Disclaimer: IDOM

Rated for language

AN: Hey, all. I felt like I needed to get this one-shot out of my head, so here it is! This is the missing Whump scene from Chapter Seven of Powerfully Modest, Modestly Powerful. ( WARNING: This is NOT a stand alone fic; I guarantee it will make very little sense if you haven't already read SMN/PMMP) It is rather short, and it is definitely not my best work *grumbles under breath unhappily*... Well, you learn something new every day. What did I learn? I'm a weak Whump writer. :P Please don't get your hopes up for something spectacular because in comparison to the other Whump stories I've read, this doesn't begin to compare, but, in retrospect, I think it fits nicely in with PMMP.

Enjoy.

Merlin held up the silver band and twirled it in his long fingers, admiring the way the light caught its smooth surface.

He, Leon, Elyan, and Gwen had met at Leon's house, and they all sat lazily around the dining table in his chambers, enjoying the moment of peace amidst the craziness of the preparations, lucky enough to have escaped for the time being. In fact, Lancelot, Percival, and Gwaine were still trapped by their duties, and they would have been there had they not been sent out on patrol.

Imitating Leon, Elyan kicked his legs up and folded his arms behind his head, leaning back dangerously on his chair.

"Don't do that," Gwen snapped like a scolding mother. "You're going to tip over and crack your head open, Elyan."

"I'm not worried; Merlin's here," Elyan sighed laxly and calmly.

Merlin's cheeks flushed, and Gwen rolled her eyes. "He isn't a god, Elyan, and it's a miracle he managed to snatch you from Death once! You shouldn't be looking for another experience like that quite so soon…especially one so foolish."

The reference to the Gvarath's attack normally would have left them somberly brooding, but Leon, easing his two airborne chair legs to the ground, chuckled and lightened the atmosphere by joking, "Yes, death by falling off a chair. You'll be remembered in the pages of history without a doubt, Elyan."

Elyan swatted at Leon half-heartedly, but he too submitted and stabilized his chair. Then, he asked Merlin, whose eyes had not left the ring—his mind was swirling with his ideas on which enchantments to use and how he was going to make them coexist and bind together—"So? Will it do the job?"

Merlin's eyes snapped to the present. He was glad that his friends had forced him to tell them what he was up to; they had proved to be an enormous help, and they loved and encouraged the idea, often adding their own ideas on how the protective charm should work and giving him a more clear picture of which would be the best types of spells to use.

"This is perfect. Thank you."

"Well, thank Gwen. We kind of left it to her to shop for them," Elyan laughed.

"That was probably for the best," Merlin admitted, knowing that these men knew far more about magic than they did about jewelry…and that was saying something.

"Besides, with your demands for a 'simple' but 'regal' chain…what the hell were we supposed to do with that?" Leon teased.

Merlin smiled his lopsided smile, and he said, "I would hardly call them demands…more like necessities."

Elyan huffed. "Necessities? I think you're over-thinking it."

"Would you rather this charm fall into the wrong hands?" Merlin asked, an eyebrow raised.

"No…That is…only if it works the way you want it to," Leon clarified.

Merlin sighed and grumbled, not liking to be reminded of how high the probability was that he would fail, and Gwen said, "C'mon, you two. You know that he's doing this all for Arthur, and this will put our minds at rest...for the most part. And I'll say it again, Merlin: I'm just impressed you've managed to foresee every possible misfortune that you may need to counter."

"Glad to see someone appreciates my genius, Gwen," Merlin said cheekily, laughing and giving the two Knights looks.

"Is that what you call it?" Leon jibed, raising his eyebrows, eyes dancing. Elyan snickered.

"Remind me again," Merlin began thoughtfully, "how long did I manage to keep my secret from you in plain sight? Even with all of those close calls I've had? All the clues and poor excuses? My horrible lying skills?"

"We're all guilty of being blind fools, aren't we?" Gwen asked both guiltily and amusedly.

Merlin hid a wince; he should have known that Gwen would take his words to heart…that she might associate them with an accusation. He knew that she subconsciously felt that she was never the friend that she could have been to him, that she thought that she was letting him down by never guessing or suspecting his true nature or his true self. She felt like she failed him in his greatest times of need. He didn't like having her think like that, not when he was the one to blame for his lonesomeness and his semi-isolation; he had been the one pushing away.

Overemphasizing his amusement, Merlin quipped happily, "Pretty much."

Gwen, who saw what he was trying to do, smiled at his efforts and nodded in understanding as the two Knights began to laugh.

"That doesn't make you genius so much as us idiots!" Elyan said between snorts.

"Well, we're all idiots in our own way, aren't we?" Merlin said wisely. "You can hardly begin to laugh at others until you learn to laugh at yourself."

"Try telling that to Arthur," Elyan mock-whispered.

Merlin smiled diabolically. "I've been working on that—amongst other things—since I first laid my eyes on the prat."

They shared another laugh, and Merlin saw that the sun had set. He sighed. Time just flies by when you're having fun, he thought.

"I should be going soon. Gaius'll be worried," Merlin announced. He rolled his eyes fondly; his uncle was a mite over-protective. "The chain?"

Gwen shook her head with a small smile at his tone and removed a small, cloth-wrapped item from her pocket. "Here," she said, pressing the little bundle into his hand.

Curiously, he unwrapped it and made a small noise of satisfaction. He, like the scoffing Knights, had been pretty sure that it would be hard to find a 'simple,' but 'regal' chain and that to have asked for it had been unreasonable, but it seems he underestimated Gwen.

"How much do I owe you?" Merlin asked, lifting his brilliant eyes from the thin but durable silver chain.

"Are you serious, Merlin?" Leon asked in complete surprise. "You owe us nothing. Don't worry about the price."

Merlin frowned, his pride and sense of righteousness demanding that he protest their refusal. "But—"

Elyan held up a hand. "From what you've told us you're trying to accomplish, Merlin, I know that you're going to be putting a lot of time and effort into this. I know that the magic you're trying to cast is far more complex and difficult than you let on. All of us were happy to contribute to your gift, but the real gift is the magic…not the necklace, the—erm—vessel itself. Really, a few shillings are nothing in comparison."

"But that's only if I can even do it," Merlin muttered to himself, repeating Leon's previous words and glaring at the ring.

If he had wanted to use only one spell of protection, it would be easy, but he was hoping to use a whole manner of powerful protection spells—spells against magic and physical weapons alike—but protective amulets could only hold so much power…and multiple spells cast into one object often did not coexist well. It made them less powerful, less effective, as the different forms of magic struggled for dominance over the other. No, to make the spells work together would be no easy task. It would take a lot of magic, clever intuition, and very complex and creative spell-casting and wordings. Gaius had told him that it was near impossible for a normal sorcerer.

But Merlin wasn't just any normal sorcerer…. He wouldn't have involved the others if he didn't think that there was a decent chance he would be able to do it. Of course, that didn't stop him from worrying that he couldn't.

Gwen shot Leon a 'look-at-what-you-did' look and rubbed Merlin's shoulder sympathetically, but she said, "I can't say that I completely comprehend what you're trying to do—" Merlin had tried to explain it to all of them with little success, but that might have been because he was anything but blunt and to the point. Uninhibited and cheerful, he gushed about every little detail and simplified every concept (though it was very intricate in their eyes) about the separate spells themselves and the act of binding one enchantment to an amulet (he spared them the talk about binding several spells, but he did admit the extensive challenges to doing that), leaving them all with an intense headache as they tried to wrap their minds around things that Merlin knew instinctively. He knew that he only confused them further and that the only reason that they didn't stop his exhaustive chatter was because he was obviously so happy talking to them about it, but he had appreciated them trying to listen all the same "—and I cannot begin to understand how much magic it will take, but I know you can do it, Merlin. It is, after all, what you are meant to do."

Merlin gave her a small smile, and he said, still guilty for allowing them to pay for his gift to Arthur, "Are you sure about—?"

"Yes, Merlin!" his three exasperated friends interrupted simultaneously. They even timed their eye rolls perfectly, and Merlin, with a sheepish grin, tucked the ring and chain into his pocket.

"Thank you."

They brushed aside his gratitude with easy smiles. "You know, Merlin…" Elyan began, "Why didn't you think to do something like this before?"

Merlin snorted. "Oh, believe me, I did, but how do you think Arthur, who knew nothing of my magic, would react if I gave him a strange, magical ring with no explanation?"

Leon and Elyan exchanged glances, imagining it, and then they burst into hysterics. "Alright, alright, point taken."

Merlin decided to hang around for another few minutes and then finally left, admonishes from Gwen about getting enough sleep following him out.

It was a cloudy night, and Merlin caught a heavy scent of rain in the air. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the cool breeze on his face. No one was out, strangely enough. Merlin would have thought that there would be quite a few people still rushing about to get some last minute things done before they went home, but it appeared that they were just as eager as he to have some peace. So, it was completely silent save for the torches that flared and popped around him as he slunk lazily through the shadows, his mind hardly on where his feet were taking him. His mind wandered haphazardly, and he realized just how tired he was…

Merlin had stalked his enemies and had snuck through these streets so many times, you would think he would know every inch and crevice of it, would respond to every noise and shadow, would catch every break in the rhythm of night; you would think that he would notice himself if someone was stalking him. He should.

But he didn't.

He yawned widely, and all previous convictions on starting on his project for Arthur that night disappeared. So much for that, he thought to himself sleepily as he trudged up some of the courtyard steps.

Suddenly, Merlin was grabbed forcefully from behind. A strong hand jammed into his mouth to stifle Merlin's yelp of surprise, and another sailed into his stomach, knocking all the air in his lungs. As he struggled for breath, his attacker grabbed his raven hair, wrenching his head back, and exposed his throat to a long, wickedly curved dagger. The shining blade pierced the darkness with its silvery glow, and it descended to rest below Merlin's chin, shivering with the pleasure of feeling his blood chilling beneath its touch, shivering as though it had a mind of its own.

Merlin's lungs burned as his mind tried to catch up with his body's actions, and he felt himself tripping over his feet as the attacker quickly pulled him up the stairs.

"Dammit," a vaguely familiar, rough voice growled in his ear in annoyance. The dagger pressed harder into his throat, and the man landed another punch, but this time on Merlin's rib cage. He could've sworn he felt a rib bend, nearly breaking. "Walk."

Merlin's eyesight dotted and spotted from the lack of oxygen, and he felt dizzier than ever. He vaguely knew that the man was leading him through the maze of corridors into the castle, but he was too worried about getting a full lungful of air to really concentrate on where the man was taking him at the moment. A less than logical part of his mind—most likely the part under the influence of oxygen deprivation—told him that there would be time for him to figure that out later.

Merlin finally caught his breath and began thinking clearly again just as the attacker suddenly propelled him into an empty room and bound his hands tightly.

Merlin opened his mouth, but the knife nicked his skin, now drawing blood. He cringed at the feel of it sliding down his neck, into his neckerchief, and down his shirt.

"Don't. Say. A—"

Of course, Merlin wasn't going to just give in to his demands or be intimidated by any of his threats. He was, as his friends pointed out often enough, Merlin. It was part of his job—an occupational hazard, some might say. He didn't even let the man finish his threat. "What do you want with me?"

Merlin gritted his teeth against a groan of pain as the knife pressed even harder and as the man kneed him in the ribs. Through involuntary tears, Merlin saw the man's bared teeth and wicked smirk from underneath the cowl of the dark cloak. Doubling over, he released a heavy "oomph," and the man squatted near his face, spitting, "Never did learn how to shut up, did you, Merlin?"

Merlin froze, frowning, a memory toying at his consciousness like a cat pawing its catch. Who was this man?

The man threw Merlin to the ground, and on his way down, Merlin—more out of coincidence than anything—clipped the man in the jaw with his boot, and his head hit the stone floor with a sickening crack. He cried out at the shock of it, his vision dotted, and he felt the blood welling up underneath his head.

The man hissed, the only visible part of his strong jaw clenching tight with rage as he rubbed it, a dark bruise forming. With a roar, he pulled off Merlin's boot, taking the sock with it, and took the other one off as well.

Without hesitation, the man smashed his riding boot heel into Merlin's bare foot, breaking the skin and forcing a few of his toes to crack sickeningly. He refused to scream—he wasn't going to give his attacker the satisfaction—but he was ashamed to say that he did whimper. He forced his eyes away from his mutilated foot and bit off the whimper nearly as soon as it began. He had had far worse.

No one would break him.

"Can't have you running to save your Prince, now can we, bastard?" the man said, placing one of his boots on Merlin's chest to keep him down. The sharp heel cut into him.

Merlin had felt the urge to use magic rise in him, but he pushed back at it, suddenly afraid at his words. "Arthur?" he said dangerously, his eyes hardening. "What do you want?"

"Always playing the hero, Merlin," the man sighed mockingly, twisting and digging his boot. A feral smile spread across his thin lips at Merlin's winces. "That may one day get you killed."

A shiver ran down Merlin's spine at his sudden déjà vu. "What the hell do you want?" he repeated.

"Hm. You've changed, haven't you?" the man mused. "I remember you as being more of a smart ass. I remember…oh, I remember very well, and I will never forget. Don't you remember? You were just a freak then, in Ealdor, a bastard freak with a sharp tongue and fancy words and nothing to show for it. Don't you remember that little piece of wisdom that you offered me…just before you ruined my life? You once told me that I shouldn't make enemies out of friends and friends out of enemies." He laughed without a trace of humor. "Well, it certainly looks like you're eating those words now, eh, whelp?"

Merlin froze in recognition and whispered, "Sa—Samuel?"

The man threw back his hood (Merlin would think later that he did it extremely dramatically) and revealed his face. As he playfully and casually flicked the knife in and out of Merlin's eyesight, he removed his boot and bent down so that Merlin could see his face in full.

He had long, tangled, and greasy blonde locks and a crooked nose that looked like it had been broken at least twice in the course of his lifetime. His eyes…one was black as pitch. It didn't shine, but it burned with an evil fire of vengeance. The other… the other was milky white. Blind. A long, hideous scar cut diagonally across his forehead, traveled through his blind eye, and wrapped about his mouth in a way that forced his lips into a permanent grimace.

It had once been a handsome face.

The memories struck him with full force. He remembered a large-eared thirteen year old boy—shy and sensitive, eccentric and rather odd—being verbally bullied. He remembered his mother's words, her fierce eyes as she told him that words could never hurt him so long as he was proud of who he was…she told him that it was braver to stand up for himself by smiling through it all, rather than fighting, and he remembered taking those words to heart. He remembered struggling to force his magic away so that he wouldn't harm them, so that he wouldn't reveal himself, but he remembered being unable to control his insolent tongue. When his wit got him in trouble and when they moved to physical abuse, he remembered hiding the fact from his mother, taking their abuse without fighting back for fear of losing control; he remembered another young lad standing up for him, insulting their pride and honor with sharp, harsh words; he remembered the lead bully, the son of the neighboring village's richest man, black eyes arrogant and devilish, pushing the defiant boy to the ground, brutally beating him as they never had beaten the other strange, stormy-blue-eyed boy before. He remembered their jeers and their 'punishments;' he remembered his tears and his soulful pleas for peace. He remembered the horrifying thrill of losing control of his magic in fear for Will. He remembered the rocks…falling, crashing; he remembered the blood…and his mother's warm embrace, which hardly released him from the prison of awful guilt that consumed him.

It had been his fault.

That was the day that he nearly killed a confused, neglected boy. That was the day he nearly lost his best friend. That was the day that Samuel learned to truly hate someone with every ounce and fiber of his body—no, he did not know Merlin's secret, but he knew in his twisted mind that Merlin, somehow, someway, was the cause of that rock-fall.

Samuel wasn't wrong. It had been his fault.

"Good, you remember," Samuel laughed. "You remember what you did to me, and you know exactly what I want." He loomed even closer to Merlin's face, breathing alcohol into his face. "I've been waiting a long time for this," the man hissed, "and now I'm getting paid to do it. Power-hungry, treasonous cowards drive a wonderful bargain, don't they?"

Idiot, Merlin! His clouded mind shouted. You should've been with Arthur! You should've known that this might happen!

"Godwin!" Merlin spat vehemently, rage rising up in him at the coward's treason, trying to move. He was rewarded for his squirming with a slash of cold metal and a splash of blood across his collarbone.

The assassin—there was no doubt that he was an assassin now—bared his teeth again in that perverted grin of joy at Merlin's discomfort. "Mmm. I was only too happy to take up his job offer."

"You will never hurt, Arthur," Merlin vowed strongly.

Samuel smirked and kicked Merlin in the ribs with his steel-toed boots; this time, Merlin felt a few of them snap, and the only sign of his pain were his screwed eyes and his heavy exhale.

"Apparently," the one-eyed man said, acting as though Merlin had not spoken, "Arthur is going to be our doom. Apparently, the Prince and his manservant are changing things…and sometimes, we don't like change. We don't need it. I've heard mutterings of the Prince giving power to weaklings and collaborating with sorcerers. Well, I certainly don't want that. No. Our Prince is an idealist," he spat. "Those type are dangerous to Camelot."

"No, the only dangerous type I see are the ones blinded by ignorance and the ones corrupted by vengeance and power," Merlin retorted. "And you're one of them."

Samuel's black eye flared with rage, and he kicked Merlin once again in the gut. "Ah, there's the smart ass," the man said. "I knew it was still there. But…a smart-mouth isn't going to save your Prince from his fate, now is it, Merlin?"

Merlin spat blood from his mouth, and he glared at Samuel. He opened his aura-eyes involuntarily, but he already knew that this man was too far for him to reach…he was lost, and he was never going to be found again.

"You know nothing of his fate," Merlin muttered, his voice adopting a deep, powerful timbre. "And to even assume you know is laughable."

"Oh, but I know too well," the assassin said cockily with mock-sadness. "He is going to die tonight, and that is all because you weren't there to get in the way.

"I've heard a lot about you, Merlin. I've heard that you're a pain in the ass who seems to always burst in and ruin everything for everyone. That's why my…employer encouraged me to have some fun with you before heading to visit Arthur. But there have been other more interesting things. I've heard that you are the Prince's most trusted friend and that your loyalty supercedes all. I've heard that you've saved his life, and I've heard that you would give anything to protect him.

"Now," Samuel shifted his grip on the dagger, "Let's just see how true it is. How much blood are you willing to give to the Prince, Merlin? I'm quite curious to see how long it takes to break you. You! A farm-boy from Ealdor! A wimp of a manservant, the great Arthur Pendragon's savior!" He wiped at tears that didn't exist. "Oh, revenge and treason—such a sweet combination. And what a thrill!" He laughed, and it was a laugh cold enough to freeze hell.

The gloating was over, and Merlin knew he had to act and act now.

Merlin lunged at the man's legs, knocking him to the ground and somehow gaining the upper-hand. He cast his mind around for a spell to use without the man noticing, but they were too close to each other; Merlin knew that he would see the tell-tale glowing eyes…But it wasn't like it mattered anyway. Merlin was weak from pain, his hands were bound, and to complicate things, Samuel was much more skilled, his physique was a lot bulkier, heavier, and stronger than Merlin's. Then, of course, he had a knife.

And he certainly knew how to use it.

Samuel easily got Merlin under control and in swift, skilled movements, hiked his blood-soaked neckerchief up to Merlin's mouth to use as a gag before he began wrestling, punching, and slashing at the warlock's ribcage with his long knife, completely shredding his blue shirt and tearing into his skin, smiling viciously all the while.

Fists seem to come out of nowhere as they pounded and landed on his torso, stomach, arms, and legs. In his blurry vision, the knife looked like a never-ending shooting star, and its blazing tail touched him more often than the rock-hard fists.

Merlin tried calling up magic several times, but with the raining inferno of flailing fists and shooting stars and with his now extensive blood loss and heavy head, he hadn't the chance to concentrate on much more than the next hit and the resulting pain.

Finally, the storm of blows ceased, and Merlin, his throat protesting, head pounding, body stinging, was smothered by a heavy fog and wanted nothing more than to sink into sleep, where the pain would disappear. He gasped and panted, trying not to move anything. Really, was there any need to move or get up? Any point…?

He was jolted alert by Samuel's cruel and wiped his dagger on the remnants of Merlin's shirt. "Well, that was a good time. Let's see how the Prince takes his dose." Merlin felt something stir in him, an emotion that even the greatest of poets couldn't hope to explain with words, and he remembered. Arthur…

"And after that," Samuel lowered his lips to Merlin's ear, "perhaps I should go visit Hunith in Ealdor. I think she'd like to hear how her son died from his own murderer."

Chuckling darkly, the man flung up his jade green hood and quietly slipped away.

Sweat and blood covered Merlin. He smelt its sickly sweet coppery scent, and he felt its sticky wetness. His gag was soaked with the stuff, and he wanted to vomit. He felt so sick, so woozy, and so exhausted. He felt that he couldn't move a limb, that he couldn't summon the energy to so much as to blink his eyes.

But…Arthur….

He had to. For Arthur. His eyes flickered with powerful gold rivulets and undercurrents, and suddenly his magic surged throughout his limbs, giving him the necessary strength. Perhaps it was a bit of survival instinct, and the magic was acting of its own accord; perhaps he had unwittingly called the magic himself. I didn't matter; what mattered was that he had the determination, the willpower, the stubborn head, to get up...to save Arthur, jail that poor, mentally unstable ex-bully, and stop Godwin from getting away with this.

He took a deep breath, and he began to move as swiftly as he possibly could. He did not know it then—mostly because his paranoia and fear for Arthur had already possessed his mind, body, and soul—but the rage of Emrys simmered deep within him.

The oath-breaker was going to rue the day that he dared harm Arthur Pendragon under the watch of Emrys. The oath-breaker was going to rue the day that he dared prevent destiny.

AN: I hope it was somewhat acceptable. If you have any suggestions, suggest away. :)

Hugs, Oz