Protected

Chapter 3

The world was spinning around Merlin in slow, sickening lurches. His stomach jolted with nausea with even the slightest breath, and when they pulled him to his feet he nearly vomited all over the cobbled floor. He thanked whatever higher power was above that was listening for saving him from that indignity, in the very least.

Gwaine was roughly tossed into a cell, stumbling and almost falling. The bandits carefully led Gwen into a second, separate cell. Merlin, in a vague and disconnected sort of way, wondered if it was because of some sort of twisted chivalry or if his spell from the cliff was actually keeping Gwen safe. Of course, then they'd bodily tossed Merlin into a third cell, and he lost track of all thoughts in a whirl of dizziness. He pressed his face against the cobblestones of the dungeon, and did his dam best not to pass out.

He squeezed his eyes shut to try and block out the light of the flickering torch, which only served to make his head pound all the more. Someone was quietly muttering above his head, fingers skating through his bloody hair. "Merlin, Merlin," said the voice, and he realized his head was on something soft and warm, "Merlin, calm down. Please, you're scaring me."

Gwen. It was Gwen. Which meant that it was probably Gwen stroking his hair. Oh, Arthur would just love that. He opened his eyes again, avoiding the firelight, to see Gwen reaching through the bars of her cell to stroke his hair. Gwaine's cell was also connected to his, so the three prison cells formed something of an 'L'. The three of them had somehow ended up in the corner where all the cells met.

"There you are," Gwaine said, just as quietly, "Tell us what's wrong, mate."

"Head," Merlin said, and talking made his stomach roll even more, "Feel sick. S'not...not right. Dizzy."

"Okay, okay," Gwaine said, still in that quiet, lulling voice, "Close your eyes, and try and rest."

Merlin let his eyes flutter shut, but he couldn't let himself drift away. He felt too wrong, all pent in and shaking. "What did they do to him?" Gwen whispered. He felt her untie his signature neckerchief, and then she started dabbing at where the bandit had smacked his head earlier. He hissed, and she whispered an apology before continuing her ministrations, cleaning off his face a little next.

"It's that," Gwaine said, and Merlin felt the knight's hand rest on the band, "It's hurting him."

"Can we try to get it off?"

Gwaine tried to pry it off, and it only grew tighter. "Stop!" Merlin said, curling in on himself, wondering if it was possible for a person to randomly explode. The pressure built in his head, and his chest constricted, "Stop, stop, stop, stop!"

Gwaine's hands flew away as if they'd been burned. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he said, and then, to Gwen, "I don't think we can. Not without hurting him more."

They stopped talking, and Merlin let his eyes flutter shut again. If he didn't move, and stayed still, the nausea went away. Apparently, he did such a good job of not doing those two things that he successfully convinced Gwen and Gwaine that he'd fallen asleep, for they immediately started to talk about him.

"Is it because of his..." Gwen trailed off, and Merlin felt a thrill of fear. Gwen knew. Gwen knew. He'd cast a spell on her, and she knew. She was going to hate him. And she'd tell Arthur, who'd hate him too. Then he'd be burned alive in the courtyard in one big 'Let's All Hate Merlin' festival. They'd probably throw things at him as well. Camelot's citizens seemed to enjoy throwing things at Merlin.

"His magic?" Gwaine finished. Merlin sighed slightly – of course Gwaine knew. After that show upstairs, one would have to be a complete idiot not to realize that Merlin had some sort of magic. Merlin could feel Gwen nod. Gwaine sighed, somewhere to Merlin's left, and said, "Of course it is. What else could it be?"