Arthur didn't know the exact length of time that he'd been chained to the wall of the cave. He didn't know how long his hands had been tied, painfully, above his head. His shirt was no longer white; it was a mix of black and brown, and a strange shade of red, presumably his blood. He groaned as he moved his neck an inch forward. How long had he been lying in this position? A day? A week? His arms ached, screaming to be set free from the shackles that bound them. His legs stretched out in front of him, stiff from not being moved and from the coldness. Arthur assumed that, since it was the middle of the night, temperatures had already dropped below freezing. His eyes slowly started to adjust to the darkness, and in front of him he picked out the shape of the familiar rock that had become his only company. He shifted his weight, causing his chains to rattle, a sound that seemed to deafen him in the lonely silence of the cave.
A sliver of blood tricked from his hairline to his cheek. It had been so long since his captors had last visited, giving him nothing but a teaspoonful of muddy water to drink. Then they had proceeded to kick him repeatedly in the stomach, hard. Arthur had felt the wind drain from his body as the first blow landed, and he soon found himself unable to breathe. He cowered against the wall, surrendering to their cruelness.
It seems like a century since he last saw his kingdom; his father, Morgana, the knights. Gwen. Oh, how he missed his love. He kept the warmth of that last kiss goodbye close to his heart, as a lone tear rolled down his dust-covered cheek.
His eyes had closed. He was slowly drifting to sleep when he heard the unfamiliar noise. Off to his right, he heard the odd sound of rattling chains. He peered around in the darkness, scared and confused. The noise sounded again, and Arthur scrambled backwards, his back crashing against the wall. The noise came again, but this time it was followed by another. The silent, terrified cry of help that had so recently escaped his own lips. Arthur suddenly realised that he was no longer alone, that he had company in this hell he was living in. His dry mouth opened, but the only sound that came out was that of a blood-riddled cough. From the darkness, a fearful voice reached him.
'Wh-' cut off by a chesty cough, the man that hid in the shadows doubled over. 'Whose there?' he finished, his voice gravely and weak. Arthur's eyes widened. The voice seemed so close, yet so far away. Arthur was so convinced that he was dreaming, that it was his mind simply playing a cruel trick on him. But the voice came again, and Arthur listened, carefully.
'P-please, I- I know someone' there…' The man sounded so scared. So child-like. Arthur sat in silence for what seemed like a century before he found his mouth opening.
'Who are you?' he asked the darkness of the cave, unsure of which direction to point his tired head. The voice that replied echoed around him, like a ghostly wind. It wrapped itself around him, squeezing him tightly, so tightly that his eyes started to water, and Arthur found himself crying.
'My-' another cough, worse this time, racked the poor soul that had no face. Arthur could do nothing but wait. 'I'm M-Merlin,' the ghost continued. 'My name is.. is Merlin.' It was no more than a whisper to Arthur. He craned his neck, instantly regretting it as a brand new, sharp shot of pain ran through his muscles. He hissed in air through his yellowing teeth, and took three deep breaths.
'Why- why are you here?' he said, his fists clenched tight at his stomach.
'I don't know,' the ghost sounded almost guilty as he spoke his words, and an breeze of untruthfulness floated through the cave, landing gently on Arthur's ear, pausing a moment before dancing inside. Arthur remained silent, the words he longed to speak no longer willing. He moved slowly, gently, allowing his head to drop backwards, resting upon the wall once again.
The silence returned. No longer did his fellow ghost speak. The only sound now was the quiet breathing, chains rattling, and the occasional outbreak of coughing.
Arthur fell asleep to the sounds of his prison, and he awoke to the sounds of yelling. There was little light floating into the cave, but Arthur could see enough to make out thee three, large men that hunched over his cave mate.
'Did I give you permission to talk, filth!' One of the men cussed, following up with a kick to the stomach of the man that lay cowering beneath him. Arthur dared not move for fear of the anger being turned onto him.
'N-n-no. No, I'm sorry.' The man whimpered. Another kick, this time to the chest. The ghost yelled out in pain, causing Arthur to wince.
'Then why are you still talking!' Behind the kicker, a man sneered and took a step forward, slapping his hand on the man's shoulder. The kicker retreated, and the other took his place.
'You think you could defy us, sorcerer.' The man sneered. From what he could see, the man stood no taller than 5ft 9, three inches taller than Arthur himself. He saw no sign of hair upon the man's head, and he wore what looked like a robe, that reached to the floor, showing nothing but his boot-clad feet. Arthur's eyes moved from the feet to the boy that lay motionless beside them. His hair appeared black, sticking out in every direction much like Arthur's own. He wore nothing but a pair of breeches, a belt was tied tightly around his too-small waist. He lay with his hands covering his face, his fists gripping clumps of his hair tightly as he awaited the next blow.
'Filth like you deserve to be,' a kick to the stomach. 'Punished!' followed by a heavy stomp to the man's left foot. A cry of pain followed, one which Arthur blocked out by closing his eyes tight and biting down as hard as he could on his tongue. The pain in his mouth was worse, to him, than the pain-filled cries that his cave mate was making. They lasted for a while, and Arthur was sure that he would have bitten off the tip of his tongue completely if the robed man hadn't given him a swift kick to the head, knocking the man unconscious almost instantly.
Arthur's eyes snapped shut immediately, and he could feel angry eyes watching him. He breathed as slowly and as quietly as he possibly could, and soon the men had left him alone with his sleeping friend.
It was a few hours later when Arthur awoke, his hand gripping the sleeve of his tunic tightly. It was always the same face that plagued his dreams: Uther Pendragon. In his dreams, Arthur always returned to being five years old…
Thunder crashes down above him. The room is lit with flashes of lightning. Arthur lays, cowering under the duvet, his hand clasped tightly around the neck of his beloved teddy bear. His eyes are shut tight, he's trembling. The loudness of the thunder frightened him. When he opened his eyes again, the storm no longer raged. Arthur felt something wet and sticky, beneath him. Sitting himself up, he threw the covers off him. His eyes widened in horror as he saw the patch of wetness beneath him. Jumping out of his bed, the struggled to remove the sheet from his bed. Finally, though, he got it, and he rushed to the door, throwing it open. That was always when his father appeared, his face contorted with rage, the cane in his hand. Arthur dropped the sheets to the ground. His teddy bear dropping with them, getting lost in the tangle of white. His father rushed forward, gripping him by the and spinning him around. He lifted his hand in the air and brought the cane down. Five year old Arthur started screaming, and twenty five year old Arthur did so a moment later…
'S- sir? Hey, are you alright?' Arthur's eyes opened. It took a moment for his breathing to return to almost normal. He pulled on the chains above him, lifting himself up into a sitting position, flinching as the usual shot of pain ran through his muscles. He turned his head, searching out the location of the voice that had broken into his nightmare and dragged him to safety. At last his eyes rested on the shadow of a hunched-up figure. He was chained in the same position as Arthur, his legs pulled up to his chest. He looked deathly thin in the dimness of the light, and for a moment, Arthur was certain once again that he was dreaming.
'What?' he coughed, unsure if he had heard the man speak. His head lifted, and Arthur saw a pair of eyes looking back at him.
'I-,' he tried to move forward; his eyes had yet to adjust to the darkness, and he struggled to see Arthur. 'I asked if you were alright.' His voice sounded young, but not the least bit child-like. Arthur bowed his head.
'What do you think?' he asked, sadness in his voice. Arthur's eyes closed.
'Oh, I'm- I'm sorry, I didn't mean…' The man paused, and Arthur wondered if he was going to erupt into fits of coughing, but the cave remained silent. For a moment, at least, for the man spoke again, and when he did so, Arthur could hear tears in his voice.
'You were screaming.' He whispered. Arthur lifted his head.
'Yes, well…' he paused as the memories of his nightmare came flowing back to him. 'I, eh… where- where did you come from?' Arthur asked, hoping that the man would not mind the change of subject.
'I don't really remember to be honest.'
'Yeah…' Arthur said, thoughtfully. 'Me either.'
'Your voice…'
'My- my voice?' Arthur asked, confused.
'It,' the sound of rattling chains told Arthur that the man had moved. 'It's really familiar. I'm sure I've heard you speak before.' Arthur shook his head, though he knew it would be no use in the darkness.
'You- you're sure?' he asked, curling and uncurling his poor, frozen toes. 'How can you be sure?' His last words came out as a whisper, and Arthur was a little disappointed when no reply came.
He must have nodded off, because when he opened his eyes, a shadow was standing over him.