A/N: The angst spree continues! More character studying, still mostly Merlin, but through Arthur's eyes (and thus colored by his own inner battles). Set between seasons 3 and 4; I fudged a little with the timeline, as it's supposed to be stand-alone. Plus I wanted to have the tension of a living Uther while Arthur tries to sort all this out.

Arthur was sure this mission wouldn't be difficult.

He and his knights stormed into the hideout, interrupting a slave auction. How this place had gone unnoticed, right on the edge of Camelot's territory, he did not know. It infuriated him. The already frightened slaves jumping out of their skin at the intrusion. Sellers and buyers alike drawing weapons to protect their interests. A few trying to slip out with their wares or spoils—they didn't get very far. Arthur had brought a large force, intent on completely dismantling the operation.

A few men resisted, to be promptly subdued by knights. Arthur made straight for the leader, who, in order to officiate the proceedings, had given up an easy escape route. The angry prince was upon him before he could get far. If anything, however, being snatched into a choke hold against a cold sword blade simply amused him.

"Are you going to kill me?" he sneered.

Beyond belief, Arthur wanted to. The slave trader was revolting, his practices despicable. So was his breath, for that matter. But cold rage wouldn't help the situation. "No. You and your lieutenants will be brought to Camelot for trial in front of the king. Black market dealings and slave trade are forbidden in this kingdom, yet you have the audacity to go into its villages for your sick business." He tightened his hold when the fiend laughed. "This tower is barely a day's ride from the citadel. How did you manage to go undetected for so long?"

His prisoner broke into a full unpleasant laugh. "Can't have you snitchin' my tricks, now, can I? Then everybody'd be wantin'—"

"How did you do it? I've been on the border patrols myself. They're too thorough. Is it sorcery?"

This time the man reverted to a gloating smile. Arthur threw him into the waiting arms of Leon and three other knights. "Get this scum ready for the return journey. Gwaine, you're with me. We'll get to the bottom of this."

"Kill him!" the trader suddenly roared. Arthur thrust his sword out to meet any oncoming challenger. What he didn't expect was the hidden lackey bolting out of the room. No one else moved. If Arthur was not the target, who was?

He and Gwaine gave chase. The halls were narrow and twisting, difficult for someone in full battle gear with a sword drawn to navigate at speed. There were tight corners, stairs going downward, and very little light. Arthur had only the sound of footsteps to guide him. "You've lost the fight—just give up!"

And surprisingly, the footsteps stopped. Arthur took the spiral staircase so quickly it made him dizzy. Then he heard the clank of a metal door. This man was sent to kill someone…

"STOP!"

The man stood over a cowering figure in the cell at the end of the hall. Arthur saw the flash of manacles on the figure's upheld wrist. He wasn't close enough to stop the first blow, caught by the victim's forearm, or the cry of pain that followed. In fact, he was sure he wouldn't make it in time for the second one—until the assailant went rigid, a knife in his own back. Arthur whirled around. Gwaine hadn't even broken stride behind him.

"Get rid of that filth," he instructed the quick-thinking knight. Gwaine did as he was told, leaving Arthur to tend to the curled figure in the corner. "Hey, you're safe now. Let's get a look at your arm."

The gash didn't seem large, but it bled profusely. Arthur bound it with a strip of his own tunic. The victim's clothes were ratty to the point of nonexistence, frayed shirt cuffs almost up to the elbow. This revealed the eerily bright manacles, which weren't actually attached to anything. That couldn't bode well. They did seem to aggravate the surrounding skin, however. Almost like burns. His feet were bare, torn up. And the young man still cowered at Arthur's presence.

"Do you think you can walk?" Arthur asked tentatively. "It's alright, we're here to free you. You should have your wounds tended properly. My physician, Gaius, can help."

At last the matted, dark head lifted—and Arthur swore his heart stopped. The broken, disheveled captive in front of him…

…was Merlin.

Arthur snatched his friend into a crushing hug. "We thought you were dead!" his voice disintegrated to barely a croak. A surprised shout announced Gwaine's reappearance. But Merlin didn't react to either of them. He was dirty, shaggy-haired, and unshaven. Bruises and scars littered his exposed skin. Arthur felt the raised evidence of whipping under the threadbare shirt fabric. Merlin hissed in poorly concealed pain with every movement. "Sorry. Anything besides the arm we should watch out for?"

"Why…'re you doing this…"

"Merlin, it's me, Arthur."

Again, no flicker of acknowledgement. Merlin's once-bright eyes were dull, losing focus. Arthur's grip was the only force holding him up.

It had been threeyears…three years not knowing what happened.

"I'm so sorry, Merlin. I should have looked harder…" Arthur threw a glance to Gwaine, whose face was stuck somewhere between disbelief and horror. Was there anything left of their friend? Three years, after the servant never returned from gathering herbs for his mentor. They had searched, well beyond the king's orders to stop, until the knights involved were threatened with insubordination and treasonagainst the crown. What did Merlin think of being stuck here, never rescued, enduring heaven knew what tortures? Arthur's attention wandered back to the strange manacles. Merlin shrank away when he tried to touch them. Under the torchlight Gwaine had brought this time, gouged runes could be made out across the surface.

"Magic…" the knight breathed. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut.

"Merlin…what do these do?" asked Arthur. He put a hand on one—and it was blasted back as far as his arm would allow. In the process, he caught the unmistakable gold flash as Merlin's eyes snapped open again. They both let out pained cries. Merlin quickly curled back into a ball; Arthur stared at him. How…?

"That's how they did it," whispered Gwaine. His tone was raw.

"What?"

"How the traders snuck around, attacking without being detected." The knight swallowed hard. "Merlin was the weapon."

"That's impossible! It's—it must be the manacles. They're enchanted to keep him from being taken or escaping, or something. Maybe they control him, and people were tricked because he's so easy to trust."

"Arthur, that magic came from Merlin. You saw it just as plain as I. The manacles probably keep him from using it in any way the traders don't like."

"I won't accept—"

"He has magic, Arthur."

Now Arthur was the one who felt totally without strength. "No, I don't believe that! All those years he was a servant—he worked tirelessly, took all the abuse I threw at him, even worked against magic time and again! I mean, did you ever see him on a day-to-day basis? He couldn't figure out the right end of a broom, let alone weapons or magic!" His voice cracked with emotion, but he didn't care. "He can't be…"

Merlin turned his deadened eyes toward them, though he didn't unfold his too-thin body. He made very brief eye contact with Arthur, contact that betrayed more hurt and sadness than Arthur thought anyone could show. The sight tore him to his soul.

"You…you're a sorcerer…?"

Merlin whispered something. Arthur didn't understand, and he was too overwhelmed to hide the confusion from his expression. But he jumped when the wretched manservant before him cleared his throat with an awful hacking sound, face hidden by shaggy hair.

"Warlock…actually…"

This didn't help. "What's the difference?" For some reason, their friend's refusal to look up again, even if it was out of exhaustion, angered him. "Tell me! How is that any different from the evil we used to fight together?"

"Didn't learn magic…" Merlin attempted to push up onto his elbow. His arms shook. Gwaine jumped forward to help, and he didn't refuse the gesture. "Born with it…Couldn't stop it…had to learn to use it…"

"And you chose to live in the one place where it would be the death of you?" Arthur butted in incredulously. "You gained access to the royal chambers! I trusted you!"

"Don't think it wasn't always on my mind…" Merlin stiffened with pain. Gwaine coaxed softly about trying not to do too much.

Arthur still didn't get it. "Why?"

Pain caused Merlin's breath to hitch a couple times. Dammit, he shouldn't be in this much pain! He closed his eyes for a long moment before almost meeting Arthur's gaze again. Almost. "Because you're meant to be a great king…and someone had to help you get there…"

"We should get him to Gaius," Gwaine prompted. "The others will be wondering where we are at any rate." He hefted Merlin to his feet with some difficulty. Arthur still hadn't moved. "Oy, Princess, you still there? Or did the magic fry what brains you had?"

This was all too much to think about. Fortunately, the sight of Merlin struggling to remain upright brought back Arthur's instinct to protect his friends. The manservant had never hurt anyone unless truly pressed to do so, and never to his own enjoyment. He didn't deserve this fate. And Arthur, like everyone, had thought Merlin dead—he couldn't suppress the incredible relief at seeing the gangly man again. So he took up his friend's other arm. They would have to sort out the facts and dilemmas later.

"No, I agree. Let's get out of here."