Chapter Text
Merlin and Esme were woken by Arthur, who shook them both violently before kicking Merlin in the shin. “You two better have a damn good explanation for this.” They shared a look, neither knowing how to respond to the king (who now clearly had his mental faculties back). “Fine, I’ll just continue kicking you,” Arthur said as he moved to kick Merlin’s side.
“Well, you’re back now,” Merlin sighed as he stood, brushing off his clothes. “What do you mean I’m back? You’re talking gibberish.” Arthur began to walk off, but Merlin stopped him. “Listen to me, please. Camelot is lost to Morgana.” Arthur’s face went blank, and memories of the battle returned to him. “You were injured in an attack and passed out. Esme and I had to get you out of there.”
“Where are we now?” Arthur looked lost, and this time, nothing about Arthur’s demeanor was amusing. “We’re heading north to a safe haven, to Ealdor. Hopefully, the other knights will meet us there.” Arthur glanced around, looking at the strangers around the camp. “Who are all these people?”
Esme answered while Merlin avoided Arthur’s eyes, knowing he would disapprove. “They’re… smugglers.”
“Smugglers!” Arthur exclaimed, and both shushed him. “Alright, let’s assume for one moment you two know what you’re doing. It doesn’t explain why I look like the village idiot.” Arthur glanced down at his attire, picking at the rough wool vest covering his upper body.
“It’s the best disguise for you. I also ditched my armor and cloak,” Esme explained, reaching for her sword and hooking it into her belt once again. “I’m sorry, I’m not going around looking like this,” Arthur complained, shaking his head at what he was wearing. “You have to,” Merlin emphasized. “You have to keep in character!”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Character? What character?”
“Oi!” Tristan called out to them. “We leave as soon as the horses are watered. Explain it to the simpleton, would you?” Arthur gave Merlin a look, who pressed his lips together to muffle his laughter. Esme, too, smothered her giggles behind her hand. Arthur took the sword out of Merlin’s hands, not budging when Tristan called out to him. “Simpleton!”
“He’s talking to you, Arthur,” Merlin whispered.
“I don’t answer to that.”
“Stay in character, remember?”
Arthur gritted his teeth, attempting to smile at Tristan - which was truly more of a grimace. “Impressive piece you have there,” Tristan said, gesturing to Arthur’s sword. The king cleared his throat, forcing a rustic accent. “Thank yee, sir.”
“May I?” Tristan took the sword from Arthur’s hands, hoisting it up in the air and feeling its balance. “Magnificent. The only place you find workmanship of this quality is the royal forge of Camelot. How did you come by it?” Merlin, quick on his feet, told Tristan he won it in a card game and gave it to Arthur as a present.
“He refuses to part with it, says it makes him feel safe.” Arthur nodded glumly, accepting the sword once Tristan decided to hand it back. “I hope for your sake that’s true. I would hate to think I was riding with a knight of Camelot.” Esme frowned internally, wondering where Tristan’s hatred of the knights and leadership of Camelot stemmed from. Sure, it was logical that not every individual in the kingdom was happy with Arthur’s reign, but these seemed to go beyond that. “Aye!”
Isolde giggled as Arthur pretended to struggle with putting his sword away. “Knight of Camelot? Look at him.” Merlin was laughing too, and Esme elbowed him; Arthur would make him pay for that laughter later. “You’re right. The knights may be stupid, but they’re not that stupid,” Tristan put his arm around Isolde, and both continued their mocking.
“Pack your things, simpleton!” Merlin exclaimed, and Arthur grabbed him by the scruff of his jacket. “Call me that again, and I’ll run you through.” Esme stepped between them, and despite how annoyed he was, Arthur let Merlin go. “Don’t worry, sire. We won’t have to keep it up for much longer,” Esme reassured. Arthur griped about just how long, and the answer to that question came in the form of an arrow slicing through the air. It hit one of the smugglers in the shoulder, bringing him to the ground.
A company of Southron soldiers had found them and began attacking everyone who crossed their path. Arthur drew his sword once again, all pretenses of him being a dimwit gone. Esme rushed to the tree where their belongings were and took up her sword before joining Arthur and Merlin as they took cover behind Tristan’s carriage. Both he and Isolde were hiding there, and Arthur commanded them to run. “Head for those trees. We’ll cover you.”
Tristan and Isolde shared a confused glance; the man in front of them was nothing like the one they’d seen just moments before. “Do you want to live or not?” Arthur berated them, tossing a crossbow to Esme while loading up one for himself. They didn’t waste another second, firing arrows one after the other between the gaps in the wooden planks of the carriage roof.
Merlin stood between them, ensuring the arrows made their target. They all took cover, and when Arthur said it was their turn to run, Merlin asked, “Who’s going to cover us?” Arthur just shook his head, swinging around to shoot again. “Don’t be a simpleton, Merlin.” Merlin’s expression would have been amusing had the situation not been so dire. When they found an opening, the three ran into the forest, joining Tristan and Isolde behind a felled tree.
They were discussing their cargo and how the Southrons would take it all. “They’ll find the cargo, but that’s not what they were after. They were after you,” Tristan said, glaring at Arthur. “Who the hell are you?” Arthur kept his eyes locked on Morgana’s soldiers, not looking back at Tristan as he answered. “My name is Arthur Pendragon.”
“The king of Camelot?” Hate filled every word Tristan spoke. “Well, I was,” Arthur conceded. Camelot was no longer his. “I’ve lost everything I’ve worked for all for some good-for-nothing king?”
“That’s quite something coming from a smuggler,” Arthur bit back, turning to face Tristan. “I wouldn’t have to be a smuggler if it wasn’t for your damn taxes, would I?” The argument between them grew heated, and Esme looked to Isolde. She looked just as infuriated as Tristan, though underneath that fury lay something else. Esme couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
“Those taxes help protect the people of this land!” Arthur defended impassionately. This was something Esme had seen firsthand. Kings filled their coffers with gold and riches, but Arthur did no such thing. “My people are dead. You call that protection?”
Merlin glanced back, and Esme’s eyes widened as she saw what he did. “Um, gentlemen, sorry to interrupt, but-” Merlin was cut off by the battle cry of a Southron who rushed up the hill to them. The bickering came to a screeching halt, and they all fought as one. From the corner of her eye, after she’d brought her assailant to his knees, Esme saw Isolde crumple to the ground. The soldier was seconds from killing her when Arthur’s sword pierced through his spine. “Isolde!” Tristan cried out for her, rushing to cradle her body. She had a large gash on her left arm and a festering bruise on her temple.
“We had a deal. Partners for life, remember?” Isolde winced, doing her best to stay conscious. “When have I not kept my promises?” Tristan leaned in to kiss her forehead, and before they could continue their poignant moment, Arthur intervened. “We need to keep moving. There will be more coming soon.”
“Then go,” Tristan spat back. “There’s nothing stopping you.” Arthur didn’t bother saying more, cleaning off his sword instead. “Come with us to Ealdor,” Merlin chimed in. “You’ll be safe there.” Tristan’s expression stayed hard, poison still permeating his words. “I’m choosy about the company I keep.”
“Show some respect, Tristan. The King just saved her life.” Esme gritted her teeth, narrowing her eyes at the smuggler. The anger from Isolde was gone. “Thank you,” she said as she looked at Arthur. Even with her gratitude, Tristan wasn’t moved. “None of this would have even happened if it wasn’t for them.”
Isolde didn’t have the energy to debate him, and Arthur gave them one last chance. “She’s injured. She needs shelter, a healer, and rest.” With her last bit of dwindling strength, Isolde nodded at her partner. Tristan sighed, standing with Isolde in his arms. “Very well. But know this, Arthur Pendragon. I do this for her. You and your kind bring nothing but misery to this land.”
Esme was less concerned with Tristan’s bitterness now. There was no helping one who’d already darkened their heart and etched their mind in stone. She watched Arthur’s expression carefully as Tristan’s words sank in, knowing just how heavy a toll they would have on her friend.
Gwaine looked out upon the overrun citadel from the dungeon cell he shared with Gaius and Elyan. “Have you come to gloat, my Lady?” Gaius addressed Morgana as she came to visit them. “Is that any way to treat an old friend?” Morgana reprimanded Gaius, but her tone grew sickly sweet. “I’ll forgive you. After all, you’re not looking your best.”
“Can’t you see he’s starving?” Gwaine said harshly. “We all are.” Morgana’s eyes narrowed, and she grew incredulous. “Of course you are,” she said nonchalantly. “You’ve killed so many of my men. I’ll have the kitchen prepare you a feast.” Gwaine grit his teeth and began to approach Morgana.
“I think not of myself, but of Gaius. He can’t survive long without food.” Despite the growing anger inside him, his voice remained calm. He wasn’t yet pleading, but to save his friends, he’d have done that too. “Oh… Sir Gwaine. So handsome, so selfless,” Morgana purred as she reached one hand between the metal bars of the cell, stroking his cheek with the back of her fingers. “Of course, you shall have some supper.
“As long as you’re prepared to sing for it.”
The cell was unlocked, and Gwaine was dragged out by two Southron soldiers. He tried to fight them off, glancing back at Elyan and Gauis who were locked in once again. They pulled him along to the throne room where Arthur often took council. Now, it was crawling with Morgana’s henchman, all drunk and stumbling over themselves. “Behold! A knight of Camelot. Famed as the greatest knights in all the five kingdoms.” The jeering grew louder as Morgana grabbed Gwaine’s face, squeezing harshly. “Let’s see if that fame’s deserved, shall we?”
Morgana retreated to the throne, perching there in her attempt to portray regality. In stark contrast, a Southron approached Gwaine menacingly, a staff in one hand and a flail in the other. Gwaine was not given anything to defend himself, but within seconds, he’d claimed the Southron’s staff as his own weapon. Weakened as he was, the assailant’s blows got to him, knocking him back into onlookers. They pushed him to the ground, and Gwaine missed the flail hitting his skull by inches. “Is that all you have?” Gwaine taunted. “I was promised a decent fight.”
The sheer force of the flail’s swings knocked the staff from Gwaine’s hands. He artfully escaped its swings and continued to egg the heathen on. “You’re a very angry man, I see. It must be hard being so ugly. Children crying,” Gwaine panted as he jumped up onto a pillar briefly before maneuvering in circles. “Women screaming.” The more he angered the man, the less coordinated his swings were. He lost his footing, and that was the window of opportunity Gwaine needed. Using his own momentum against him, Gwaine brought the Southron to the ground. The force of the crash made him release the flail, and Gwaine claimed it quickly to deal one final blow.
The hall grew silent, and Morgana gave Gwaine a slow clap of appreciation. “Congratulations, Sir Knight. An admirable display. You’ve earned your reward.” She waved her hand, and a henchman threw a measly hunk of moldy bread to his feet. Gwaine didn’t give her the satisfaction of picking it up, but he also didn’t say anything snarky as he wished to. “But you’ll have to do better if you want some more.”
With the flail in his hand, Gwaine paled as two more soldiers approached him. Both wielded swords, and he steeled himself as he prepared to fight back.
After nearly a full day’s journey, Arthur, Merlin, Esme, Tristan, and Isolde had reached the border between Camelot and Lot’s kingdom. They’d stop for the night and make their way to Ealdor at daybreak. Esme took Isolde and helped her to sit as they created a fire. The group had no belongings other than their weapons and a dwindling water supply.
As night fell, Tristan and Isolde slept in each other’s arms. Merlin, Esme, and Arthur sat beside the crackling fire, and Arthur seemed deep in thought. “You knew?” Arthur questioned. “You knew Agravaine was betraying me,” Arthur said. Merlin rested against his hand, shaking his head. “I wasn’t sure, but I did have my suspicions.”
“I feel like such a fool. I put so much trust in him. All this time, I was blind to his treachery just as I was to Morgana’s,” Arthur lamented. “You were deceived, Arthur,” Esme tried to reassure him as she moved closer to the fire. “It could happen to anyone.”
“Yet it keeps happening to me. I cared about these people. I-” Arthur’s voice cut off, his throat briefly closing with emotion. “I don’t understand. What have I done wrong? Why do they hate me?” Merlin attempted to assuage his concerns, saying people don’t hate him, they only want his power for themselves. Esme knew the words would fall short. “Would they still want the power if I was the King my people deserved? Maybe Tristan is right.”
Just as Esme had anticipated, the words of hatred struck a chord deep within him. “Tristan was angry. He was afraid and hurt,” Merlin said, glancing back to see that Tristan and Isolde were still asleep. “People need someone to blame, Arthur. But it’s not you that is to blame for all this,” Esme looked to Arthur with genuine care, the belief in her words indisputable.
“You both seem very sure about this.” Esme and Merlin looked at each other, and as their gaze lingered upon the other, their resolve only strengthened. “Despite your many faults,” Merlin began in an attempt to lighten the mood, “anyone who knows you knows you are honest, brave, and true of heart.”
“And one day, you will be the greatest King this land has ever known,” Esme said, her voice brooking no argument. How could it, when she knew it to be fact? Arthur smiled briefly, looking upon them both with gratitude. His smile fell within mere moments, and he stared at the flames instead. “Well, it’s nice to know that I have the support of my servant and one of my knights, at least.”
“We’re not alone, Arthur. Believe me.” Arthur pursed his lips, nodding half-heartedly at their claims. It hurt Esme to see Arthur losing faith in himself, all because of the words of some bitter man and the actions of an evil witch blinded by hatred.
As the sun rose the following morning, the group continued on to Ealdor. They reached the village two hours after dawn, and Esme watched as a woman ran up to Merlin. “Mother!” Merlin exclaimed as he embraced her, and she pressed a kiss to her son’s cheek. “Welcome home, Merlin.” Esme watched the interaction with warmth in her heart, seeing exactly where Hunith’s son got his grace and kindness from.
They settled into Merlin’s childhood home, and with access to herbs and such surrounding Ealdor, Esme was able to make medicines for Isolde’s wounds and a tonic for her pain. “There’s no sign of infection,” Merlin told Tristan. “As long as she gets plenty of rest, she’ll be fine.” Tristan’s eyes softened, and he thanked Esme and Merlin for everything they’d done for Isolde. Both smiled and nodded. Merlin excused himself to spend time with his mother, and Esme joined the two men at the table.
“I’m sorry I brought this misfortune upon you,” Arthur said. Tristan averted his gaze, but he acknowledged what he hadn’t all this time. “Well, I may have lost my cargo, but I still have my beloved Isolde.” Arthur’s expression grew solemn, softening with sincerity. “Then you are richer than you know.” Esme’s thoughts went to Gwen, and she knew Arthur’s mind was in the same place.
Outside their home, Merlin walked with his mother. “It’s good to have you home, Merlin,” Hunith expressed. Merlin took the basket of garlic cloves from her, apologizing for not visiting more often. “I’m so sorry, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you.”
“I understand how it is, your life in Camelot. I worry about you sometimes, the dangers you must face,” Hunith said as she turned to look at him. “Mother, I don’t want you to worry,” Merlin chided gently. “I can’t help it. It’s what mothers do. Though, I did see something that could be cause for celebration, not a cause for worry.” At this, Merlin stopped walking. His face flushed, and he knew exactly what his mother was talking about. “Esme. You’ve given her my ring, and I’d like to meet her.”
Merlin cleared his throat, glancing around to see that Esme and Arthur were both out of earshot and inside still. Yes, well… She’s special to me, even if she doesn’t feel the same. She doesn’t know what the ring means to me. I gave it to her because I couldn’t imagine wanting to give it to anyone else.” At this, Hunith smiled. She was glad her son had found someone he loved. “She’s a Knight, you know. She’s courageous, loyal, kind, and true…” His voice trailed off as he thought of Esme, how their destinies were so deeply intertwined. Hunith watched the emotions come to life on his face. “If you care for her then I’m sure she’s wonderful. Once Arthur is safe, once Camelot is safe again, I want to meet her properly,” Hunith all but demanded, her words misaligning with her gentle voice.
“For now, we are all safe here, all of us,” Merlin said. Truthfully, he’d love nothing more for his mother to get to know and care for the Esme he knew. They saw Gwen go into their home, where Arthur and Esme were resting. “How’s she been?” Hunith and Merlin both looked at Gwen, watching Esme’s reaction to seeing her friend. “As well as can be expected, but a broken heart takes time to mend.” Both women hugged, and Esme held Gwen’s hands, squeezing them reassuringly. “I’m so glad to see you’re alright, Gwen.”
Esme’s voice was quiet so as to not wake Arthur. He, too, had some injuries to attend to, and Esme had given him the same tonic she gave Isolde for pain. His ribs were still broken and would take time to heal. Gwen briefly spoke with Esme, but her eyes kept flitting to Arthur. Esme understood and stepped out of the tent into the cool night air.
Arthur woke as if sensing her presence. He nearly balked when he noticed who sat at the edge of his bed. “Guinevere…”
“Hello Arthur,” she said. Her heart filled with joy at seeing him again, brimming with words unspoken. “What are you doing here?” Arthur asked, still in disbelief that she sat in front of him. “It’s as good a place as any…” Gwen blinked rapidly, hoping to dispel some of her tears. “I’ve missed you,” she admitted.
“And I you,” Arthur said, pulling Gwen into an embrace. They held onto each other tightly, afraid they’d disappear at any moment.
Outside, Esme began to approach Hunith and Merlin with a smile. She was a bit nervous, but Hunith wore a welcoming expression. She stood to greet her, holding her arms out to Esme. Esme was inches away from accepting her hug when they heard screams echoing throughout the village. They looked to the source of the sound, realizing that a ring of torches had formed around the valley overlooking Ealdor. “Agravaine,” Merlin muttered under his breath. “He’s found us.”
They all rushed inside, and without a second to lose, they prepared to run for their lives. Merlin and Arthur watched as the Southrons rode through Ealdor, Agravaine leading the way. “Any suggestions?” Tristan asked in a whisper. “Round the back,” Merlin instructed. There was a passageway they could take out of Ealdor, but getting to it undetected was another matter. Arthur, Gwen, Tristan, and Isolde rushed off while Esme stayed at Merlin’s side. They’d gotten as many villagers to take shelter as they could, and she watched as Merlin set a barrel of hay ablaze, his eyes gleaming gold. It rolled straight into Agravaine, distracting the Southrons long enough to allow them to run off into the surrounding forests.
It didn’t take long for them to draw notice, and Agravaine shouted at the soldiers to go after them. Tristan bolstered Isolde while Arthur and Gwen led the way. Merlin and Esme made up the flank, and he shouted up to them. “You go on, I’ll cover our tracks!” Without saying anything, Esme stayed at Merlin’s side. She knew far too well that he didn’t need anyone protecting him, but for her own sanity, she wanted to ensure he was alright. As the rest ran deeper into the woods, Merlin turned his head and called out to Kilgharrah.
Kilgharrah could not ignore the call of a Dragonlord even if he wished; within seconds, Kilgharrah laid waste to the Southrons. Both knew they were safe to join the others, and they rushed into the tunnels after Arthur. “Did you lose them?” Arthur asked as they caught up to them. “We’re safe,” Merlin responded, moving to the front of the group to look at the tunnels. “Are you sure?”
“He doesn’t change, does he?” Merlin said incredulously, shaking his head at the lack of gratitude and trust. Merlin hesitated to say which direction to go, and Arthur grew impatient. “I thought you said you grew up in these tunnels.”
“I did, it’s just… It could be that way,” Merlin said, pointing to the right. “Or it could be that way,” Arthur tilted his head to the left. “Yes,” Merlin admitted. “Well, that’s reassuring.”
Merlin picked right, and they all began moving through the tunnels. Tristan and Gwen were talking about how she knew Arthur, and Isolde was leaning against Esme. Their conversation could be heard by all, even Arthur as Tristan said he didn’t see many king-like qualities in him. No one put away their weapons and those without weapons held up their torches.
Unbeknownst to them, Agravaine and some others had also entered the tunnels, ironically driven there to take shelter from Kilgharrah’s fiery attacks. Clattering sounds echoed throughout, and both groups were suddenly aware of each other’s presence. “I thought you said you’d lost them,” Arthur exclaimed, worriedly glancing down the path they’d come from. “I thought I had,” Merlin said, sharing a look with Esme. “I’ll go back.” Merlin pushed through the group again, now returning the way they’d come from. “And what are you going to do?” Arthur asked, stopping him by grabbing his forearm. “I know these tunnels. Agravaine doesn’t. I’ll create a diversion and lead them on the wrong path.”
“It’s too risky!” Arthur said, not wanting to let him go to his death. Merlin handed his torch to Arthur, not listening to him. “You keep going,” he urged. “Don’t do anything stupid, Merlin.” Despite the gravity of the situation, Merlin cracked a grin. “Me?” Merlin ran back, not noticing how Arthur and Esme stared after him until he disappeared. Staying with the group had been a decision that didn’t sit right with Esme initially, but Emrys and Diedra would both do their part to protect their king.
Merlin saw the small group of soldiers and Agravaine advancing. Rather than attempting to be stealthy, Merlin jumped in front of them with an, “Oh, hello!” They immediately chased after them, and Merlin led them to an open cavern deep in the tunnels. “Merlin! Where’s Arthur? Tell me. Now, or I’ll have to kill you.” Merlin stood there silently, his expression perfectly even. “I don’t think so.”
Agravaine smirked, advancing to take care of him. Without moving a muscle, Merlin took down the soldiers flanking Agravaine, blasting them towards the stone walls of the tunnels. Agravaine, too, crumpled to the ground, panting heavily. “You have magic!” Agravaine exclaimed. Merlin simply spoke the truth now. “I was born with it.”
“So it’s you. You’re Emrys.”
“That is what the Druids call me.”
“And you’ve been at court all this time, right at Arthur’s side. How you’ve managed to deceive him…” Agravaine chuckled. “I am impressed, Merlin. Perhaps we’re more alike than you think.” Agravaine began to walk towards him, and all it took for him to stop was Merlin raising his hand. He flinched back, expecting another spell to knock him down.
In a poor attempt to take Merlin by surprise, Agravaine threw his sword at him. Once more, he was pushed backward, this time with greater force. Merlin stood still on his feet, immovable as a mountain. Agravaine had landed upon his own sword, and he was dead. Merlin’s expression hardened, and though he wasn’t keen to take a life, it had to be done. It wasn’t the first time he’d killed on Arthur’s behalf, and it wouldn’t be the last.
As the group moved through the tunnels, Arthur came to a halt. Esme was at the back of the group, and she saw the hesitation and concern in Arthur’s eyes when he turned around, looking back to where Merlin had left them. “Merlin…” Arthur said. “He knows the tunnels. He’ll find his way,” Tristan argued, wanting to keep moving forward for the sake of Isolde. “I’m going back.”
Esme thought to stop Arthur for his safety, but it was no use. “For a servant?” Tristan questioned. Esme glared at him, irritated with how little a smuggler valued Merlin’s life. “You are wrong about him.” Gwen told him off before Esme had the chance to, and a few seconds later, they heard Arthur cry out, “Merlin!” in relief.
Esme felt her body relax, and she let out a soft sigh. “Where have you been?” Merlin looked befuddled, the concern in Arthur’s demeanor evident. “Were you worried about me?” Arthur immediately denied this. “I was making sure we weren’t being followed.”
Merlin looked at his friend, a smile growing on his face. “You came back to look for me,” Merlin teased, the gratitude underlying his cheerful tone. “All right. It’s true,” Arthur conceded. “I came back because you’re the only friend I have, and I couldn’t bear to lose you.”
“Really?”
“Don’t be stupid, Merlin.”
As they joined the group, Esme put away her sword for a moment and ran to hug Merlin. She didn’t particularly care if it was considered improper or the others were staring. All she cared about was him being safe. Merlin held her just as tightly; he hadn’t truly been in any danger, he never was, but he was touched at how much she and Arthur cared for him.
They stayed close together and reached an exit within the hour. Arthur suggested they move beyond the plains; Tristan cautioned that they’d be delving further into Lot’s kingdom, and he was no friend of the Pendragons. Merlin suggested the Forest of Ascetir. “If anyone from Camelot has survived the attacks, that’s where they’ll be.”
Arthur conceded after a goading comment from Tristan. He sheathed his sword and followed after them all, and the weight of his disparaging guilt grew on his shoulders. They journeyed as far as they could before making camp at a clearing. Esme went down to a nearby creek to fill their water pouches, and when she came back, she briefly overheard Tristan making his opinion of Arthur perfectly clear once again. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t deserve to be king.”
“Well, that’s alright because you’re not. Not anymore.” Esme saw the flash of despondence on Arthur’s face, and she returned Tristan’s water pouch to him with far more force than necessary. Arthur stepped away from the clearing, and Gwen followed him. He brushed her off, saying nothing had changed between them. “What happened in Ealdor was a moment’s weakness. What you did to me… Everything I cherished between us, everything we had is gone.”
Gwen swallowed away her emotions and her pride. She knew that her actions were the result of Morgana’s magic, but saying so right now would be meaningless. “I’m sorry,” Gwen said before turning on her heels, not looking back at Arthur.
Back in Camelot, Morgana’s henchmen pulled Gwaine out of the cell again. Elyan tried to stop them, but he was still weak from the torture he endured. “Don’t worry about me,” Gwaine said, brushing it off. “At least we’ll get to eat again.” Elyan clutched onto the bars of the jail cell, looking at his friend until he disappeared around the corner.
Gwaine was led into the throne room once again. This same ordeal had been going on for what felt like days. Morgana handed him a tiny, wooden sword - something you’d give a child to play with. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to leave you defenseless, would it? Even if you are a Knight of Camelot.” With a wave of her hand, four men circled around Gwaine. He took a deep breath, stabilizing himself. His grip on the wooden sword tightened. The first swing at his body came seconds later.
Gwaine was dragged back to the cell hours later. There was barely breath left in him, his upper body was riddled with festering bruises. Morgana followed behind, throwing one more hunk of bread to the ground for them. “Enjoy your supper. It’ll be your last.”
Elyan took up the bread and brought it to Gaius. “You need to eat,” he said, enclosing Gaius’s hand around the loaf. “Whether I eat or not, I’m not long for this world.” Gaius sounded quiet as if life was ready to abandon him at any moment. “Come on, Gaius.” Elyan insisted, but Gaius would not be convinced. “I am a physician, Elyan. I’ve spent my days watching the cycle of life. If there’s one thing I’m not afraid of, it’s death. Don’t waste your food. If Gwaine has to fight again, he’ll need all the strength he can get.”
Elyan and Gwaine both looked at Gaius, despondence in their eyes. Neither attempted to argue with Gaius, but Elyan left the bread with him before joining Gwaine on the floor. Gwaine attempted to silence his groans, though he knew his injuries were severe. Elyan stood, looking out onto the castle’s courtyard in the dark of night. He hoped his friends had made it out safely, and that wherever the King was, he had a plan to take back their kingdom.