Chapter Text
He was trembling as he hung from the roof in the witch's cold, dark hovel, skin and clothes wet from the water she had thrown over him hours ago. Or maybe it was from a fever sweat. He'd likely been here long enough for an infection to set into the cut on his chest. He watched her pacing back and forth idly before the earthen altar in the middle of the room, for everything looking like a Queen in her throne room, about to deal out either gracious mercy or a punishment she found absolutely delicious. He wondered if it was warm by her altar, adorned with so many candles.
"Have you ever heard of a Fomorroh, Merlin?"
It was lucky her eyes were focused on the metal amulet she was stroking with her long, pale fingers. If they hadn't been, she may have glimpsed the way Merlin's body briefly stiffened, and the flash of fear in his eyes because yes, he had heard of a Fomorroh. The idea of Morgana possessing one of the creatures was not a pleasant one. The shelves standing haphazardly around the room were covered in strange jars and pots and Merlin's eyes flicked over them. Maybe one of those held the beast.
"Of course you haven't," she continued, smile dripping with mockery when she turned back to him. "Why would you? A lowly servant like you could never know of the wonders of the old religion."
"Perhaps you could enlighten me then? You do seem to enjoy the sound of your own voice." He really should have learned to stop antagonising her by now, after a day (or was it two?) spent hanging from her ceiling, the buckets of icy water, and the harsh presses against his already wounded chest. He gritted his teeth to hold back a hiss as she chose this as a way to chastise him again. The flail had left a long, deep, gouge in his skin, along with what he expected was an impressive bruise, and this time her finger found the centre of that cut.
"Then again," she went on as if he hadn't spoken, "perhaps Gaius has taught you a thing or two." She pushed him away hard as she stepped back, causing him to lose his footing and swing back and forth a few times. His arms had gone numb many hours ago, but the ache in his shoulders was approaching the pain in his chest now, and he couldn't hold back a gasp this time. Morgana snickered.
"It is a creature of dark magic. In the days of the Old Religion," she 'enlightened' him as she stalked away, "the High Priestesses would use the Fomorroh to enslave the minds of their enemies, and thanks to this little sweetheart" - she raised the amulet before her again - "You're going to kill Arthur for me."
Merlin gulped. Until now he had been willing to endure Morgana's torment. He couldn't risk revealing his magic to her, so had resigned himself to letting her toy with him until she left him alone long enough to escape. But now... now he wasn't so sure. She turned away from him, eyes fixed on the lit brazier, and began an incantation. "Astige ðu wyrm fah..."
The fire before her was growing higher and Merlin realised now the Fomorroh wasn't here with them, but that Morgana was preparing to summon it. He had to risk it, he couldn't let her do this, and with Morgana's attention elsewhere, this might be his only chance.
"Færblæd wawe," he whispered, eyes focused on one of the filthy windows. With a bang it flew open, glass shattering as it ricocheted off the wall, and a gust of wind whistled through the hut. Morgana jumped at the noise and stopped her chanting, the amulet in her hand falling to the floor. She spun to the window but was forced to turn back at once as the candles scattered across the altar were sent flying and though some went out as the wind blew past them, some did not. Morgana screamed as one landed on her sleeve and the fabric caught light at once.
In the confusion, Merlin muttered another spell to sever the ropes around his wrists and summoned a large, weighty-looking water jug from the table to his hand. By the time Morgana had used her own magic to put out the flames, it was too late for her. She turned as Merlin swung, and he couldn't help but feel guilty when he saw the raw fear in her eyes. Fear had done this to Morgana, had driven her to this point. But he couldn't dwell on that right now. The jug smashed against her temple, and she crumpled to the floor.
Merlin's mind went blank as he stood over Morgana's body.
There was a cut on her forehead oozing blood. His heart was beating painfully fast in his chest, and while he waited for it to calm he watched the blood as it trickled down the side of his old friends face, behind her ear, and into her hair. Her hair had always looked beautiful before she left Camelot, shining in the light and perfectly clean. But now it was matted, dull, and becoming filthier by the moment. He wondered, distantly, when she had last been able to bathe in anything other than an ice-cold forest stream.
It was several minutes before it occurred to him to check if she was still alive. He wasn't sure if he was pleased or disappointed to see her chest rising and falling rhythmically. He wasn't sure if he felt anything at all.
The sound of a candle stick falling to the floor shook him out of his trance and sent his heart racing again. He had to leave, had to escape, had to get out. Had to get out right now.
He fled into the night.
It was dawn when Morgana woke, cold and shivering on the hard stone floor of her hovel. A dull ache pulsed through her skull and when she reached her hand up she felt something sticky in her hair. She winced when her fingers found the edge of a gash on her forehead and a searing pain joined the headache. It was when she saw the remains of a rope hanging from the rafters that she remembered what had happened. Merlin had escaped.
She let out a scream of rage and thumped her fist against the ground. That bastard, how dare he strike her! How dare he ruin her plans AGAIN! She should have killed him when she had the chance. Seething, she pushed herself up, clutching the altar for support as the room spun, and wondered if maybe she should go after the boy. It had been such a brilliant chance to end Arthur's life, and to torture Merlin with guilt.
But it must have been hours since he had attacked her. He would be long gone by now. There was no point, and besides... she smiled to herself. Merlin wouldn't survive out there anyway.
The wound on his chest would make it difficult for him to move quickly, and it had already been infected when she first strung him up. She'd been planning to heal it once the Fomorroh head had been planted in the boy's neck when she could be sure he was under its control. It was a good thing she had. The wound had become an unexpected and welcome piece of insurance. This far from Camelot, there was no chance a feeble peasant like Merlin would be able to make his way back. Not before the infection took him. Although, he had surprised her in the past...
But it was no matter. Even if he survived long enough to make it back to Camelot and was able to remember anything about her whereabouts, Agravaine would be keeping a close eye on the boy. The moment Arthur learned of her location and announced to his dear beloved uncle that he planned to attack, the traitor would intervene. He'd convince Arthur he was wrong or, if it came to the worst, ride to warn her before Arthur could strike. The man was hopelessly in love with her; he would not hesitate to come to her aid.
She raised a hand to her bruised face and muttered a spell. "Þurhhæle licsar min." The pain vanished and the swelling began to calm. Though lessened, the headache remained, and she hoped Merlin's death would be a painful one.
He'd been trekking through the woods all night and had tripped on more tree roots than he could count in the dark. He was tired. So goddamn tired, and the pain in his chest was making breathing close to unbearable. But he couldn't let himself stop. He had to get back to Camelot, or at least put as much distance between himself and Morgana's hut as possible. He doubted she'd wake up from a hit that bad anytime soon, but if she did she would surely be after him. Why hadn't he just killed her then? She had been completely at his mercy, he could have ended all this right then and there, and then Arthur would have been safe!
But he hadn't. He didn't know why, but the thought hadn't even occurred to him. All he could think was that he had to get out, had to get away from that place as fast as his damn legs could carry him. He cursed himself for it now, but if he was honest with himself, he didn't know if he could have done it. To kill her in cold blood like that... Thinking about her, still on the floor, unmoving and helpless. He felt sick at the thought.
Actually, he just felt plain sick. He considered stopping to rest for a while when the sun first came up but the moment he sat down he knew it was the wrong choice. If he stayed that way for long he wasn't sure he'd ever stand up again. And so he staggered on, weaving on his feet as he stumbled from tree to tree, hoping that he was at least going in a straight line, even if it wasn't in the direction of Camelot. He was utterly lost but all he had to do was find a road, a path, anything that might lead him to civilisation.
By the time the sun was directly above him, he was beginning to lose hope. Then hooves. Horses. Someone was riding nearby. That meant two things. One, he must have finally found a path! Second, he was probably seconds away from another hoard of bandits. He did his best to dash to the nearest tree with a large enough trunk to conceal him, begging the crunching leaves not to give him away. But his heart sank, as the sound of hooves stopped, and he heard a pair of feet strike the earth. Then a voice, and he almost burst into tears.
Arthur raised a hand to Gwaine, abruptly pulling his horse to a halt. Something, or someone, was moving amongst the trees. He dropped from his horse, drawing his sword at once, and called out in the direction of the rustling.
"Declare yourself!"
A few moments silence, and then the crunching of leaves beneath boots began again. The steps sounded uneven and as Arthur watched the gap in the trees a figure emerged. They had one hand raised, supporting themselves against the trunk they had hidden behind, and the other clasped to their chest. They were caked in dirt, red shirt stained brown and leaves in their dark hair. Black hair. Black hair framing a pale face, with bright blue eyes. A faint word formed on the man's lips. "Arthur?"
"MERLIN!" A smile burst across Arthur's face. He ran for him, laughing with joy as Merlin beamed back, staggering away from the tree towards him. "I thought we'd lost you!" Neither thinking of what they were doing, they threw their arms around each other and clung on tightly, each relieved beyond belief.
For the first time in days, Merlin felt safe. Arthur had escaped the bandits unharmed and then had come for him. He'd be alright now. They were both alright. He was too relieved to even notice the pain of his chest being pressed against Arthur's chainmail. Arthur didn't think he'd ever felt so happy to hold someone in his arms. He'd missed his friend so much, begun to doubt he'd ever see him again, but now he was here. He'd found him.
"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded, still beaming like an idiot as he let go. Merlin, who had been smiling just as widely when they broke apart, was gazing at him with unfocussed eyes and as Arthur watched him his face began to fall. Merlin was holding on to his shoulder tightly, as though without it he wouldn't be able to stay standing. Arthur's worry returned. In the rush of seeing Merlin alive, he'd completely forgotten he was hurt. He reached out and patted Merlin's arm. "Let's get you out of here."
"Arthur," Merlin rasped, eyes suddenly desperate. "Wait-" Arthur wasn't waiting though and cut him off.
"Come on, we have to get you to-"
"No, Arthur wait! She's here!"
Arthur frowned. "Who? Merlin, you need-"
"Morgana!"
That stopped him.
"What?"
"She's... she's here..."
It stopped Arthur for only a moment though, as Merlin swayed. There was a wild, feverish look in his eyes that put Arthur on edge, and his dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. "We can worry about that later. Right now we need to get you to Gaius." He tried to move an arm around Merlin's waist, intending to guide him back to the horses, but Merlin pushed him away.
"No, she's weak right now, hurt, we... we have to..."
"What we have to do is get you medical attention, come on." Merlin didn't move, he just stared at Arthur looking confused and frantic. He didn't understand, didn't Arthur realise what an opportunity this was? What if she fled? She was hurt right now, if ever there was a time to strike this was it. Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it in an attempt to calm him. "Morgana can wait."
Merlin had started trembling. He must be getting delirious because Arthur wouldn't want to miss this chance for anything, would he? "But-"
"I don't care!" Arthur yelled. He was going to give Merlin one last chance to come quietly before he threw him over his shoulder and dragged him home. He would have done it already if he wasn't afraid of hurting him more. "Merlin please! I want you safe first."
His eyes bored into Merlin's, as concerned as they were commanding. Merlin thought he looked almost scared. That look seemed to be the final permission he needed to let the last of his adrenaline go. "OK..." He gave Arthur a nod, and then his legs gave way.
Arthur got his arms beneath Merlin's just in time and lowered them both carefully to the ground. "Gwaine!" Arthur yelled over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off the top of Merlin's head where it had come to rest against his chest. He could feel the fever emanating from his manservant's skin as he held him up. He needn't have bothered calling, as Gwaine was dropping down beside them already. He looked as frantic as Arthur felt.
"Merlin?" Gwaine placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder. "You still with us mate?" He got an irritated groan in response and grinned. "Good to have you back."
"Can't get rid 'me that easy," he mumbled into Arthur's chest, and both the other men chuckled. Carefully Arthur pushed Merlin back to lean against Gwaine and reached for his collar.
"I need to check your wound," he explained as he pulled the material back. Arthur had suspected a broken sternum when he'd first checked the wound, on that night in the forest that felt like far longer than a few days ago now. Judging by the dark purple and blue that had spread across Merlin's chest he was sure he'd been right.
The large scar on Merlin's chest that he had glimpsed two days ago was far more difficult to make out now, the discolouration overtaken by bruising. It looked like it was from a burn, and a bad one at that. Arthur had almost forgotten about it. He still had no idea what caused it. Just like before he swallowed his questions. There would be time for that later, when Merlin was safe and well. The bruising and the damage to Merlin's bones wasn't what worried him right now; it was the inflamed gouges the flail had left behind. "Definitely infected," he reported somberly. "Nothing we can do about that out here though, are you hurt anywhere else, Merlin?" He shook his head.
"Apart from these?" Gwaine asked with a grimace, and Arthur looked down to where Gwaine had picked up Merlin's arm. An angry red mark encircled his wrist. Arthur pulled his sleeve back, revealing more grazes wrapped around his forearm.
"Is jus' rope burn," he murmured. Arthur and Gwaine shared a look.
"Why the hell do you have rope burn around your wrists?" Arthur demanded.
"Morgana... tied up, but got away." The slur in Merlin's voice had become more pronounced, and his eyes were glazed. He looked exhausted. Arthur was furious, hating Morgana for doing this. Her quarrel was with him, Merlin didn't deserve to be dragged into it, he didn't deserve any of this. He'd have to get the full story out of Merlin when he could (how on earth he'd managed to escape was something he definitely needed to hear) but the first priority was getting his manservant back to Gaius.
Arthur hooked an arm beneath Merlin's and jerked his head at Gwaine, gesturing to the horses. "Help me get him up." Together they managed to help Merlin up to sit in front of the King on his horse. Arthur cursed himself silently for not thinking to bring a third for Merlin; now with one of the horses having to take the weight of two men the trip back would be slower.
Merlin's body tensed the moment they broke into a trot, clearly in pain. After a few moments he relaxed and slumped back with a groan. Arthur hesitated, then put an arm around his servant's waist. He pulled him closer as he held him steady, and they began the journey home.