"This time of year, we're looking for some Feverfew- It's a white bloom with a yellow center. The flower is about this size," he made his fingers into a circle about the size of a copper shilling to indicate, "and grows in bunches. We need the leaves though, not the flowers."
Nodding, Gwaine gave a casual salute. "Got it, we can split up."
XXX
"Hey Merlin, mate, did you say yellow flowers white centers, or white flowers with yellow centers?" called Gwaine sometime later, crouching down to dubiously finger a rather unfriendly-looking plant.
When no answer came, he looked right, looked left, and turned on the balls of his feet, gazing in the direction he had last seen his friend heading. "Merlin?"
He waited expectantly for a reply that didn't come.
Hoisting himself upright with a huff and a grunt, the knight meandered towards the last place he knew Merlin had been. Just as he began contemplating whether he should worry or not he heard a shout which was abruptly and rather ominously cut off.
That had been Merlin's voice- and he'd been yelling for help.
Gwaine's sword was in his hand in less than a second, guts twisting with tension. Crouching down he paused only as long as it took to sweep his surroundings with shrewd eyes. He moved swiftly in the direction he judged the sound had come from.
Approaching the top of a rocky ridge he slowed, homing in on rough voices and the obvious sound of a scuffle coming from over the edge. Pressing himself down against the rocks Gwaine peered over to see Merlin roughly fifteen feet below his vantage point, a group of men around him. They were on the ground, one of the brigands had a handful of the boy's hair with his other beefy arm wrapped around his neck, effectively cutting off both voice and air. The manservant finally grew still, losing consciousness. A moment more and his head was released to thump against the earth, body limp.
Gwaine released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Alive then, if not exactly safe. But that's a problem Gwaine could help fix. Five of them, armed yes but not visibly armored. He'd faced worse odds.
Rising into a ready crouch and drawing in a breath to shout a battle cry in the hope that the other knights might hear and rush to assist, Gwaine instead heard a twig crack behind him. Spinning, he raised his sword in a block, but to no avail. A rush of movement, a large dark shape, the flash of a knife hilt, and his vision burst into bright lights before plunging into darkness.
The next thing he knew he found himself lying on the ground, one arm dangling in the open air over the ledge. The pain rushed over him in waves, and with each wave, his nausea worsened. Instinctive fear for his friend spiked through him.
Struggling to rally, Gwaine blinked hard fighting the darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision. One hand searched for the hilt of his blade with all the strength of a determined kitten as his eyes struggled to focus. The pressure of a boot met his ribs. A hard push, and then nothing but air.
A short rush, a sickening impact, and merciful unconsciousness slipped over his mind.
XXX
The knights had finished setting up ages ago and now lounged around the crackling fire. Arthur had only been goading Merlin when he'd said he would have to make lunch, and a pot of stew hung simmering cheerfully over the fire. Tantalizing smells wafted across the clearing of cooking vegetables and meat.
Of course, he still hadn't been the one to make it. Despite Gwen's best efforts, Arthur remained helpless when it came to cooking. Instead, Elyan had skillfully thrown it together. Only when the topic of conversation strayed to an upcoming tournament did he realize exactly how long Gwaine and Merlin had been gone. On the heels of that thought unease trailed ghostly fingers up his spine. Turning to gaze into the forest, one hand absently strayed to the comforting hilt of the sword belted at his hip.
Something was wrong.
Catching Leon's eye, they exchanged a look that confirmed he too had noticed.
Maintaining his calm Arthur rose to his feet, stretching luxuriously. "Come on, let's go after them. Merlin's probably lost in the woods, or perhaps he tripped and knocked himself out. Wouldn't be the first time."
Delegating the task of watching the camp to Percival and the task of watching Percival to Emmanuel, Arthur set off.
A skilled tracker, he picked up the two trails quickly. Signaling Gareth and Leon to go left Arthur and Elyan went right. Caution tempered his tongue, the unnatural quiet of the forest warning him that calling out would be unwise. Elyan followed his lead, moving with speed and silence. He would thump Merlin if they found him safe and happy. Yet, Arthur had learned the hard way to trust his instincts. Flickers of regret flashed through him at his failures to do so before and at the memory of the lives that had cost.
Coming in sight of a stone outcrop rising in the near distance the sense of unease ticked higher, each man drawing his sword.
Following the path, Arthur scrambled down a hill keeping the outcropping to his right, quickly reaching the bottom. His sweeping gaze, searching for the next sign of passage, landed on the still form of Gwaine lying motionless with a small pool of blood under his head.
Immediately his eyes flicked around, searching for signs of ambush but finding nothing. "Gwaine" he hissed, heart in his throat.
Where is Merlin?
Sheathing his sword he moved swiftly to the knight's side. Kneeling, he felt for a pulse. Elyan fanned out, securing the area. And… yes, there, a strong rhythm thrummed under Arthur's fingertips. Upon careful inspection, he located the source of the bleeding under matted hair: a wound on the side of Gwaine's skull. The wound had clotted on its own, but the blood remained damp to the touch.
"Sire, all is clear. There was a struggle here but there's no sign of Merlin," reported Elyan, returning from his brief scout.
"Come and bandage this as best you can. It looks superficial enough, but we need to be certain it doesn't start bleeding again." Instructed Arthur, smoothly slipping into the role of commander.
Where is Merlin?
Leaving the task of tending to Gwaine's injury to Elyan he stepped back, turning a circle to take in the full scene around him. Leon and Gareth had joined them by now; he relayed what had been found rapidly as his eyes roamed across the clearing. Half buried under forest litter a glimpse of red caught his eye. Kneeling, Arthur brushed the leaves aside and found the red kerchief Merlin often wore around his neck.
There, spattering the cloth, were flecks of blood.
Clenching the strip of fabric tightly in a fist he stood. Someone had Merlin, and from the footprints, Arthur could see he had been both ambushed and outnumbered. The King's sharp eyes caught more blood lightly sprayed across the ground. He did not know if they had come from Merlin or any of his assailants, or possibly both.
The tracks headed west. A knot sat heavily in his stomach, a lurching sense of uncertain dread and slowly roiling anger.
A hand landed lightly on his shoulder. Turning, Arthur faced Leon.
"Gwaine is coming round. And…" he hesitated, "still no sign of Merlin. Whatever happened it looks like they took him." Concern colored the Knight's voice and reflected in the eyes looking to him to lead.
Arthur nodded tersely, marching back to Gwaine. None of them had wanted to take the risk of moving the injured knight farther than the softer ground away from the rocks before they could confirm the extent of his injuries. From Leon's initial report, it appeared as if Gwaine's only major wound was the one to his head, along with a score of bumps and scrapes. Flicking his attention to the cliff face Arthur knew it easily could have been much worse. The chant that had begun as a whisper on seeing Gwaine's unconscious body strengthened in volume, nearing a shout inside his skull. Where is Merlin, where is Merlin, where is Merlin?
Gwaine groaned. Cracking open one eye and peering up at them solemnly, the knight seemed to be considering something before slurring out "Well at least I know I didn't die and go to heaven; the whole lot of you lot are here."
Arthur couldn't prevent the laugh the knight startled out of him. If he could crack jokes he must not be in danger of dying. Though, on further thought he supposed that didn't mean much. He would bet his last shilling Gwaine would crack a joke with his final breath. "You gave us quite the scare."
"Does anybody else hear ringing?"
Gwaine absently massaged his temples. His fingers found the edge of their improvised bandage, running over the length of it. He attempted to sit up, only to have Arthur push him back, crouching beside his side.
"Stay down, rest. Get your fingers out of your wound, they're filthy. Now I need you to focus, what happened?" He bit down on the urge to rush the injured man, knowing it would just slow the knight down. Would all his people be taken off the board by head injuries!?
"What happened when?" mumbled Gwaine, eyes unfocused.
Frustration boiling over Arthur abruptly stood up, pacing away before he lost his temper.
Elyan glanced his way and took Arthur's vacated place in front of the knight. "Gwaine, Gwaine you have to concentrate," he said soothingly and yet with a tone of urgency that even the befuddled knight couldn't ignore. "What happened to Merlin?"
Gwaine's eyes widened, "Merlin! He's in trouble!"
Elyan nodded in agreement and pushed Gwaine back down as he tried to rise again. "Yes, yes we know that but what happened? Who did this?"
"I…. I can't..." He pressed one hand to his head and squeezed his eyes tightly. "There were... men, bandits, I think. They took him. They attacked from behind, the bleeding cowards."
"Was he alive?"
The words spilled from Arthur's mouth before he could consider whether he was prepared to hear the answer. The nod Gwaine gave loosened some of the anxious energy building in his chest.
"I think so. No, I'm certain he was."
Crossing his arms Gareth frowned slightly, puzzled at the level of concern his King and fellow Knights were showing for one simple servant. He had heard of Arthur's strange fondness for the boy, but from the torment and barbs he'd observed he would have guessed the opposite. "Slavers, perhaps? Nothing against the boy but I can't imagine another reason someone else would be interested in taking Merlin alive."
"Why wouldn't slavers take Gwaine as well?" asked Leon confused, "It would have been easy enough, he's helpless in the state he's in."
It was Elyan who answered this, "A crime of opportunity. Perhaps they weren't aware Merlin wasn't alone when they jumped him, and only realized afterward when they saw a knight what they'd stumbled on. That's likely also why they left Gwaine alive; if they'd left him a corpse there would be no way they'd be allowed to escape. A mere servant on the other hand…"
Elyan turned to Arthur expectantly, eyes steady and gleaming with eagerness. "I take it we are going after him?"
"Of course, he's one of our own," he confirmed without hesitation. Merlin would never abandon any of them; he certainly would not abandon Merlin.
"Sire, it looks like they're heading west," Gareth affirmed. "Heading for the border, I'd guess."
A flash of frustration sparked in him. "It's likely you're correct. Unless they're complete idiots, which isn't out of the question they'll pass by Gawant, a staunch ally, and into Dyfed. The queen's hatred of my family is no secret so I imagine they believe we wouldn't follow them over the border."
Arthur gazed into the middle distance, considering all the factors at play. "We won't abandon Merlin, but we have no political grounds to get him out of Queen Líadan's kingdom once he's there. Our best chance is now."
They moved quickly, Elyan and Gareth shouldering Gwaine's weight as they moved back to camp. They stripped the area of the necessary items, leaving everything else to be dealt with after they retrieved Merlin. If a traveler found their supplies before they returned, they would be welcome to the spoils. Arthur, knowing they had at least one fight ahead of them, served each of his men from the pot of stew and then himself.
The food tasted like ash in his mouth, but he choked it down. A good meal before a battle could provide the extra energy to make the difference between life and death. And if the men who'd taken him hadn't killed Merlin yet, his life was in no immediate danger. They had time to prepare.
Once they'd finished Arthur checked his saddle's strap one last time, pulling it tight. "Percival, I am sorry but you and Gwaine will have to return alone. If we're heading into a fight, I cannot spare anyone to escort you. Ride slowly, rest often. If you go now, you should make it back a few hours past nightfall."
Percival, who had already had several days to accept the limitations of his injury unhappily nodded his acceptance. But before Arthur could swing himself up to his saddle a firm hand on his arm stopped him.
"Let me come with you," urged Gwaine, still in the denial phase.
"I already told you, no."
"But I-"
Before the knight could further continue the same argument, which had gone on almost since their return to camp, Arthur planted his elbow into Gwaine's chest and pushed. The force was barely more than a tap but befuddled as he was the knight toppled over landing in the dirt with a puff of dust, yelping from both surprise and pain.
Stepping away from his mount Arthur planted the tip of his sheathed sword on Gwaine's sternum, pinning him with minimum effort. He needed to make a point Gwaine couldn't ignore. "You and Percival both need to return to Camelot. Go to Gaius so he can treat your injuries."
'"I'm fine!" insisted Gwaine defiantly.
Arthur spoke slowly and deliberately, making sure no malice or passion entered his voice simply stating facts. "You are injured. You are a liability. You will slow us down."
He could see the words cut the knight's pride deeply. Softening, he withdrew his sword and reached a hand down to his friend. "I know you're worried about Merlin. It's alright, we'll bring him back. You have my word, as your king."
Reluctantly Gwaine finally nodded his assent. His eyes burned with frustration, but he accepted the offered help back to his feet.
"Ride swiftly, my Lord."