Warning: There will be torture scenes in this one - nothing too gruesome or detailed I don't think but a fair warning for anyone that's even mildly squeamish. And, to reassure you, Merlin is NOT the one experiencing it.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin
"If you spare my men, you can do whatever you want with me."
He knew such an offer would be too irresistible to refuse – especially since Odin had gone to such great lengths to capture him.
The King of Cornwall had been out for Arthur's blood for years; ever since he'd killed his son, Emeric. Arthur had had no quarrel with Cornwall's prince and asked him to withdraw but the man refused to revoke the challenge. They fought and Arthur had walked way the reluctant victor, poisoning Odin with relentless revenge ever since. Odin had even gone so far as to kill Arthur's father. Clearly that murder had not fully satisfied him given Arthur's current predicament: on his knees, his wrists bound behind his back, with his most trusted knights on either side of him. Surrounded by at least fifty enemy soldiers, Arthur knew the only way to get out of this alive was to offer himself as ransom – so he had.
"Sire, you can't –"
"Quiet!" Odin snapped, silencing Leon.
Arthur minutely shook his head at his First Knight before turning his gaze back to Odin. He could practically see the wheels spinning within the man's mind as he paced back and forth. His men shifted a little in anticipation. The King of Cornwall finally twisted around, facing his enemy.
"Do I have your word of honor, Pendragon?"
"If I have yours, then yes."
Odin debated a moment more.
"Very well, from one king to another, you have my word that your men will be spared."
Arthur nodded, relieved. "Then you have my word to do with me as you will."
There was an immediate outcry from his knights.
"No!"
"Sire!"
"You can't!"
"Silence! All of you!" Arthur commanded. "This is my decision and it will not be revoked."
"But you can't honestly expect us to let them take you away!" Gwaine countered.
"I expect you to honor my decision, Gwaine," Arthur growled. "I gave my word of honor and am bound to it."
"As am I to mine," Odin stated, "Although, if I receive any word that the knights of Camelot are tracking us, I'll remove your king's digits one by one for you and the crows to find." Smiling cruelly at their looks of horror to this promise, he turned to two of his soldiers and gestured to Arthur. "Tie this filth to my horse."
They seized Arthur's arms and yanked him to his feet, tying a thick rope around his already bound wrists before shoving him towards Odin's steed. The Pendragon king tried to send his men an encouraging glance as they witnessed the blatant disrespect taking place. Frustration and horror raged within their countenances but – thankfully – none of them dared come to his aid when their bonds were cut.
As he was expertly tied to Odin's saddle, the bound king realized this journey was not going to be at all pleasant; his hands were tied behind his back. If he slacked in his pace or tripped, not only would he hit the earth face-first but his arms would be sure to rip from their sockets as he was dragged along the ground.
If Odin desired to humiliate him, he was succeeding rather well.
"Move out!" Odin shouted, nudging his horse into a healthy trot.
Arthur gritted his teeth and began to jog, praying he wouldn't trip over a loose rock or stray root as he went. Many of Odin's men laughed and jibed at his predicament but Odin thankfully didn't say a word; his snide comments would only add further to Arthur's humiliation.
They traveled swiftly along Camelot's border, skimming Nemeth and entering Alined's lands near sunset.
At this point Arthur had decided that Odin was, by far, the most rancorous, evil toerag he had ever had the displeasure of knowing. The man had alternated between trotting and walking the entire day – the trotting the more prominent pace, forcing Arthur to jog in order to keep up.
Arthur was rather grateful he'd been hunting instead of on a patrol when Odin ambushed them; if he'd had to run like this in his armor and chainmail he would have tasted dirt long ago from the oppressive weight. Still, his blue tunic was soaked in sweat and his leather vest added unwanted weight to his aching shoulders. His feet hurt and his legs throbbed from having to hike over such uneven terrain at such a constant pace. Further sweat fell into his eyes and down his nose; not for the first time did he wish he could wipe the annoying drops away. In short, he was utterly miserable when the time finally came to make camp – though he wasn't about to let any of these devils see that. He stood tall, forcing himself to breathe through his nose.
Odin removed himself from the saddle and left Arthur in the care of a servant. They pulled him towards a tree and thrust him rather roughly to the ground. Securing the rope to the tree's trunk, the servant left, disappearing into the crowd of men to help throw out bedrolls and start various fires. A couple of guards were placed three feet from the captive king but Arthur hardly took notice of them; he was simply content to finally be off his feet.
Leaning forward, he tried to ignore the sting from his wrists as the rope rubbed against his raw skin. How he wished he could move his arms from behind his back! His clothes were soaked and his feet longed to be out of his boots. If only he could remove them! Arthur closed his eyes and ground his teeth together. He'd refused to speak to Odin the whole torturous journey for three reasons: one, his pride wouldn't allow it; two, he didn't want to accidentally bite his tongue; and three, he didn't want to end up gagged, losing one of his airways to breathe.
A sigh of discomfort was released unbidden from his lungs as the smells of delicious stew drifted passed his nostrils from the nearest campfire. His stomach growled and his mouth longed for water but the king refused to ask for either. He would not stoop to begging. Detained or not, he was a king. He would not show weakness to these rats.
At the sound of approaching footsteps, he dared look up. The servant that had tied him to the tree was back with a bowl of soup and waterskin in hand.
"King Odin requests the prisoner be untied and nourished," he said to the guards.
One rested the point of his sword against Arthur's throat while the other set to work untying him. Ripples of pain ran up Arthur's back and shoulders as his arms were finally released and the king forced himself not to hiss or rub his aching wrists as he brought them around to rest in his lap. Both guards kept their swords pointed dangerously close as he took the food and water from the servant and began to eat.
The stew was nothing compared to Merlin's but he wasn't about to complain; food was food and he'd be a fool to refuse what had been given. He finished the soup and emptied the waterskin without a word to the servant or guards – though he did mutter a thank you when the young man took the bowl and waterskin away. The servant stared at him in surprise before nodding his head and ordering the guards to bind him with his hands in front.
As his wrists were once again forced together, Arthur wondered if the retreating young man was Odin's manservant. He wasn't as lanky as his and he certainly didn't possess any of Merlin's insubordination but he had been brave enough to look the guards in the eye when relaying Odin's orders. His short curly hair was the color of earth and his eyes, a sea green; so different compared to Merlin's untidy black hair and remarkable blue irises. Merlin would have chatted to him even if he was a prisoner but this man had held his silence. Arthur's thoughts turned to the last time he'd seen his servant. It had been almost a week ago.
Guinevere had more or less bullied him into allowing Merlin a week off after she'd found out the man hadn't seen his mother in over a year. Arthur hadn't realized it had been that long or he would have allowed Merlin a reprieve months ago. It had been like pulling teeth to get him to go too; the idiot never did as he was told. He was too stubborn for his own good. It was only after a great amount of persuasion from multiple sources that he finally consented to leave.
Arthur never would admit it out loud but he missed Merlin. He'd missed him the second the fool's horse had disappeared from the castle courtyard. Arthur had been stuck with George – brass-joke-loving, immaculately perfect, George – and he hated every minute he'd had to spend with the man. He was too clean, too silent, too proper and not Merlin.
Arthur had nearly thrown a fit when George had woken him on time with a breakfast that could rival a feast, having already laid out his clothes and polished his armor to perfection. When George tried to help him comb his hair, Arthur threw him from the room, mortified. He'd complained to his amused wife for over an hour, going so far as to entertain the idea of saddling a horse and chasing after his manservant with all due speed. Guinevere eventually calmed him down and even managed to get him to accept George for the remainder of Merlin's absence; the king had never succumbed to bribery before but what Guinevere had offered, well, he would have been a fool to refuse.
Arthur sighed, thinking of his wife. They'd been married now for two wonderful years and Camelot had, unexpectedly, been spared from any great catastrophe during that time. Sure, they still had the occasional magical beast to vanquish and the usual hardships that came with winter but on the whole they'd been surprisingly blessed. He supposed it was about time the peace was disturbed; he just didn't think it would have resulted in him being kidnapped by an enemy, invoking an act of war.
Arthur was sure his knights would stage some kind of rescue but the question he had to ask was would they do so themselves or would they return to Camelot to gather reinforcements? The latter seemed more likely. The king drew to the conclusion that, regardless of what they chose to do, a rescue was going to take a while. This also led to the acceptance that there was every chance he might not survive this. Odin wanted his blood. He could have killed him right then and there in the forest but instead he had decided to humiliate him. This only led to the conclusion that the villain wanted him to suffer as much as possible before rewarding him with death.
Entertaining yourself with morbid thoughts will not help the situation, you know.
Great, he was thinking to himself now? That was never a good sign. But why did the irritating thought have to sound exactly like Merlin?
Probably because he's your voice of reason.
Shut up!
Arthur scowled. He was having a conversation with himself. If Merlin ever found out, he'd tease him for weeks.
Leaning back against the tree, he focused on trying to get some sleep. He would have entertained the idea of an escape plan but he was too exhausted to try anything anyway. Even if he did manage to break himself free – which would be hard since the guards had been clever enough to tie the rope underneath his wrists – his exhaustion would prevent him from getting very far. Groaning over his predicament, Arthur blocked out the sounds of laughter coming from Odin's camp and fell into a restless sleep.
::
Arthur was rudely woken from his pitiful sleep by a boot to his stomach. Coughing, the king desperately tried to regain his bearings as he was yanked to his feet. Odin's sneer greeted him.
"I trust you slept well, Pendragon?"
"Hardly," Arthur snapped.
It was the truth after all; the night chill combined with the roots from the tree had provided a lethal combination for an unhealthy rest. Odin's mouth twitched and his eyes flashed with satisfaction.
"Let's hope you are rested enough to ride."
He motioned to a horse nearby that was already saddled. Arthur's eyebrows drew together in confusion and he couldn't help but goad the man.
"Compassion, Odin? And here I thought you were going to make me run the whole way."
"If you'd rather, I could easily arrange it," Odin snapped, his eyes flashing due to Arthur's impudence. "Unfortunately, my desire to reach Cornwall outstretches that of watching you suffer on the road."
"I take it Alined would not be too enthused to learn you've crossed into his lands uninvited," Arthur deduced.
Odin scowled and turned to some nearby soldiers. Arthur counted his assumption as truth and inwardly smirked in victory.
"After he mounts, retie his hands behind his back," Odin ordered, "and gag him," he added, sending Arthur a vicious glare before striding away.
Twenty minutes later, Arthur somewhat regretted provoking his captor. The horse he rode was being guided by another and, due to Odin's desire to cross as much terrain as possible, Arthur was left bouncing around in the saddle. His knees were the only thing keeping him in place as he leaned slightly forward to prevent his hands from repeatedly hitting the back of his mount. His shoulders screamed in protest and his mouth ached from the cloth that wound tightly across his cheeks behind his head.
They rode for hours, driving the horses until the beasts heaved with exhaustion, foam freely dripping from their mouths onto the forest floor. Arthur's body was nearly as spent as his horse when Odin finally decided to make camp. Camelot's king was pulled from his mount and once again tied to a tree. Arthur's knees felt like small needles were repeatedly stabbing him, his arms experiencing a similar sensation. Like yesterday, the brown haired servant appeared with food and water and Arthur was temporarily freed from his bonds. When the cloth was removed from his mouth, it took a moment for his sore jaw to loosen so he could actually eat.
Arthur took his time, relishing in having his arms free. One of the guards smacked his boot with their own, hinting that he was trying their patience with his slow progress on the stew. Arthur scowled at the guard but refused to quicken his pace; he was going to enjoy his temporary liberation as much as possible.
His insolence rewarded him with a firm kick in the stomach after he was once again secured to the tree. It took a great deal of effort not to throw up everything he'd just eaten but Arthur proudly remained the victor. He needed the nourishment and some pesky guard's impatience was not going to rob him of it. Coughing a bit, he settled on his side and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the way the roots ground into his skin.
He was just beginning to drift off when a rough pair of hands wrenched him into a sitting position. Arthur looked up to find himself surrounded by five rather menacing looking men. Despite their obvious intent, Arthur raised an annoyed eyebrow.
"To what do I owe this pleasure, gentlemen?"
The one in the middle with beefy hands and atrocious teeth answered.
"King Odin has given us permission to get you comfortable, Pendragon scum."
Arthur didn't like that ominous answer at all. None of the men had weapons, thankfully, but a physical beating could be just as detrimental if left unrestrained. He didn't have anything to defend himself – Odin had stripped him of all his weapons (including the dagger in his boot) – and he was at a severe disadvantage with his hands tied as they were. He also had to remind himself that he gave his word that Odin could do with him as he wished. He was beginning to regret that decision.
Still, he wasn't afraid of what these men were about to do. He was the King of Camelot and would bear whatever beating they had in store, no matter the severity, with an iron will. Odin may be able to physically harm him but he couldn't touch his spirit. That was unbreakable.
Courage burning within his heart, Arthur glared up at the soldiers and smirked.
"Do your worst."
The ruffians took his challenge to heart because they didn't hold back. They left his face relatively untouched, going instead for his torso, back, arms, and legs. With each blow they taunted him with insults and vulgarity but Arthur rewarded them with nothing but hisses and suppressed groans.
He would not break…
He would not break…
::
Arthur didn't know when he slipped into unconsciousness but his reprieve from reality was rudely interrupted by a bucket of cold water. Gasping, he bolted upright but immediately regretted it. Pain blossomed and he doubled over, hugging his chest. The second he touched his ribs, he hissed and removed the pressure. They were either fractured or broken; he was sure of it.
"My, my, from that sound I take it my men followed my orders to the letter."
Arthur grit his teeth. He would not give this vile man the satisfaction to continuing his gloating. Masking the pain of his injuries, he sat up straight and stared defiantly into Odin's eyes. His lack of discomfort gained the desired effect as Odin's cruel smile vanished into a disgruntled scowl. Twisting to the guard, he commanded for Arthur to once again be tied and gagged after mounting his horse. It took everything ounce of pride not to groan and slump in the saddle once Arthur had successfully mounted.
They stopped only to water the horses and stretch their legs – well, everyone but Arthur; as a prisoner, he was not given the same reprieve. The sun was nearing the horizon when the walls of Cornwall's capital came into view. Arthur begrudgingly took the time to appreciate just how great Odin's stronghold was. The outer wall matched that of the castle: thick, gray, and formidable to any attempting to conquer it. Tall towers jutted out of the citadel, their rounded edges displaying flags of Odin's crest and a number of hawk-like sentries ready for any threat.
The city's people looked well cared for but terror mirrored every face at the sight of Odin and his entourage. Arthur watched as they hastily dropped into bows and curtsies, their eyes averted and their forms slightly trembling as their king passed. The atmosphere was the exact opposite to Camelot. Arthur's people loved him and he them but Odin demanded fear and respect – the same that Arthur's father had. It was sad, in a way, and Arthur found himself silently pitying Odin. Fear could only motivate a man so far but love… love could withstand the test of time.
They reached the citadel and Odin dismounted, passing his reins to a frightened stable boy without acknowledgement.
"Sir Ethan!"
A young knight with short brown hair removed himself from the entourage and approached Odin, bowing before him.
"Sire?"
"Escort the prisoner to the cells and see that Alice tends to his wounds."
"Yes, Sire," Sir Ethan muttered, turning his attentions to Arthur.
Camelot's king dismounted his horse without aid, staring after Odin as he entered the castle surrounded by his council and advisers. All of them glanced periodically at Arthur with varying degrees of wicked glee. Arthur glared in response until Sir Ethan blocked them from his view. He looked to be around Elyan's age with a barrel chest, muscular arms, and a square face. His eyes were brown and hard as he stared at the king. Arthur raised a defiant eyebrow.
Sir Ethan's thick eyebrows drew together as his scowl pulled heavily at the corners of his mouth. Seizing Arthur by the arm, he yanked him forward and proceeded to drag him down to the dungeons. Arthur memorized the route as they went: straight, right, left, stairs, left, right, stairs. If any opportunity arrived for him to escape, he needed to know exactly how to get out of this place.
The cells turned out to be worse than those in Camelot. While Camelot's dungeon provided barred windows and one barred wall to gaze through, Cornwall sported four stone walls, chained manacles, and a wooden door with a small barred peek hole. The guards assigned to the dungeon kept their spears at Arthur's throat as Sir Ethan replaced the rope around his wrists with the cell's manacles and removed his gag. Once secured, the men of Cornwall left, slamming the door closed behind them.
The moment they were gone, Arthur's strength utterly left him and he slumped to the ground, the chains rattling as he settled against the wall. He ached something fierce! His ribs throbbed, he had a splitting headache, and his stomach growled with hunger. At least his hands weren't tied behind his back any longer.
Arthur grit his teeth as he once again tried to take stock of his injuries. He gingerly lifted his shirt and squinted, attempting to see in the miniscule light from the door how badly his chest was bruised. His eyes had yet to adjust to the darkness, however, so he gave up and just slumped further.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on trying to remember the path leading to the dungeons. Straight, right, left, left – no, there had been stairs first. Yes. He started over: straight, right, left, stairs, left… right? Or had it been another left? No, it had definitely been right because he'd almost clipped his shoulder on the corner. That's right! He started again: straight, right, left, stairs, left, right, stairs. Yes! That was it!
Straight, right, left, stairs, left, right, stairs.
Straight, right, left, stairs, left, right, stairs.
He was still repeating the mantra under his breath when the cell door opened again. Arthur hissed from the onslaught of light, turning away and blinking furiously to get used to the change. He heard someone shuffling towards him and he forced himself to scrutinize who it was. He would not allow anyone to sneak up on him.
It was a woman. She appeared to be in her late sixties, her brown hair streaked with gray, wrinkles surrounding her gray blue eyes and full lips. Arthur's brow furrowed. He recognized this woman.
"You!" he cried.
"King Arthur," she curtsied, "it has been many years."
"You tried to kill my father!"
"No," the old woman countered, "I was being controlled. It was the manticore – a creature of the Old Religion – that tried to do that."
"There was no creature! You were lying then and you're lying now. What are you doing here?"
"I am not lying but, seeing that you won't believe me either way, I'll not waste my breath arguing further with you. My name is Alice and I am King Odin's Court Healer."
She set down a medicine bag and reached for Arthur's shirt.
"Don't touch me, sorceress!" Arthur commanded, shying away from her, his chains rattling.
Alice leaned back and scowled.
"You can either let me do my job willingly or I'll have the guards restrain you forcefully. Either way, I am going to heal you so you might as well save yourself from the embarrassment and let me work."
Arthur stared. The last time he'd met this woman, she'd seemed timid and afraid but now she stood with a sort of power and authority. Part of him felt like he'd just been scolded by Gaius. Scowling, Arthur glared at her.
"You're going to use magic on me."
"Yes."
"What if I refuse treatment?"
Alice sighed, exasperated. "You don't have a choice. Shall I call the guards?"
Arthur stiffened. He was not going to be held down while this woman used magic on him! But, even if he wasn't restrained, she was going to use it anyway. It seemed, either way, he didn't have much choice.
"Your Majesty, may I be frank?"
Arthur looked up at her and stiffly nodded; at least she'd respectfully asked before just spewing forth her lies.
"Contrary to what you have been taught, not all magic is evil," Alice said, her gaze sad.
Arthur immediately scoffed. "Magic corrupts. I've seen enough to know that for myself."
"You have been the victim of revenge and misunderstanding," Alice continued as she began to rummage through her bag, pulling out several bottles and a clean cloth, "and I am sorry I only added to your beliefs. But my last visit to Camelot was not my usual practice. I heal. I do not hurt. As I said, the manticore controlled me, twisting the knowledge of my healing remedies for its own wicked purpose."
"Let's say that this imaginary creature you keep hiding behind was real," Arthur grumbled as he reluctantly removed his shirt under her indication, "Why did it control you? Why not simply attack my father itself?"
Alice was rubbing two different powders and several herbs into the cloth as she answered, "Manticores are creatures of the Old Religion. They dwell within the spirit world and can only be summoned into our world through a magic portal – and even then they cannot live for long outside of their own realm. Because of this, the beast could not come after Uther itself so it used me instead."
"Fair enough," Arthur muttered, not really believing her but humoring her anyway. "But, if what you say is true, then you would have had to summon it. What were your intentions in so doing?"
"I am a healer, Sire," she sadly smiled. "Manticores are powerful creatures. I believed I could use its power for good – for healing. But while trying to study it, its magic overpowered mine. I became its puppet and it exploited my relationship with Gaius to get vengeance on your father."
"Wait," Arthur frowned, "What relationship with Gaius? You knew each other? I thought you were merely attempting to be his assistant to get into the castle."
The sadness in Alice's countenance increased tenfold. She looked away from him, pouring a small dose of water over the now soiled cloth before whispering a spell.
Ábregdan! Onginnan æt gelácnian."
Arthur flinched away from her as her eyes turned sorcerer gold. The cloth in her hand took on a bluish hue and she bent forward, holding the cloth out towards him.
"Don't touch me with that!" Arthur hissed, backing into the wall, his eyes wide with fear.
She claimed to be a healer but the only experience he'd had with this woman was her poisoning his father. This had to be a trick. Odin wanted to magically torture him too. That's what this was. Even though Uther had been dead for several years, Alice had failed to kill him so she was just settling for the next best thing: killing his son. She placed the cloth against his arm…
Arthur grit his teeth, expecting pain, but nothing of the sort occurred. In fact, as she gently rubbed the cloth back and forth against his limb, the ache in the muscles instantly vanished. Arthur stared in disbelief as the purple bruises over the surface of his skin dissolved. What would have taken weeks to heal was gone with the simple motion of an enchanted cloth.
"Gaius and I… were once engaged," Alice revealed as she started on Arthur's other arm.
"What?!" Arthur yelped, temporarily pulled from his mesmerized stare over his newly healed limb.
Alice weakly chuckled as she continued her ministrations.
"It was so long ago, now," she mused.
"What happened?" Arthur asked quietly, finding it rather difficult to even imagine Gaius with a wife. It just didn't compute.
"The Purge," Alice answered bluntly. "I practiced healing in Camelot. When magic became illegal, Gaius found out that I was one of Uther's suspects and provided a way for me to flee the city."
"But… he didn't go with you?" Arthur wondered, confused.
If he had experienced a similar situation with Guinevere he would have dropped everything to be with her, crown or not. In fact, he had. When she had been framed for using magic, he'd relinquished his right to the throne – not that that went over well.
"Why didn't he leave?"
Alice started healing his back. The relief of the pain in his shoulders almost put Arthur to sleep, he was so content. But – wait – this was magic. Magic was evil!
And yet, how could providing relief to pain be an act of wickedness?
"Gaius was afraid that if he left, Uther would think he had betrayed him," Alice answered after a pause, "He did not want to risk the king hunting him – and consequently me – so he stayed behind. He felt he had no choice, really. I do not blame him; though I wish that things could have been different."
The Purge had ruined Gaius and this woman's future. Arthur felt rather conflicted. He didn't know if he should apologize or remain silent. While Alice had broken the law by practicing magic and been forced to assist an attempted murder of his father, she didn't seem like a bad person. And Gaius certainly had Arthur's trust. But magic was evil. His father had taught him that since birth. He'd seen it with his own eyes, hundreds of times.
Ah, said the small voice that sounded like Merlin, but, if it was truly evil, then how are you being healed by it?
It's a trick! Arthur replied. It has to be!
See for yourself, I suppose.
Shut up!
Though he had to agree with the voice's suggestion. Once Alice was gone and he was left alone, he could see if the 'healing' she had been doing was actually an evil luring him into a false sense of security or merely what she claimed it to be: healing and nothing more.
The two of them lapsed into silence, Alice rubbing every bruised and battered part of his body with the magic cloth while Arthur watched and felt the healing work through his skin and bones. When she'd finished, she handed him a waterskin and a piece of bread.
"I'm afraid that's all I'm allowed to give you," she muttered with a heavy frown.
"I would normally say thank you," Arthur muttered.
"But since I'm a sorceress you feel conflicted about showing good manners," she guessed though she didn't seem angry, just resigned.
Arthur sighed.
"I can't ignore what I've experienced for myself," he defended. "Magic corrupts."
"No," Alice countered. "It simply is. Choice corrupts, Arthur Pendragon. It is what we do, not what we possess, that separates the good from the evil."
Arthur frowned. He didn't have an answer for that so he busied himself with the waterskin. Its contents were gone in three gulps. Alice took the empty container back and stood.
"Magic works wonders," she stated, "but you are not fully healed."
Arthur stiffened.
"What?"
"Magic can only do so much in the art of healing. The human body has its own healing process and must complete what I could not. You need to rest. The aches and pains may be gone but you are still physically exhausted and in need of energy."
That wasn't a lie. Even now Arthur's fatigue was catching up to him.
Alice glanced over her shoulder at the open door before leaning forward and quickly whispering, "Your Majesty, I am afraid that you will not have much of a reprieve."
"What do you mean?"
"This is Odin's way," she muttered, glancing over her shoulder again. "He has me heal his prisoners but then beats them half to death shortly after I finish. The repeated process of beating and healing puts too much strain on the body. If you do not find a way to escape," she paused, "Sire, you're going to die."
"Are you finished, Alice?"
The healer straightened and stepped back, revealing Odin in the doorway.
"I am, my lord," she replied, her head bowed.
"I'll send for you later then," Odin said, dismissing her.
Alice sent Arthur one last fearful glance before leaving the cell. Arthur stood and folded his arms, staring at Odin defiantly. Though he didn't want to admit it, the healing had done wonders; the aching pain in every joint and muscle was gone.
"Alice has been in my employ for about a year," Odin said. "Her mastery in the art of healing has no equal. I believe you will be seeing a lot of her in the coming days."
Arthur snorted and pretended to guess what Odin was hinting at.
"What, are you going to beat me near death then have her heal me?"
Odin raised a surprised brow.
"Your assumption is correct, Pendragon."
"Then what are you waiting for?" Arthur challenged.
He knew he was being stupid. He shouldn't goad Odin, not when he was at his mercy, but he just couldn't bring himself to appear weak before this man. He'd killed his father. He would not allow him the satisfaction of breaking him any more than he already had.
Odin's answering smile was sadistic and evil.
"Eagerness will only bring you closer to death."
Arthur jutted out his chin in silent invitation, daring Odin to do something. The King of Cornwall's sneer became a scowl. Angered and provoked, he shouted over his shoulder.
"Rowen!"
A man appeared in the doorway. He was as big as Percival, his body loaded down with all sorts of weapons from a whip at his hip to an ax on his back. Arthur swallowed. Just what exactly were they going to do to him?
"It would seem our guest is eager for a demonstration of your talents," Odin smirked. "Why not bestow him with a taste of your special hospitality?"
Rowen displayed a yellow grin, his black eyes glittering with malicious intent. Oily black hair was slicked back by dirty fingernails as he reached for a mallet hanging from his belt.
"With pleasure, Sire," he said, his voice sickeningly sweet.
Arthur didn't even have time to brace himself. Rowen crossed the small space in three strides, ripped one of Arthur's arms away from his chest, and slammed it against the wall. Shoving his body over Arthur's, he pinned him in such a way that prevented the king from seeing exactly what he was about to do. Pain like Arthur never felt before exploded as his right hand was suddenly crushed beneath Rowen's mallet. He screamed and instinctively tried to wriggle free but the mallet came down again, crushing his hand once more. Another scream ripped from Arthur's throat and tears pricked at his eyes. Rowen released his arm and Arthur instantly withdrew it to his chest, cradling the now destroyed appendage. The swollen, red skin over his fingers and palm had cut open in several places, exposing blood and bone; some of the digits were hanging at impossible angles.
Odin's laughter echoed throughout the cell and it took everything Arthur had to force his horrified tears away and glare up at his captors. Cornwall's king was not fooled by his display.
"That was merely a taste, Pendragon," he gloated. "We've only just begun. Rowen, the usual, if you would."
Arthur pressed himself against the wall but there was nowhere to flee – no way for him to defend himself. His dominant hand had been crushed. While he could still fight fairly well with his left, he knew it would do little good in the end. So the King of Camelot squared his shoulders and prepared himself for the worst. He'd been taught the methods of (and defenses against) torture as part of his training when a prince. Now was the time to see how well he'd studied.
Rowen descended upon him like a wraith from the underworld and, as he began 'the usual', as Odin put it, Arthur thought he'd been transported directly into the fiery pits of Hell itself.
The pain was beyond imaginable, his tormentor using knives, curled metal rods, an ax, the mallet, and the whip to bruise, rip, and dig into his flesh and bones. Sweat mixed with blood, stinging the wounds, eliciting further pain. The king's agonized screams bounced off the walls but, deep within, his spirit remained unbroken. He would not give in! He merely needed to release his pain. So he did, the only way he could: by thrashing and screaming while his body was mutilated under Odin's sadistic eye.
Spell: Activate! Begin to heal.
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