In Misery
Summary: Merlin, Arthur, and the knights are ambushed and taken captive. Merlin, under their orders, makes a run for it and disappears into the trees. Will Merlin find help? Warnings: graphic torture, major whump
Rating: M, definitely, yes.
Disclaimer: "Hey, you own Merlin, right?" Me: "Who, dear? Me, dear? Own, dear? No, dear."
Chapter 1
It was all Merlin's fault, really. That was the only possible explanation. Merlin, the annoying, bumbling, rambling manservant, who really was a horrible servant no matter how you looked at it. Arthur only hoped that he didn't get lost, but knowing that idiot he probably would.
The young king momentarily broke out of his musings and looked around himself. He was crowded into a cell that was much too small for himself, let alone himself and his trusted knights of the round table. He was crushed between Leon and Elyan, and though he was becoming irritable about the whole thing he didn't dare complain. It was, first of all, unbecoming of a king, not to mention the fact that he was quite sure everyone else in the cell (with the exception of Gwaine) was doing his best to give Arthur the most room.
Leon was decidedly pressed uncomfortably against the cold, damp wall. Elyan, besides occasionally knocking elbows with Arthur, was sitting with his legs drawn up and didn't seem to be bothered by the close proximity of his comrades. Rather, he seemed to be leaning into Percival, who was against the opposite wall from Leon. Gwaine, the selfish bastard, lay sprawled out in front of them, unconscious. Okay, maybe he wasn't that unselfish, considering the fact that they had wordlessly and mutually lain him there upon their earlier arrival.
It didn't change the fact that Arthur was angry. Angry at his captors, angry at his knights (Gwaine especially, the selfish bastard), angry at Merlin, but mostly angry at himself. He was king, for goodness sake! He should have been more alert, should have seen them coming. He should have fought harder. It didn't matter that he took out quite a few of the mercenaries. It mattered that he hadn't defeated them and escaped with his knights (and idiot Merlin) in tow. It was his fault. No, it was Merlin's, it had to be. Everything was Merlin's fault, as always. But it was Arthur's fault, really, and he knew it.
At least Merlin had escaped.
Vaguely, Arthur wondered how long they had been stuck in that horrid cell. There was no window, so there was no concept of time. It had been around midday when they were attacked, he knew, and a few hours after that they had arrived in horse-drawn cages at their destination: a lone, crumbling castle in the middle of nowhere. There, several guards had removed all of their weapons and armor, and then dragged them unceremoniously to the dungeon. In the back of his head, a small voice that sounded suspiciously like Geoffrey, his old history tutor, telling him that the castle had once belonged to some noble or other who had fallen due to some rebellion or other. He wasn't paying attention to it.
In front of them, Gwaine moaned softly, brow furrowing as he fought his way into consciousness. Leon, who was closest, moved toward the prone man.
"Gwaine," he said in a hushed voice.
The sound, despite the low volume, echoed around them. Arthur was reminded of why their escape-making conversations had quickly died down: the sound traveled easily through the steel bars of the door and bounced down the hallway to the guards' ears. There was no escaping due to that, not to mention that they couldn't very well pick the lock.
Gwaine groaned again and lifted a hand to his head. Leon helped him sit up. The knight's brown eyes fluttered open, confusion in them evident. "Percival, why didn't you stop me from drinking too much? Arthur'll have my head if I show up like this..."
That, at least, brought a smirk to the knights' and king's lips.
Almost as suddenly as Gwaine had finished speaking, his eyes hardened in remembrance and realization of their predicament. He cursed under his breath and looked around, headache dulled in a rush of adrenaline.
"Calm down," Leon said, sitting back.
Now that Gwaine was awake and moving, there was a bit more room for the other men to spread out. Arthur took Leon's space, and Elyan in turn moved a bit in the direction Arthur had, giving Percival's wide girth a breather.
"Who captured us?" Gwaine demanded harshly, voice resounding.
Elyan answered, "We don't know. We were left here some time ago, and have yet to see visitors."
The newly-roused knight laughed mirthlessly, eyes traveling to each of his friend's in turn. Once he shared a dark look with Leon, his face fell, and he looked all around the cell again. "Where's Merlin?" he asked quickly.
"Shh!" Arthur pressed a finger to his lips, giving Gwaine a murderous look. His eyes told Gwaine all that he needed to know: Merlin had gotten away, and the captors apparently had no knowledge that Merlin had even accompanied them-or, if they did, they didn't care.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Each of the men tensed and scowled, awaited the meeting that was coming. Arthur stood quickly, and his men followed suit. Gwaine allowed Arthur to take his place in front of the bars so that he, as king, was given the brunt of the attention.
To their surprise, two guards passed them by, dragging a heap between them. It was obvious that there was a person in the crudely-bound blanket, but it was impossible to tell whether the person was dead or alive. Hell, they couldn't even see whether it was a man or a woman, only the distinct bulge of a head at the end that dragged across the stone floor, and another that might have been a shoulder. Whoever it was, they were tall, and that was all they knew.
Following the trio was a beautiful woman in a flowing white gown. The back of the hem trailed across the ground, covered in dirt and mud, and a few leaves clung to it as well. She didn't seem to mind. Her pale white face was impassionate, but her dark eyes held a sort of eerie anticipation. Arthur suppressed the urge to shudder at the cruel-looking woman. But her eyes never strayed from her apparent destination, she never met eyes with the captive king or knights.
Arthur gripped the bars and pressed the left side of his face against them, straining to see where they were going. They stopped at the farthermost cell from his and dragged the bundle inside. The person was alive, then, Arthur mused. There was no need to arrest a corpse. That did nothing to alleviate the sense of dread deep in his stomach.
A few moments later, the two guards exited the cell and locked the door behind them. They came back the way they had passed, again refusing to meet Arthur's intense stare. He looked back. Why had they locked the woman in with that person? Was she also a prisoner? But she had not been restrained. She had, in fact, looked as though she were the one in control.
Arthur furrowed his brow and turned back to his knights, who looked back at him in equal confusion. Before any of them could say anything, a blood-curdling scream pierced through the air. Each of them startled and whipped toward the cell door as though expecting someone to be standing there. The scream resounded again, a horrible, agonized shriek of pain, and all of them realized at once that it was coming from the cell on the other side of the dungeon.
The scream died away, suddenly, and a very faint, ragged panting could be heard. After a short moment, the cool voice of a woman could be heard murmuring, though they couldn't make out a word of it.
With a cold feeling that brought the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, Arthur realized that the dungeon was probably built to amplify sound. It twisted sounds into something unrecognizable, terrifying. Every uttered word would echo, bouncing from wall to wall until it lost its original meaning, becoming a mere whisper of what it once was. The place was specifically designed to strike fear into the hearts of prisoners. But, Arthur thought grimly, at least they were still together...and weren't being physically tortured.
Another unearthly wail reached their ears.
Arthur looked up and saw that his knights had reached the same conclusion. They shared a grim look, and all visibly flinched in sympathy as another tortured scream was elicited. The men could only wonder what was being done to the wretched soul, and for what reason.
Gwaine clucked his tongue. "The poor bastard," he muttered.
Percival was the first to sink back into a sitting position. It was no use draining their strength. After all, thus far they'd been quite ignored. There was no guarantee of food or water anytime soon, and there was always the chance that one of them would be next in line for a torture session.
Elyan, and then Leon, and then Gwaine sat as well. Arthur stood at the bars, looking out into the empty hallway. Each scream elicited a wince. He pitied the man, for he knew for sure it was a man by the deep moans between screams. All throughout, the calm voice of the woman could be heard speaking in a steady drone. Arthur thought of the strange lady who had followed the guards. He again suppressed a shudder at her image. He was certain that she was the torturer.
What felt like hours passed. Arthur couldn't be entirely sure, but it could have very well been hours. After a while, the screams had died away, but he was fairly certain it was only because the man's voice had given out. They could still hear the woman talking, and a sharp, ragged gasp that indicated some kind of pain was inflicted on the unfortunate.
At least Merlin had escaped.
It became a sort of mantra to him. He repeated it inside his head-never aloud, though, since he and Merlin were most definitely not friends, and therefore Arthur didn't care about him. Arthur hoped that Merlin had made it back to Camelot by then. They were only about a day's hard ride from it, and though they had all lost their horses, he was sure that the bumbling servant could move quickly if he put his mind to it.
Arthur's frown deepened. Even if Merlin didn't get back soon, they were due back by nightfall. If they still had not arrive by the next morning, Gwen was sure to send out at least a small scout, who would possibly run into Merlin, who would inform them of what had happened. Then a rescue party would be formed, and Merlin would lead them back to where they were attacked. From there, he was sure they could be tracked.
Unless it rained and washed away the evidence.
There was no way of knowing if it had, though, so Arthur decided not to waste time thinking about it.
Footsteps down the hallway again made the knights perk up. They stood up immediately, lending silent support to their king, who lowered his hands from the bars and stuck his chin up proudly. Two guards marched past, not even flicking a glance in their direction.
Arthur was actually offended. Were they invisible?!
But he quickly forgot the indignation when he realized that they were unlocking the cell at the end of the dungeon. The lady in white exited primly, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress-and leaving long crimson streaks down it. Arthur fought the urge to be sick.
The guards locked the cell again behind her and she followed them back. As she neared, Arthur could make out a small smile on her lips that hadn't been there before. Anger accompanied his disgust.
This time Arthur fully intended to speak to them as they passed, forcing them to give him attention. Because he was the king, damn it, and the king of Camelot, captive or not, deserved respect! Just as he opened his mouth, the woman stopped in front of him, turning to face him.
His mouth hung open, momentarily stunned.
She only smiled up at him with her unsettling eyes. "King Arthur," she greeted. It was most definitely she who had been speaking to the tortured prisoner.
Arthur forced his eyes to stay locked in her calm, scrutinizing gaze, desperately trying to ignore the blood that flecked her face. In a dimmer lighting, they might have looked like freckles. "Who are you?" he finally demanded.
Her smile never faltered, not even under the sweltering glares of an angry king and four loyal knights. "My name is Mystral."
"Mystral," Arthur repeated, ever courteous. "Why have you captured me and my knights?"
"I was bored," was her reply.
The men were rather taken aback. "Bored?" he uttered incredulously.
She nodded emphatically.
Elyan scoffed, turning attention to him. He folded his arms across his chest. "And you're torturing that poor soul because you're bored?"
Mystral's smile widened, further pronouncing her cold beauty. "It passes the time. But don't worry, when I'm bored with him I'll come for one of you. He," she gestured vaguely back towards the cell, "is going first as punishment."
"Punishment for what?" Gwaine demanded, regarding the woman with an unreadable expression. There was no hint of humor on his usually cheerful face.
"Would you like to ask him?" she asked, locking eyes with the knight. "I'll have the guards bring him here, and you can talk with him all you like. That is, one of you would have to trade places with him. Otherwise I'll be bored again."
Arthur clenched his jaw when he saw that Gwaine was considering it.
"No," he cut in before Gwaine could speak. "As much as it pains me, I will not allow any of us to take a stranger's place. I am sorry for his pain, but as king I refuse the offer."
Mystral, during Arthur's short, imperial speech, turned her eyes from Gwaine's livid face to the king's. "Very well. I suppose you'll not know until I'm through." She turned to walk away, then stopped and looked back. "Oh, and I'll have the guards bring you some supper. It's getting late, after all. Quite nearly midnight." Then she swept away.
Once she was gone, Arthur held up a hand to silence the sudden onslaught of whispers from his knights. They quieted, and Arthur strained his ears. Yes, he could hear the very, very faint echoes of harsh breathing. The prisoner was still alive. He felt awful at refusing the man's chance at respite, but his knights at the moment were needed if they were to concoct some sort of plan. Once they escaped, they could help the tortured man as well.
Gwaine glared at Arthur when he turned around, but the king ignored him. "We need to come up with some sort of plan. Apparently the guards will be back soon with sustenance, and we might be able to overpower them."
The knights nodded in agreement. A simple, yet usually effective plan. It's served them well on more than one occasion. Percival and Gwaine moved to the front, as they had the best chance of getting the guards down. Arthur and the others (well, except maybe Gwaine) didn't want to kill them, but if push came to shove he wouldn't hesitate.
They waited for the guards to come. And waited. And waited.
And waited.
Eventually, it became apparent that Mystral had either lied, or the guards had disobeyed her and decided to not bring them food. In any case, they finally sat back down, reserving their strength for later. Arthur sighed heavily and dragged a hand down his face.
"Well," he said. "Might as well get some sleep while we can. I'll take first watch, and wake you if guards come."
The knights nodded reluctantly, and moved into as comfortable positions as they could in the cramped space. For the life of him, Arthur couldn't comprehend why they'd all been mushed into a single cell when there were obviously plenty. Not to mention the fact that it was much easier to conspire when they were in such close proximity. A sudden image of Merlin knocking on a tree trunk nearly made him laugh. That had occurred just that morning, when Arthur claimed that...nothing bad would happen. Arthur cursed himself inwardly.
Time and time again Merlin's little gut feelings had been proved right, and yet Arthur ignored him every time. And every time, something bad happened.
He nearly leapt out of his skin at a sudden sound, jolted from his reverie. Just before he shook his comrades awake, he stopped himself, hearing it again and recognizing it for what it was. The prisoner at the end of the dungeon was moaning lowly, obviously in terrible pain. His voice was hoarse, and his breath wheezed. Pity welled up for the man once more, but Arthur couldn't do anything for him.
For a brief second Arthur considered calling out some sort of comfort, assuring the man that they would escape and save him. But he immediately dismissed the idea. Firstly, he'd already told his men to get some rest, and that would certainly wake them (though he doubted they would mind, if it was a comforting gesture to the prisoner). Secondly, he was sure that the echoes would morph his words into senseless jumbles, and confuse the poor soul. Possibly it would only serve to frighten him more. So Arthur held his tongue and set his jaw.
And the poor man continued to moan in misery.
A/N: This is my first Merlin fanfiction. It's an idea that's been bouncing around in my head for a while now.
There's not really a specific time chronology in this. I suppose it could be a bit AU. But in any case, it's after Arthur's coronation and marriage to Gwen, so...*shrugs*
Thanks so much for reading! I'll update the next chapter as soon as I write it. :)
