Mostly because dead people don't talk back

7: Resonance

How do bad things happen wherever they go?

Gwaine asks himself this, resting properly for the first time in hours. His feet hurt and his back ached, a headache resting near his temples and eyes.

Gaius had called upon them to look into 11 mysterious deaths that he couldn't look into himself. He couldn't because there was an outbreak of colds that needed looking over, luckily not a terrible illness instead.

So, they had gone to the outskirts of Camelot to look for the cause.

Even when there were village apothecaries and a couple of people knowledgeable in medicine, none knew what had happened. There had been no visible causes.

Thankfully, Gwaine thought from his seat on a quite soft pile of dirt and grass, they were able to keep Merlin back in the citadel for this excursion.

If one saw Merlin on a day-to-day basis, they would know his ribs were still not okay. Especially not for riding a horse.

It hurt for Lancelot or Gwen not to bend down for him and do things that required the ribs to move:

Bending to pick things up? Gwaine would conveniently move things and place them in easier-to-reach spots without saying anything. Slaving over a book, or writing things down at a desk? Arthur, though stubborn in showing much visible friendship with his friend, wrote more and more than before to lessen what Merlin would inevitably try to do anyway. Gwen helped with the more common servant tasks.

The other friends Merlin had, which is a multitude, helped in similar ways.

Little things.

When the topic of the deaths came around, Gwen, Lance, Gwaine, and Arthur (because the broken rib was too prevalent to hide) all quietly agreed to not let Merlin ride a horse yet. Then, the first three razzed Merlin for all he's worth.

Arthur gave him a list of (non-labor-intensive) chores to do while they left.

That was the last straw until he'd given up trying to go on this one (1) outing.

Traveling there was the easy part. When they arrived at the border village the knights caught a man attempting to steal an antique, however.

They roughed the man up but let him be once an elder waved it off. "That thing is cursed, it is." Referring to the weird bell in the guy's arms. "Let him keep it if he wants."

Naturally, Arthur then wanted to take the cursed antique– a bell the shape of a cow's, covered in gem and metalwork.

The rest of the trip consisted of questioning the families of the victims. This, turns out, was infinitely sad and easy to do.

All of the victims came from one family.

Gwaine really hated that fact. If all the victims came from one family, then was it a curse on the bloodline? Was this due to a disease that spread between them or from a genetic weakness? Who knows. But...

Eleven people.

Gwaine slumped even further.  Eleven people made a big family. Eleven people could make a village nowadays. Out of 14, eleven had died.

When they had been to the house of the deceased, Gwaine hadn't been hit with the realization that he wouldn't fully know what that was like– to have a big family. Even if it were made of many cousins or step-siblings, he would probably never know what it would be like to lose them.

So, when the mother of the last death– a boy, a little boy in his fourth summer– stood staring with blank eyes and answered with only a slight shudder in her words, Gwaine did not understand why she could react like she was. Why wasn't she angry or weeping in despair? Why?