A/n: Hi guys! It may have been a couple of months, but here's something more timely than usual! Good news! There are only about four more chapters unless I change my mind.

Special thanks to sess18, Kas3y, rach2322, mersan123, afedrigo, CaughtInTheRa1n, padfootl0ve, and 1917farmgirl for reviewing! They were really encouraging and kept my spirits up during the interim. To address a comment 1917farmgirl made, this is going to be a platonic fic all the way around without ANY proper shipping (though I mean there's definitely gonna be some undying love, but who says you can't love your friends?).

Just a word of warning, this one is really graphic, too. If you got past the whole burial pit thing, part of this chapter should be fine, but if you have any problems with strangulation, this might not be a good chapter for you.

Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Merlin, and I am not making money for this endeavor. Literally no one would pay someone this slow.

A Criminal's Burial

Chapter 8

Leon took a deep breath and disclosed, "Sire, Lord Agravaine was with them."

"Agravaine was with them?" Arthur repeated dumbly, not quite believing the statement.

Leon nodded and frowned. "Yes, Sire."

"Are you certain?" he pressed, voice increasing in pitch.

"I am." Leon's lips thinned as he recalled, "I saw him entering the tunnel with Lord"—Leon paused, unsure if he should bid either Staunton or Agravaine deference—"Staunton, one of his knights, and that physician. Agravaine had the torch in hand, and he told them that he would show them the directions the patrol would be making rounds. I went to the forest entrance of the tunnel as you had indicated, and he was identifying our route as it transpires."

Dizzily, the king stumbled backwards, dropping into one of his underused chairs.

Leon followed the few steps to meet him. "I am sorry, Sire."

Arthur just shook his head, hand rubbing at the thinning, curved scar on his temple. Eyes downcast, he asked, "Did he behave strangely in my absence?"

Leon addressed the mop of Arthur's wild, blonde hair, "I did not believe he was up to anything particularly suspicious, no." Leon looked away for a second, eyes squinting as he scrutinized his memories. "Though he was absent from duty rather often."

"I see," Arthur said, though it could not be further from the truth.

"Do you want to do something about this today? I believe they are poised to attack."

"Tomorrow"—Arthur remembered Merlin's warning—"They will attack tomorrow."

Leon stepped back. "Tomorrow? Are you sure?"

"I heard they would kill me at breakfast and invade Camelot from the inside," Arthur said as evenly as he could manage, deliberately looking away from the back room, which contained a still-sleeping Merlin.

The knight nodded and swallowed thickly. Tomorrow would be another attack on Camelot. Clearing his throat, he straightened up and clasped his hands behind his back. "Is there anything you want me to do today, Sire?"

"No," Arthur shook his head and stood, turning away from the knight, his face set in a hard grimace. "Let it be verifiable truth that Agravaine has proven me false." Turning back to face him, Arthur elaborated, "For all Camelot knows, Staunton had saved me from certain death and Agravaine had taken care of the kingdom in my absence. Imprisoning them too soon makes us appear the treacherous party."

"But shouldn't we prepare?" Leon asked.

The king waved his hand. "Tell the men we are to have an early, full training tomorrow so we can have them ready in case we need them. Warn Tristan and make sure he has the archers come in for 'training' earlier. He will also need to verify the stores and supplies we have on hand. Send a few scouts—maybe Bedivere or Ector—to look for any signs of camps in the Darkling Woods. Have them report back to you about the size of the army, and we will decide accordingly how we will be using our ground troops. We will speak with them before breakfast, and during breakfast, you and Percival shall accompany me."

"Do you want me to scrape Gwaine off the tavern floor?"

Arthur's brow creased in disapproval, but his expression immediately softened. Last night was the first night Gwaine had known Merlin was dead; last night was the first night Arthur had known he wasn't. "No," Arthur said, shaking his head. "I will do that myself."

"He had a bad night last night..." Leon trailed off, remembering how Gwaine had drunk himself through a tower of pint glasses. The higher it had gotten, the lower Gwaine had sunk, the tower marking his plot after he slipped to his resting place below the table. "We all did, but Gwaine..."

"Go make sure the patrols get off and Tristan and Percival are notified. Then get some sleep," Arthur ordered with no heat behind his voice. He spared a glance to the back room, a pang of guilt shooting through his stomach. He had not told Leon the truth—just that he had overheard these plans while they thought him asleep—and he had no intention to do so. He knew the knight would be able to keep military strategy secret, but he was not sure if he would hold his tongue as well if he saw what they had done to Merlin.

"I will, Sire, and you should get some sleep while you can, too."

Arthur nodded and escorted Leon out of his room. Thankfully, though dawn was now well upon them, there was no one yet in the corridor.

Sighing, Arthur locked the door from any unwanted visitors and went back to his bedroom, where he dropped back into the same chair in which he had fallen asleep. He leaned forward onto the unoccupied side of the bed and settled himself, staring at the sharp declines of Merlin's malnourished cheekbones, which displayed the disconcerting depth of his loyalty.

"Why is it, Merlin, that every single living member of my family has betrayed me?" Arthur asked, barely giving voice to the question that bubbled inside his body.

Despite all his pleasant feelings towards Agravaine, Merlin did not answer, still fast asleep.

"Why can I never see it coming?" Arthur sniffed.

Merlin's snuffle was hardly the answer he had wanted.

Heart heavy, Arthur slumped onto the bed into the basket of his arms and tried to get some rest while he could still afford it.

The castle cat must have once again followed Merlin into his chambers, Arthur thought as a faint whine roused his slumber. The cries crescendoed, and Arthur stirred, groaning as the kink in his neck forbade him from tilting his head to the right. Why hadn't Merlin tossed something into the hall to trick the noisy creature into going outside?

His joints sung the songs of their own abuse, creaking and popping as Arthur sat up and peeled his eyes open. There was most certainly not a wayward nuisance of a cat mewling loudly for food in his room.

"Merlin!" he called, propelling himself onto the bed a little too quickly for his own unyielding neck's pleasure.

The younger man was drenched in a cold sweat, shuddering with his wrists wedged together as if they were bound by invisible rope. In an instant, one of Arthur's own hands was in Merlin's good one, squeezing in what he hoped read gently enough to reassure the nightmare-plagued man. Slowly, Arthur pulled his wrists apart by tugging at his hand, and repeating his name, trying to rouse him. It wasn't until the king had awkwardly and unceremoniously pulled his servant up to lean on own his chest did Merlin wake from the jostling. "Come on, Merlin, you're back in Camelot."

Merlin just wheezed and squirmed, his ribs aching in his current position. It took a few seconds of Merlin's scrambling for Arthur to help him sit straighter. Exhausted, Merlin slumped bonelessly onto Arthur's shoulder, pressing his damp forehead into the soft fabric of his nightshirt.

Ragged breaths eventually evened out, and the silence hung still between them. Arthur didn't know what to say. He couldn't exactly make a joke to lighten the mood because it most certainly would not lighten the mood, but he didn't want to say something daft like, "Are you alright?"

"Are you alright?" the king asked.

Arthur could feel a huffed laugh against his chest. "Just dandy," Merlin croaked.

"Do you want some water?"

"Yes," Merlin replied, twiddling his thumbs in his lap.

With Merlin still leaned against him, Arthur stretched as far as he could to the nightstand, middle finger prodding at the water jug's handle to coerce it closer. Once he had gotten the jug within a reasonable range, Arthur grabbed the goblet and drained its stale leftover contents. He placed the cup in Merlin's idle hands, took the pitcher, and poured some water into it.

Arthur barely caught the "thank you" before the cup was at Merlin's mouth. The liquid was gone in an instant, and Arthur's stomach rolled for Merlin's.

"I'm not giving you more until that settles," Arthur said, eyeballing the now-empty goblet, which Merlin was fiddling by the stem.

"Okay."

Uncertainty burned his throat. "What happened?"

Merlin rolled his head up and looked Arthur in the eyes. "How much do you know?"

Arthur just shook his head, and scooted back to the headboard, his back already tired of bearing the brunt of Merlin's weight. "I don't remember anything."

"Anything?" Merlin parroted, minimizing his own discomfort as Arthur dragged him towards the headboard with him.

"Last I remember"—Arthur shoved a pillow behind the small of his back—"I was reviewing the grain yield reports and determining our dispersal plans for the winter." As he tried to stretch his neck against the pain, he remembered Agravaine had come to his chambers to discuss those plans. It was the last thing he had remembered before waking up in Staunton's land.

Merlin's brow creased, but continued, "Well, you did hit your head."

"I did." His hand flew to the scar on his temple. Now that it was healing, it had a strange curve to it that Arthur could not place.

Merlin looked up and traced the scar with his eyes. "You hit your head on a bowl of nuts at a tavern."

Arthur blinked. "I—what?"

"Someone had poisoned you," Merlin began slowly. "At first I thought that first swig of wine had gotten to you. I would have laughed, had this happened in any other situation. Nuts flew everywhere, caught in your hair, slipped into your armor..."

"A bowl of tavern nuts was my undoing," he said, disbelief flush in his tone.

"Well, I mean someone poisoned you before you smashed your face into the counter," Merlin repeated for emphasis.

"How did we get to a tavern?" Arthur asked, still a bit concerned that a stupid bowl of nuts could have been the whole reason Lewis and Staunton had such an easy time deceiving him.

Merlin sighed and shook the goblet at Arthur, silently bidding he fill it. To his surprise, the king refilled it without a fuss, and Merlin took a metered sip. "I suppose I will start from the beginning"—a nod from Arthur told him to go on—"After you finished going over the harvest reports, you were requested in the throne room to take an audience. In came this poor villager, who had described some terrible beast terrorizing their village and lighting things on fire. As he was covered in soot, we believed him, and you deemed that it was important enough to head our yourself." Merlin does not mention he believed Arthur wanted to go defeat this beast was because he was terribly bored after all of those reports.

"Anyway, you gather Leon, Gwaine, Percival, and Frederick—"

"—Did Frederick have anything to do with it?" Arthur interrupted.

"No?" Merlin replied, a bit confused by the question. "No..." His eyes trailed off as his voice petered out. "He died because he wouldn't betray you."

"He's dead...because he wouldn't betray me," Arthur repeated for his own comprehension. "Was he with you?"

Merlin sighed, suddenly much more exhausted than he had been. He finished the water to hopefully jog what little energy he had left, and handed the cup to Arthur, who placed it on the end table. "I didn't know he was...until after I had told them." His dream had reminded him of that day, awakening to a thud, seeing a body there in front of his cell, a swath of telling Pendragon red. He remembered the panic, thinking it was Arthur, and that primordial scream, reverberating through the stone as it tore through him and burrowed itself deep within the earth.

One of the guards was yelling something at him, shouting as he tripped over the body, clamoring to the cell door. He flung it open—it wasn't even locked—and swiftly kicked him in the back of the head. A bolt of searing pain tore through his skull with the memory, his ears ringing as Arthur said, "They didn't need him anymore, did they?"

"No, they didn't," Merlin said, dazed and trembling. From the new vantage, he knew it was Frederick, his throat slashed. Despite the kick, he had still been screaming, screaming at the pain, at the pain of a lost friend. Then there was this crushing weight, baring down on his chest, bending his broken ribs until the snapped and splintered, his rasps devolving to growls as he struggled to breathe.

As Arthur gripped him tighter, trying to break him from of this trance, Merlin felt hands curling around his neck, strong at first in an attempt to shut him up. His startled cries had devolved into rasps, which went unheard beyond the ringing of his ears, tremors surging through his body. Squeezing out what little life Merlin had remaining, the guard smiled down at him, black dotting his visage as Merlin's vision spotted.

The hands released him, and his sight briefly blackened as Arthur pulled him into his chest. Heart pounding in his ringing ear, Merlin's breath hitched, startled by the palpitating flutter. As he felt Arthur's chest swelling and heard the other man's breath catch in his throat, Merlin paused. It wasn't his own heart beating in his ear.

They both stopped, their breaths the only things between them, and within a few moments, they succumbed to silence.

"I didn't look for him," Merlin said before he could consciously restrain the thought. He must have fallen so still—so quiet—that they thought him dead and thrown him into the burial pit.

"Merlin, you didn't know..." Arthur trailed off. It was true; he didn't know Frederick was even there until it was too late.

"In the pit"—there was no turning back now—"I didn't look for him." His ears burned red with shame.

"What pit?"

Merlin's voice hollow, he elaborated, "Where they throw their dead."

Arthur's heart rate spiked again at the mere association of 'Merlin' and 'dead'. What if Frederick had known enough despite his short six-month knighthood to give up a weak location in the walls or siege tunnels? What if Merlin was the one they hadn't needed anymore?

"Where they threw me," Merlin admitted softly.

Arthur's heart stopped. They hadn't need Merlin anymore. The thought was completely antithetical. White hot rage rushed to his extremities, his body tensing around Merlin's.

"He was my friend," Merlin said. "And I didn't look for him."

"Merlin," Arthur began, pushing the younger man back to meet his eyes. "I didn't look for you, either, and—"

"—Good," Merlin interrupted, shaking his head. "I would have just slowed you down; you needed to get out."

Arthur's brow creased. "And a dead body wouldn't have slowed you down? At least you knew he was actually dead."

Hypocrisy lost on him, Merlin repeated, "He was my friend."

Deciding to table that argument and his own guilt, he asked, "I thought you two didn't get on very well. Gwen told me there was some incident in the armory?"

Merlin took a deep breath. "He startled me when I was loading up your freshly cleaned armor and had the nerve to laugh when I dropped everything. I might have startled a page or two when I yelled at him, which only made him laugh harder." Merlin chuckled, remembering how the jovial knight had bent over laughing, using his scabbard to support his hunched body. His lips thinned, images of Frederick's dead eyes reminding him he would never hear that laugh again. "He was probably the one they were bringing when I climbed out..."

"Were there a lot of people?" Arthur asked, wondering if he had taken the question too far the second it oxidized.

"Easily a dozen," Merlin recounted. "It was no illness, either. Arthur, there were men and women—several looked like peasants. I don't know what Staunton is doing to his people, but it's not—it's not good, whatever it is. They were tortured. We have to stop him."

Arthur nodded, determined to do that very thing. "How do you think they got us there?"

"The villager," Merlin said, certain of it. "The villager had asked that we drop him off with some relatives in another town, and he rode behind with Frederick. He led us towards the Forest of Ascetir through several villages, all burnt to the ground. Entire towns, entire fields. There were villagers who had fled their homes, cradling their children, and they had been burnt alive by something, charring their bodies beyond recognition, filling the air with the smell of burnt flesh." Merlin wrinkled his nose as he tried to rid himself of the scent of smoke that had rekindled itself there. "We could hardly tell houses from fields...Everything was reduced to cinders, disintegrating to nothing at the slightest touch.

"We were riding about a day into the forest when we came across wyverns, who could not have possibly caused such damage. They caught us by surprise, and we were separated from Gwaine, Percival, and Leon...Are they alright?" Merlin stopped, wide-eyed as he looked up at Arthur.

"They're fine. They returned to Camelot when they realized they could not find us. Leon even helped keep things in order during my absence," Arthur answered and braced himself to tell Merlin about Agravaine's betrayal, but stopped himself after seeing the relief on Merlin's face.

"Good. Anyway, it was just you, me, Frederick, and the villager. We were outnumbered and not going to risk the villager, so we just rode as hard and far as we could," Merlin continued, not mentioning the part where he had intentionally gotten himself separated from the bunch and commanded the wyverns to stop terrorizing people. "I think they were possessed by something to have driven us so far."

Arthur cocked his head. "Why do you think they were possessed?"

"I don't know," Merlin lied. He had found this out when one had refused to listen to him, and he might have gotten a bit...enthusiastic about pushing it back when it was still insisting on eating him. "We might have to worry about a skilled magic-user if it's true..." He hated that it had to be magic.

"How do you know?" Arthur pressed.

"They lured us, Arthur. They lured us right to where they wanted, right to this beast...I have never seen anything quite like it. It had the body of a goat and the tail of a snake. And this head—it was like a big cat—but with these daggers for teeth, and it breathed fire. It was the thing burning the villages. When the wyverns decided they were done chasing us, we had come across this thing. It was burning huts, and villagers were fleeing. But then this storm started." Merlin does not mention that he had called the storm to extinguish the fires. "With it unable to light any more fires, you managed to kill it," Merlin continued to lie. "And it exploded," he elaborated in case someone had actually found the body of the beast.

"It...exploded," Arthur stated, making a bursting motion with both of his hands. Of course it did.

Merlin nodded. "It must have been something strange with its ability to breathe fire." More like it didn't react to well to being struck by some innocuous lightning bolts after Merlin had lured it away from the group. "Anyway, it was still pouring"—Merlin could not figure out how to stop the storm he had summoned—"and the villager suggested that we go to this nearby tavern."

"Where I?" Arthur asked, touching his head.

"Where you barely got the horses stabled, changed into dry clothes, were poisoned by the first drink handed to you, and hit your head on a bowl of nuts? Yup, the very one."

"And you?"

"I was sitting at the bar beside you, the villager on my other side. While I was trying to catch you from falling deadweight on the floor from the bar stool, I think the villager hit me. Someone hit me." Merlin shook his head. That bit was a bit fuzzy.

"And Frederick?"

Merlin frowned. "I remember he was getting something from the room before he was supposed to come down to join us. I imagine that is where they got him, too. They had waited until the two of you had changed out of your armor to let it dry."

"They sent me home with our things, but I haven't seen anything of Frederick's..." Arthur trailed off. Why would they implicate that only Merlin was with him?

"Maybe they were trying to pin the blame on him?" Merlin suggested, shrugging.

Arthur shook his head. "No, they were trying to pin it on you. They told me that they had found us while hunting. I had been poisoned, which I see is true, and that I was mumbling about how 'he betrayed me'. Apparently, you had been stabbed through with my sword at the camp." He finished the last sentence with a nonchalance that did not indicate he had had horrific nightmares surrounding that very concept.

"Well stabbed through with Excalibur is the one thing I'm not." Merlin laughed, but the joke fell flat against Arthur. "Well, thank you for not believing them, about the me betraying you bit." Merlin looked at the sheets, which had somehow gathered themselves in his grip.

"It's not like you have the sophistication to pull such a thing off, Merlin," Arthur razzed, a smile quirking the side of his mouth.

Merlin laughed. "Your confidence in me is overwhelming." He had never been so happy to be insulted.

"It really is," Arthur said, tone a bit more fond than joking.

"It had better be"—Merlin paused, unsure if he should continue—"Everything I do is for you."

Arthur frowned, eyes raking Merlin's injuries. "You are not allowed to die for me, Merlin," he commanded, trying to defeat by the utter loyalty, the conviction in Merlin's voice.

"I never said everything I do is something you would like," Merlin retorted. Suddenly overcome with urgency, he pressed, "Arthur, you have to believe me when I say that. You might not like it, but you have to know what I am doing is for you."

"Merlin, you can't—"

"—Do you understand me?" Merlin insisted, eyes wild. There was something dangerous there, a ferocity that Arthur had never before noticed.

The king just nodded dumbly, humbled and terrified by the lengths Merlin would go for him. No matter how much he did not like it, he could not argue with Merlin like this. "Get some sleep, Merlin," Arthur said, stretching his sore neck. Maybe some sleep would do them both good, straying them both from the insanity that seems to have possessed them both.

"Did you sleep in that stupid chair all night?" Merlin asked, pointing at the offending object. The lightness returned to his voice, and Arthur rebounded in surprise. "I never thought I would have to inform you that this is your bed."

"Rest assured, Merlin," Arthur cheered, "I have most definitely not forgotten whose bed this is, and I expect you to get out of it as soon as you are able." He eased himself off the bed and pushed Merlin down into it.

"It's not like it isn't big enough for you to get some good sleep, too..." Merlin grumbled. "You are going to need your rest."

Arthur smirked. "I will take it under advisement." He pulled the covers over his servant and finished, "I have some things to check up on, and I will be back. Get some rest."

Arthur wasn't sure he had gotten ready and made it out the door before Merlin had fallen back asleep.

After determining that Gaius was not in his chambers, Arthur headed towards the kitchens, where he stumbled upon Gwen. She was holding a small platter of food in one hand and a pitcher of water in the other.

"Ar—Sire! I was just on my way to bring you this"—she proffered the tray, which held a variety of meats, cheeses, bread, and fruit—"But if you would like, I could bring you something else."

Arthur smiled, pleased that there was such an easy way to turn his plan into fruition. Stealing a sausage from the platter, he stealthily replaced it with the key to his chambers, which Gwen received with wide eyes. Arthur almost never locked his door. "Please take that up to my room, Gwen, and leave it on my small breakfasting table," he said, eyeing a maid who was passing through the hall.

Gwen's brow creased with concern, but she replied, "Of course, Sire."

As soon as the maid rounded the corner, he asked, "Have you by chance seen Gaius?"

She slid the key off the tray and into her hand. "No, but I believe he is helping Lady Penelope with what sounds like a very difficult birth."

Arthur's lips thinned. Hopefully, Merlin would be just fine with whatever care Gwen alone could provide. A page passed through and bowed a brief deference before the king continued, "I have to speak with Sir Gwaine. I heard his behavior at the tavern last night was abhorrent."

Gwen looked at him, eyes trying to suss out the reason for his odd behavior. "Please do go easy on him, Sire. He is still upset because of Merlin."

"I cannot make any promises," Arthur said as he turned to leave, munching on the sausage. Gwen stared at his retreating back a moment with a brow raised, but decided to head up to Arthur's chambers regardless. Perhaps, he, too, was till upset because of Merlin.

Nearing the battlefield, Arthur was pleased to see Percival leading the training for the newer batch of knights instead of Leon, who he hoped was properly resting. He saw the young boys, most not a day past eighteen, and hoped that tomorrow would not lead to a full-fledged battle. With many of his older knights out of commission after the dragon attacks, he had let on many young prospects, hoping to build their skills before Camelot saw another major threat.

Arthur caught Percival's eye and briefly waved at him, beckoning him over. Percival yelled something, which Arthur could only assume was for them to keep practicing their thrusts and parries, and walked towards his king. "I assume you have already told them about tomorrow's early training?" Arthur began.

"Yes, Sire, and then I believe we have breakfast plans, don't we?" the knight asked, glancing back at the new initiates, hoping they would be ready for whatever tomorrow brings.

Arthur nodded, glancing sideways to see a few pages in earshot. "It is going to be a small, formal affair, so make sure you are dressed for the occasion."

"Of course, Sire. Oh, and neither Bedivere nor Ector was pleased about being thrown into patrol. I am sure that you will hear all about their complaining later."

"They haven't been on a patrol in a while, and they should know I want all my men's skills as sharp as their swords." Arthur said, gesturing to Excalibur hanging at his hip before meaningfully looking at the practicing troops. Percival would need to make sure everyone maintained their equipment tonight.

Percival's eyes followed and he nodded in understanding. "Oh, and you will likely be hearing Tristan complain as well, having to count all the supplies before we make the next commission of the fletchers. Last I saw him he was neck deep in the armory."

Patting Percival on the bare shoulder, Arthur said, "Good man. Get back to practice."

As Percival jogged back over to the new knights, Arthur strolled the short distance to the armory to check in with his best archer.

Tristan, for his part, had all of the arrows counted and in quivers, which were stacked neatly in a large pyramid beside him. Now, he was sitting on a stool, carefully waxing longbow strings, which seemed to have missed a few rounds of maintenance. Looking up, he stood and announced, "Sire, you will be glad to hear that everything is well-stocked. We will not be needing to place an order with the fletchers after all."

"That is good news, Sir Tristan," Arthur said as he peered down the hall and closed the armory door behind him. Walking over to the archer, Arthur continued in a whisper, "You did hear the reason for all of this, correct?"

"Yes, Sire. Camelot is to be attacked tomorrow through one of our tunnels, and my men are needed at the northernmost battlements."

Arthur nodded. "The ones that face the exit near the blacksmith's shop. I will see to it that the guards evacuate the surrounding area to give your men free range."

"I have already told them to gather at the training fields an hour before dawn with their equipment, and I will be sure to brief them fully once we have arrived," the knight confirmed.

"Be alert, but do not give away your positions. There might be a skilled sorcerer among them as well, so make sure your men shoot quickly and to kill. We assume the attack will occur in the morning, but we do not know when. Keep low until it begins. I will update you with any additional news."

Tristan hung the bow he had been working on back up and picked up another one. "Aye, we will be sure to keep wits about us, Sire."

"Good," Arthur concluded and made his way out the door, leaving Tristan to work in peace. He only had one stop left for the time being.

When Arthur entered The Rising Sun, he saw a disgruntled barmaid cleaning up after the previous night's revelry. She pointed at Gwaine, who was snoring beneath one of the tables, and retorted, "There are perfectly good beds upstairs, but no one could get him up, Sire."

Wordlessly, Arthur extracted a few coins from his pockets and placed them on the bar before her. She scooped them up and merrily hummed a tune while the king crouched beneath a table to prod at Gwaine, who smelled like he had bathed in mead.

The second Arthur shook his shoulder, Gwaine sloppily pushed him away with one hand, mumbling, "Ger'roff!"

Grabbing the arm that was swatting him away, Arthur yanked Gwaine out from beneath the table, exposing him to the sunlight flooding through the windows. Blinded, Gwaine began swatting at the air, and Arthur was not sure if he was aiming at him or feebly trying to combat the sun.

He received his answer the second he manhandled Gwaine to his feet and said, "Come on, Gwaine, it's time to get up."

The knight's eyes opened just a crack, a crack wide enough to accurately kick the king's kneecap. As Arthur hissed and recoiled, Gwaine yelled, "How could you let him down like that!" He went in for a few punches, most of which were fumbling, but he had a night's worth of drunken anger and a knight's worth of honed strength behind each one. A couple landed before Arthur grabbed one of his wrists and twisted Gwaine's arm behind his back.

The barmaid was no longer cleaning by the time Arthur ordered, "You need to come with me!" Her dishrag laid abandoned on the bar as the King of Camelot forced a still-drunk Knight of the Round Table out of the door. At least there would be plenty of tavern gossip tonight.

Once out the door, Gwaine squirmed out of Arthur's grasp and stumbled into the otherwise unoccupied alleyway. Arthur snatched at Gwaine's ear, pulling him close by the tender flesh. "Look," he whispered into it, "Merlin is alive. Now shut up and come with me if you want to see him."

Gwaine stared at him like he had just sprouted a second head and blinked at him slowly, brain struggling to process the information it had been given. Without fussing, Gwaine allowed Arthur to grab him by the back of the neck and march him towards the castle, not caring in the slightest what the staring townsfolk were saying about him.

He spent a majority of the walk in a daze, and he felt himself sober up a bit. Despite it being a crisp autumn morning, he was sweating out the indulgences of the night before, and his forehead was vying to be split into two. He never got hangovers.

When he heard Arthur make a few off-hand comments to guards about his behavior, he panicked. What if Arthur had just told him Merlin was alive to get him to the dungeons? But they weren't heading towards the dungeon; they were heading towards Arthur's chambers.

In the hallway outside his chambers, Arthur dropped his grip from Gwaine's clammy neck and tried the door, only to find it locked. The king looked back and forth down the hall before he knocked. "Gwen?"

Within a few seconds, Gwen opened the door, tears streaming down her face.

End of Chapter 8

A/n: Hope that answered some of the questions your reviews keep asking. I think the next chapter might be on the shorter side, so hopefully it comes out faster. Anyway, as always, follows, favorites, and reviews are always appreciated! I do promise I'll get on with it despite being a terribly busy wreck of a person.

Thanks, guys!

~gecko