A/N: More Emrys verse!
Of all the weeping wounds that marred London, the Pits was by far the bitterest swell of infection.
Unless they were counting people, in which case that title, and quite a few others of similar quality, belonged to the man who would shortly be known as the late Lord Agravaine.
Or possibly not so short a time after all; Emrys had had quite a lot of practice over the years, he was sure he could draw out ripping the man apart for an appropriate length of time.
Yes, yes, yes, his magic whispered. So many lovely possibilities. Shadows that tore and nightmares that bit and the fires of a stake that was only in your mind -
Lightning ripped across a sky that shuddered with the roar of near constant thunder.
Bad enough when Agravaine had wanted to take his king's position from him. Bad enough when Agravaine had plotted to steal Emrys from his rightful place at his lord's side.
But this, this was unforgivable. His mouth curled back into a snarl that showed far too many far too sharp teeth as he stalked forward to the entrance of the Pits.
His king a traitor? His king a danger to the country? His king a dangerous criminal to be sent to the Pits?
The skies would rain blood.
Literally, if he could keep it from upsetting Arthur too much.
The door to the Pits was cold and dark with a thousand years of cruel misery, but it shuddered beneath his hand and fell in a heap of scraps not big enough for kindling. The guards, sensibly, had vanished.
The bones of the place were frigid iron, stretching through bricks mortared with a compound that included salt. It lay on magic like a damp blanket on a man half dead with hypothermia, but Emrys was another matter entirely. He wasn't a half dead prisoner tossed here to rot, he was a ball of fire, blood, and rage stalking down the narrow steps into the depths of the city and daring the place to cross him. A millennia-old magic trap, hah! He could tear it apart brick by brick, would if had to, Mordred take the consequences. He was done caring. Let London burn.
He wanted his king back.
A blue light bobbed ahead of him. Things in the shadows scuttled away from it.
Mine, he snarled into the darkness.
Mine, the Pits hissed back, sullenly defiant. They gave him to me.
He was mine first, he insisted. Give him back to me. The stairs wound on and on, endless as they stretched above red and blue lit pits that echoed with moans and screams and whispers of gnawing things.
He tastes good.
MINE! he roared. The walls shuddered it, the darkness temporarily driven back by a flare of burning, raging gold. Mortar crumbled and bricks rattled warningly. Or shall I end you, little upstart?
The stairs grudgingly rearranged themselves.
Emrys continued down. The Pits sulked.
It's been so long since I've had a new toy. And the ones they usually bring me are all spoiled. This one was shiny.
Emrys sent it a vision of himself informing Parliament that the Pits had been soaking up magic instead of suppressing it, and men tearing the place apart brick by brick and melting the iron with dragon fire.
The Pits retreated to sulk in silence.
The stairs curled in sharply and began to lower themselves into a pit.
Emrys gritted his teeth and descended.
The pits were deep and narrow, just large enough for the winding stairs and for a man to curl up at the bottom. It would be impossible to lie straight.
The last stair landed with a clump. Arthur didn't look up. His eyes were closed tightly, and he was shuddering against the cold that seemed so much worse down here. His hands were tight against his ears.
Emrys hissed at the whispers that taunted at the edges of the shadows and crouched beside his king. "Arthur?" He gripped his wrist gently. "Arthur."
Arthur kept shaking. Emrys urged the blue light closer. Dark red streaked through Arthur's hair and dripped onto his face.
He growled quietly. Arthur flinched.
"Easy, easy. It's just me, Arthur. Just me." Arthur'd never been sensitive enough to feel much from the Pits when he was standing outside of them, but it was a different thing entirely to be thrown into them. "You'll be fine." He didn't dare expend much more magic here, but he sent out tendrils of golden magic to wrap around him. "I've got you."
He shook him gently. "Come on, you prat. You've got a few too many belt loops for me to carry you out of here."
Arthur finally forced his way out of whatever nightmares the Pit had forced upon him. His eyes flickered open. "Emrys."
"There we go. Knew you were just lazing about. Come on, now." He kept up a stream of soothing ramblings as he helped Arthur to his feet and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. "I'll help you, come on."
He kept talking as they went, focusing on happy topics like Gwaine's latest exploit and what he planned to do to Agravaine when he caught up with him.
"He'll come after me," Arthur mumbled. "You'll get in trouble - "
Emrys laughed. "I'll be fine," he promised. "And I'll keep him far, far away from you."
His magic itched with bloodlust.
The door opened of its own accord. A carriage rattled across the street and skittered to a brief stop.
"All aboard that's coming aboard," Gwaine said cheerfully from the driver's seat. He all right? he mouthed at Emrys.
He will be.
He helped Arthur inside. Gwaine urged the horses on.
Emrys sent Arthur off gently to sleep and started healing his injuries one by one. When he'd done what he could, he vanished in a blur of shadow. Gwaine could take him back to the house where Gwen was waiting to take care of the rest. He had business to complete.
A few hours later, he sat in an armchair in the bedroom to keep Gwen company as she fussed over a still sleeping Arthur's blankets. Not in keeping with the rules of propriety, perhaps, but he was pretty sure he broke those just by existing.
Leon knocked on the door and looked in, normally smooth face tight with anxiety he was struggling not to show. "Master Emrys, if I might have a word with you, please?"
He sent a reassuring smile at Gwen as he left. He was back within five minutes.
"What's happened? Is it Agravaine?"
He smiled slowly as he lowered himself back into his chair. "In a manner of speaking." He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair as his smile grew. "It's the oddest thing. An anonymous tip was given to Parliament today about our dear Lord Agravaine, and under the circumstances, I was able to prevail upon them to look into it. And will wonders never cease, it appears that Agravaine, not Arthur is the traitor after all. There'll be a trial, of course, but until then the Pits will have a new plaything." He paused for a moment. "He was gratifyingly panicked. By the time the trial comes around, I shouldn't think he'd be in much condition to defend himself. Arthur's been granted a full pardon, of course. And an apology."
"What did you do?" she breathed.
He looked across to where Arthur seemed to be sleeping a little more peacefully.
"What I had to," he said quietly and sent a small tendril of magic towards him to brush away the last trace of the Pits. "What I had to."
