City of Fear

Chapter 7

A/N - If anyone cares, we have a specific episode that this takes place after now. It's after A Herald of a New Age, to explain Gwen's absence. This'll be the last time we change this, we swear. 

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A whimper passed Garman's lips as the pulsating pain in the left side of his body was regained along with his consciousness. He felt small, firm hands gripping him under each arm, and grass and dirt slid underneath him in, moving in lurches. He was being heaved along the ground. His head lolled back and forth with every pull, and he groaned again. There was a smell of smoke lingering in the air, along with the heavy scent of body odor.

Finally, he was gingerly lowered down and in his daze he heard someone kneel beside him at his right side. He was yet to open his eyes.

Fingers at his hairline. He noticed that he was drenched in sweat as they moved across his forehead, catching in his sticky hair.

"Garman?" came a voice. It sounded far-off, but he recognized it. He would have recognized it anywhere.

He worked his jaw, his tongue rasping against the roof of his mouth and catching on his teeth as saliva started to cover it. Swallowing the dryness was like eating dirt, but he gulped until he was able to say, "Amice?"

His eyes fluttered open along with the word. The concerned face he saw hovering above his head answered his question.

Amice was Edgar and Garman's best and only childhood friend of their little village. She was between their ages, so Edgar had never been without a friend. Garman, however, being the first of his generation in the village, had spent the first three years of his life as an only child and had appreciated her birth probably more than her parents had. From that day forward, they'd been fast friends, and even when Edgar had come along three years later, he'd only served to add another dynamic to the trio they then made. Garman had never told Amice just how grateful he was for her steadfast friendship, even when Edgar's superior traits had begun to show over Garman's own.

"Thank God," Amice breathed, letting her cheek fall onto his chest. He felt the added weight on his lungs as he inhaled.

He breathed like that for a few moments, trying not to think about his arm; trying not think about—

"Edgar," she said, lifting herself up suddenly. "Oh, Garman, he..."

Garman held his breath. "He what?"

Garman watched Amice swallow and look somewhere to the left of where Garman lay. "Let me help you up."

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Merlin languidly watched the flecks of dust drift around in a beam of sunlight that had planted itself in the center of the round table. He stood in the corner as Arthur, his knights, John, and Sherlock had a meeting. As he looked around at each of their faces, they didn't seem too eager to be there, either.

Arthur sighed. "Do any of you have any objections on the matter of Gwaine being the one to find a replacement for our head chef who was executed?"

"Why was she executed, again?" asked Leon.

"Someone witnessed her using magic."

Leon grunted in acknowledgement.

"So, no objections, then?"

The room was stiflingly silent.

"Good. Then Gwaine, you'll. . ." Arthur's eyes scanned the knights' faces, looking for one in particular. "Where is Gwaine?"