Chapter Text
Gwaine ran into the druids’ camp – right behind the king. Not because he wanted to kill anyone, but to make sure the man didn’t do anything foolish.
“Come in from the right! Elyan, Leon!” A loud voice rang out from ahead, coming from a figure in a billowing red cloak, sounding very authoritative amidst the chaos already beginning to unfold.
“Bring me Emrys—alive!”
And the world suddenly turned several shades redder. It was hard to say whose sword had soared into the sky first and dealt the first blow – but Gwaine suspected it was Arthur’s. With a curse, he drew his own weapon from its sheath and rushed forward, pushing aside a man who was trying to strike him.
He didn’t want to kill, but that was his job. He often questioned the king’s actions, but never those of a man in distress. Perhaps it was a little hypocritical, given that he felt no sympathy for Uther, but so be it. He knew nothing of Ygraine, and Merlin was a different matter altogether.
Gwaine spun around sharply, trying not to hit the fleeing child (he very much hoped Arthur didn’t think they were going to kill children – at the very least, Percival would never forgive him if Gwaine had somehow let that thought slip) and grabbed the nearest man by the collar. It seemed the man was just about to whisper some sort of incantation – well, it meant Gwaine had interrupted him just in time. However, he had done this man, covered from head to toe, a favour – he seemed to be struggling to stay on his feet and was using a cane (staff? It was really both) to support himself.
"We are not your enemies, and I believe the others feel the same. The king is a little... distressed, but I’m sure there’ll be no fatal injuries.” The knight grimaced, realising he sounded too soft. Pressing his sword to the man’s throat and pulling back his hood, he continued. “There won’t be, if you just tell me where Emrys is...” —and suddenly Gwaine froze, staring into the determined gaze of piercing blue eyes peering out from beneath a familiar mop of brown hair.
A familiar face looked at him with unimaginable terror from beneath the thrown-back hood. Merlin’s face was etched with both pain, fear, and something he couldn't quite place. Anger, perhaps. Either way, he did not look well.
The man spoke in a meek voice, “...Gwaine” it couldn't be. That voice, those eyes. He was supposed to be dead for fucks sake!
“Oh God…,” whispered Gwaine, not knowing what to do. Could Arthur really have been right, and was there a powerful sorcerer capable of so easily pretending to be someone else? Emrys? Had Gwaine simply caught Emrys, and had he let him do it? It simply couldn’t be.
The man – Merlin? – shoved Gwaine away, stumbling over his own feet before yanking his hood back up, shrouding his features. Gwaine goes to say something, yet he’s stopped by Emrys - He wasn't sure if it really was the sorcerer.. But it couldn't be Merlin. He was dead. Right? - muttering a spell under his breath before Gwaine is thrown back. He collides with a tree, yet not nearly as harshly as he should have.
With no time to dwell, the man jumps to his feet, joining the battle that has begun. It lasts for a long time and he can tell that the knights are getting tired. Hell, he can see the remaining druids getting tired!
Dodging a spell, he glances around to make sure none of his friends are hurt. All of them are accounted for, but where the hell- oh for the love of Camelot. His gaze lands on Arthur sneaking up behind the distracted man from earlier. Emrys? Merlin? All gwaine knows is that his king does not seem in the mood for a friendly chat.
“ARTHUR!” calling out his name only serves to distract the druid(?) from the threat behind him. Before Gwaine can even think of something to do- the tip of his king's sword is protruding through the front of the poor man who collapses the second it is yanked out.
Rushing to the fallen foe, Gwaine’s hands tug at the fabric hiding the wound. There's so much blood – too much for any man to survive. But this was Merlin. He couldn't die. Not now, not ever.