#no27

Whumptober 2024, day 27 Prompt: Muzzled @whumptober

This is an on-going BBC Merlin Whumptober series.

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Merlin had fought other magic users before. More than he'd like, for a variety of reasons. But right now, what he was dreading the most was the amount of effort it would take. Magic might be as easy as breathing, but even breathing got difficult if you ran for too long. And Merlin had been working out all day. Saving Leon from the collapse of his horse. Tracking down the bandits and the sorcerer earlier. Healing Leon had taken an enormous amount of power, healing always did when it worked right, and he's just done another sprint by turning the knight invisible.

The older sorcerer though had also cast several spells in the last hour, and Merlin was hoping the man was equally taxed or that Merlin's energy reserves were much deeper.

Merlin dodged another spell, trying to figure out the other's strategy. Spell battles between sorcerers hadn't been uncommon back in the day, but the more the battle went on, the more tired the spellcaster became, the more they relied on what Gaius called an affinity. Spells that came instinctually to a sorcerer's fingertips.

Merlin's own affinity, like he told Leon, tended to get messy. It was better if he could muster the concentration for a proper spell instead of reaching into his pool of magic to make something happen. It hadn't rained in weeks; if he brought down a lightning strike the forest might catch on fire, and he wasn't sure if he asked for a powerful attack that it wouldn't be a lightning strike.

He needed to practice more.

He relied on physically dodging the other sorcerer's spells. Merlin couldn't make all of them out, but they were less complicated body spells. One-word commands that would break a bone, cause a deep cut. Nothing Merlin wanted to get hit with, that's for sure.

Merlin tried to cast a sleep spell at his opponent, but he knocked it aside with a shield and followed up with a spell that slashed Merlin's cheek. The cut stung, a reminder that Merlin couldn't keep dodging forever. He had to do something.

Except the sorcerer wasn't holding a sword, so Merlin couldn't heat up the metal. And he held the center of the road, away from overhanging branches. But now, Merlin hoped, from roots.

Merlin concentrated on the trees around them and pulled up. The roots were slow to respond, large and heavy, but also reluctant to leave their water sources. The kingdom had seen no rain for weeks, leaving the topsoil parched. Only one tree answered his call, something the sorcerer was able to defend against with a cutting spell, but other root systems had responded enough to buck the ground upward.

The sorcerer lost his footing with a yelp, and Merlin called up the wind, hoping to smash the older man against a tree. The other man was faster with his spell, so even as the sorcerer was blown back, Merlin felt his shin break. He screamed and toppled to the ground, breathing heavily. Merlin watched as the sorcerer got to his feet, and knew he was in for a world of pain. His ability to dodge was severally hampered by a broken leg. He pushed him self up by his arms, preparing to roll or crawl.

From the woods streaked Leon, bloody sword ready for a swing. His mouth was open, but no yell came from the knight's mouth. It worked to his advantage, as the sorcerer didn't hear him coming.

Leon's slash caught the sorcerer in the side, blood streaming from the wound as Leon continued past him. The sorcerer choked, pressing a hand to the wound before whirling on Leon.

"I refuse to be taken down by a knight of Camelot," he shouted. He held out his hand and cast a spell.

Leon, in the process of pivoting around for another attack, wobbled as it hit him. Merlin couldn't see where, and Merlin had a brief thought it was a pity the sorcerer was about to die because learning a spell that could slash an enemy's skin while they were wearing chainmail might be useful at some point. His more important thought was now, while he's distracted.

Merlin dug into the pool of magic that lived in his chest and called out to the Earth itself, still wary of summoning lightning to a dry forest. It was quicker to come to his command than the trees were, the road under the sorcerer's feet buckling and then rising up to trap the man in hard-packed earth to his knees.

"Leon, now!" Merlin shouted.

Leon ran the sorcerer through.

Merlin could vaguely make out Leon's lips move as he stood there, sword sticking out of the sorcerer's chest, but had no idea what he was saying until Leon's voice suddenly shouted out "Thirty-six!"

Right. Good. Spell lifted. Sorcerer killed. Arthur…Arthur was safe. Wherever he was. Somewhere on the road, Merlin assumed.

Merlin let himself collapse forward. Leon shouted his name in concern, and between one blink and the next, Merlin found himself looking up at the knight's face.

"Are you alright, Merlin?" Leon asked.

Merlin blinked. "Tried."

"You were right about your magic being messy. The road's ruined. Arthur is going to have to send workmen to fix it before winter sets in. Once the ground freezes, it'll be impossible to work until spring, and then the rains might get in the way."

"Uh-huh."

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Tried," Merlin said again. The adrenaline from the fight was fading, and Merlin could feel the edges of magical exhaustion creeping up on him. This was not the place for it, they still had to find Arthur somewhere on the road to Camelot. Merlin guessed it'd be a three-hour walk on foot, something he'd not be able to do with his newly broken shin.

"Can you carry me?" Merlin asked.

Leon sputtered. "Just because you're tired-"

"Oh no, my leg is broken. Can you carry me? You got hit with one of his cutting spells."

Leon pressed his lips into a thin line. "If I have to. But can't you heal it?"

Merlin patted Leon's knee, the easiest part to reach. "If I cast a spell that powerful, I'm gonna pass out. I'd rather save it for later. In case Arthur needs it."

"What if you…call our horses?"

"Your horse is dead, if you recall. Not far from here, actually."

"What about your's or Arthur's? If we ride, we can find Arthur faster, get to Camelot faster. And even if you do pass out, I can tie you to the saddle."

"Maybe."

"If you don't, the likelihood of us getting to Camelot before dark is zero and we have no camping gear."

"Why are you sensible?"

Leon smiled. "You usually are too, you know. Even if you hide it."

Merlin stared up at the man. Huh. He didn't think Leon had picked up on that. Arthur certainly hadn't yet. "Blood loss."

Leon rolled his eyes. "I've lot more blood than you today."

"Yeah? Well I-"

Leon placed a hand over Merlin's mouth. "Can you summon the horses or not? Even if they take a while to get here, it'll give me time to break the earth around the sorcerer's body."

"You can leave it. It's obvious what happened here is magic. We can say it was a sorcerer battle. That we know because of the evidence and not experience or witnessing anything."

Leon sighed. "We should still bury him."

"You sure?" Merlin asked. He held Leon's eyes the entire time, making sure Leon knew exactly what he was suggesting by the offer. Sorcerers didn't get burials in Camelot. They got burned and their ashes were left to the wind.

"He's human," Leon said softly. "Like you."

Merlin gave him a lopsided grin in thanks. "I'll see if I can summon the horses first and if I have any leftover magic help with the earth prison."

Leon nodded and Merlin closed his eyes, reaching into the land to feel life itself. It didn't take him long to find Arthur's gelding and Merlin's mare, he was familiar with their life forces, and they hadn't traveled too far in their fright. He nudged their brains to head toward him and Leon.

When Merlin opened his eyes to tell Leon the horses were on their way, the man was already using his sword to hack at the dirt mound around the sorcerer's body. Now that the danger was past, Merlin found himself feeling guilty. He knew Leon dealt the killing blow, but he'd played a part and he hated fighting other sorcerers at the end of the day. Hated how bitter many of them were. Lamented that so few of them could see the hope for a better future. Weeped at how many deaths he'd had a hand in, even if it was for Arthur's, and Albion's, sake.

This weeks prompt is: Beard

There’s so many ways to interpret this and I can’t wait to see what you come up with! ❤️🥰💗💖🌟

Lovely HeyHey,

Lett me start by saying that I'm very happy that your daughter is okay. I'm sure the entire crew shares the feeling. I hope she'll continue to be well and that you'll find a way to move past the fear and enjoy your time with your family even more now. 💕

Thank you for submitting your prompt to Galladrabbles. I expect it to be quite... Inspirational for so many.

Maybe leaning back and setting this prompt for 44+ writers (new ones are always very welcome) to let their 100-word-exactly story bites wash away any lingering negative feelings will be just what you need.

So you read it here first, Galladrabble Crew. Your new prompt is:

BEARD

Prompt: I'm fine, I prom...(passing out, vertigo, collapse) Fandom: Naruto Pairing/Characters: Sai and Ino (from Healing Hands) Rating: T Words: 926 Notes: Requested by @cinlat . All the background stories from Healing Hands are getting to me XD they need their own place!

Ok, Who Had Natural Disaster On There 2020 Bingo Card?

This one is a little rough, (Not that the rest of them are polished...or even...good) but I’m trying to finish whumptober in the only way that I can--poorly but with lots of gusto, I’m very sorry, but I am always very clear about what I am, a trash-prompter with goblin energy (I’m starting to entertain the possibility of failure). 

The whumpee is yanked up off of the cold floor, they groan, their body is so badly broken that any movement is agony. Their ribs shift wrongly in their chest as they are leaned up against the wall, their breath comes in shallow hitching gasps, as they try to keep from blacking out again, they slide a little down the wall, too weak to keep themselves propped up. Their head spins, it had been so long since they’d had anything to eat, there had been the bucket of water, but they’d had to be careful, rationing between the whumper’s beatings. They’d started looking forward to them, even if they would never openly admit it to themselves, if only because it meant they’d be getting fresh water, to have the blindfold taken off, even if the only thing that they’d be able to see was the whumper getting more an more frustrated as time passed and they’d refused to give up their friends. 

This last time they’d made the bucket last a long time--maybe as long as two weeks--it was hard to keep any kind of time here. they’d run out yesterday, they could feel reality getting thinner underneath them, at night when they finally slipped into shallow uneasy slumber, they dreamed that they were free, sometimes the dreams felt more real than here did. 

They’d been afraid that this time the whumper wasn’t coming back, that they would finally be allowed to die as they slowly rationed their water, listening intently to the silence for some movement, some indication that they weren’t left here. They’d made their peace with death. It was the only obvious way out that they could see anymore, they knew that escape was impossible, they couldn’t even move anymore, 

 Some sick part of their mind lights up with hope at the rough treatment, even as the pain comes roaring back into their life like an old and angry friend, they’d been laying shivering and blindfolded on the floor since the whumper had last beaten them, they had no way to measure how long ago that was--but it felt like it had been weeks. 

Even if they weren’t being rescued at least they weren’t alone. 

“You still with me?!” The whumper growls, too close to him--he’s too close! But the whumpee can’t move away, he just whimpers softly. 

The whumper’s calloused fingers are not gentle when they rip the blindfold off, yanking out several strands of the whumpee’s hair as they do. They whumpee has his swollen eyes squeezed shut, dried tears, blood, and dust are caked on his pale face as he trembles, unable to stop that movement, even if it’s zapping his small storehouse of strength to be so afraid. 

“Look at me!” The whumper shouts, causing the whumpee to jump violently, crying out as the movement further ignites the burning ache that has become their entire existence. They comply, struggling to open their eyes, for a moment they can’t see anything other than blinding light, they’d been here in the dark for so long their eyes have a hard time focusing in the light. 

When they do they see that the whumper is holding a camera, it’s small and black, one dark high resolution eye trained on them, catching them in all of their pathetic glory, they look away--shame burning in their chest. 

“Go-gonna k-kill me?” They ask, thinking that the presence of the camera changes things, their voice is a raspy croak, a cemetery gate protesting the wind, but they still manage to give away the burning terrible hope in the question. 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” the whumper taunts, keeping the camera on them,“You’d like for this to be over?” 

The whumpee knows better than to lie, they nod, an almost imperceptible movement, full of regret at speaking, full of shame. 

The whumper laughs at them, it’s terrible and mocking, making the whumpee want to cover their face and cry, they might have if they’d had the energy.  They say something to the camera--something the whumpee doesn’t quite catch, it sounded like they were asking for money? 

The whumpee is starting to sink away into the dark again, fighting to keep their half-lidded eyes open, their vision blurs, but right before they can sink under the blessed darkness that has become their only solace in this place, the whumper grabs a handful of their hair and yanks their head up. 

“Let’s give your friends a little show to light a fire under them, huh?” They pull on the whumpee’s hair, trying to force them to standing, but the whumpee just groans, they don’t have the energy to move anymore--can’t the whumper see that? They don’t have anything left! 

The whumper takes this as a challenge, kicking them roughly in their bruised stomach, all of the air in their lungs rushes out, they gasp, trying to breath air that won’t come, a crooked shaking hand comes up to grasp the whumper’s pant leg weakly in a gesture that begs for mercy. This doesn’t dissuade the whumper at all, the continued kicks to their already battered body, they don’t stay conscious for much of it, the darkness swallowing them into a darker kind of safety. Their body crumples against the wall, the barely scabbed over wounds on their torso beginning to bleed freshly. 

The whumper wipes the whumpee’s blood off of their boots on the whumpee’s bloody shirt, they are huffing as they pick up the camera again, their face fills the screen, a sick smile on their waxen face, “He’s really not looking so good, huh?” They snort in amusement, before turning back to the issue at hand,  “if you don’t bring me the five-hundred thousand by tomorrow, I’ll grant his wish and kill him,” the camera pans back down to show the whumpee again, one last look at them as they struggle to draw air into their lungs. 

“Otherwise,” the whumper’s voice comes, “say goodbye.” 

The video goes dark, the leader clears their throat, looking back at the rest of the team with red rimmed eyes, most of them are crying, even if the reactions of the team range the gamut, some of them are shaking in barely contained rage, a few had to leave to be sick, one of them has sunk to the floor--their glassy eyes wide with horror. 

CW: torture, silenced whumpee, referenced noncon surgery

As Whumper struck again, Whumpee screamed in agony, yet the only noise that really came out was a weak wheeze.

Whumper laughed, far too comfortable for a situation with such horrors. “I should have done this ages ago. The silence is golden.”

As the torture continued, so did the quiet. Whumpee writhed, but they couldn’t scream, couldn’t even beg. Whumpee had refused to beg in the beginning. Now they only wished it were an option. No matter the pain, Whumpee couldn’t make a sound. Not since Whumper gave them an operation, as if they were nothing but an unruly dog that barked too much.

Whumper left them bruised and bleeding as Whumpee had been many times before. But this time they were also silenced.