It was his eyes that caught him. The prince had seen many hateful glares over his twenty years but there was something unspeakably intense about the way this prisoner glowered at him from his perch upon the floor. A pair of muscled guards kept his shoulders bent at what must have been a painful angle, but not a hint of discomfort showed on the man's face.
"Father, what is this?" asked the prince, raising an eyebrow at the prone man.
"A gift," declared the king, the corner of his mouth quirked in a gleeful smirk. His son didn't respond, so he continued. "He was caught on the front lines. Very brave in his efforts to defend his fellow soldiers, as I understand it, though it did them little good in the end."
The prisoner's jaw clenched, his furious eyes inviting a scorching death for the smug king.
"And you brought him here?" asked the prince, surveying the beaten man with mild curiosity.
"I thought him a rather nice addition to your collection," said the king.
The prince's eyebrows quirked upwards.
"My 'collection' as you call it consists of servants and over eager devotees. Since when are we in the business of slavery?"
The king frowned. "You do not like my gift? I merely thought it a shame to execute such a fine prize. But if you do not want him, Cenred has already shown his interest."
"Indeed?" enquired the prince, gaze flicking to the leather-clad master of the knights. Cenred leered, eyes trailing on the prisoner. The prince's eyes narrowed.
"Well, far be it from me to refuse such a generous offering, Father," said the prince, allowing a small smile as he bent to inspect the young man. The prisoner tried to push himself backwards as the prince leaned towards him, but his captors wrenched his arms even higher and he let out a pained gasp, ending his struggles. The prince reached out and caught his chin between thumb and forefinger, forcing it right and then left while he inspected the man's bruised face from all angles. Not once did the furious eyes leave his own, azure staring into cerulean and leaving sparks in its wake. He really did have astonishing eyes.
The prince straightened. "He is adequate," he declared, smirking at his father. The king grinned back. "Have him prepared and brought to my chambers," he directed to the men holding the prisoner down. "His welcome will begin shortly."
The prisoner swallowed, eyes showing a deep apprehension before he managed to get them under control. None too gently, the guards lifted him by his abused shoulders and marched him from the throne room. The prince watched them go, only turning back to the king when the doors swung shut with a sharp crack.
"Thank you, Father," smiled the prince. "I believe I may find some use for him."
The king chuckled. "I've no doubt you shall." He turned to the master of the knights. "That will be all, Cenred."
The dark man bowed, looking a little disheartened, before striding from the room with all the swagger afforded to his station. The prince rolled his eyes, earning another snicker from the king.
"Was there anything else you wished to speak about, Father?"
"Yes, actually," replied the king. "It appears Gaius is in need of your expertise again. His tinctures for stimulating blood production are not behaving as they should. He asked that you show him the spell again."
"Of course," said the prince, bowing reverently. "I shall see to it presently."
"Very good," nodded the king. His son turned to leave.
"Oh, and Merlin?" the king called him back. "Try not to break the boy too quickly."
Upon returning to his chambers, Prince Merlin found his recent acquisition chained to the large dining table, glaring daggers at the men standing watch. The guards looked unperturbed, but then they were used to such hostility.
Merlin unclasped his cloak and threw it over a chair, running weary hands through his dark hair.
"Leave us," he ordered the guards. Without hesitation the two marched from the room, eyes front. Merlin looked to his 'gift' and sighed. He glided over to the chair beside the table and sat, appraising the chained man before him.
He was young for a soldier, not long past twenty at a guess, with defined muscles and a strong jaw line. His hair was a striking blonde colour, contrasting with his dark eyes. A patchwork of colourful bruises and cuts decorated his face and arms, leaving no illusion as to how he had arrived here.
Merlin cocked his head to the side, momentarily confused. He had been told the man was a simple foot soldier, but the way he held himself suggested a pride and dignity that even forced subservience had not been able to take from him. It was clearly subconscious, an air long since taken for granted, but it suggested that, whatever background the man came from, he had demanded respect. Merlin wondered how long it would last.
"What is your name?" asked the prince.
The man glared, pursing his lips and remaining silent.
Merlin sighed. "Your name, boy. If you are going to rebel I strongly suggest you do it over something less trivial."
The boy's brow furrowed in anger, but he seemed to realise it was not a battle worth fighting. He hesitated for a moment, before opening his mouth.
"Leon," he spat. Merlin was surprised by how deep his voice was. It was almost soothing.
That didn't make the lie any less obvious.
"Leon, then," Merlin said, hiding his amusement at how the man would no longer meet his eyes. "I trust you know who I am?"
Not-Leon's lips turned up in a bitter smile. He looked into his captor's face.
"Prince Merlin Emrys, son of King Balinor of Ascetia, one of the most infamous demons of our time."
"And by demon I assume you mean sorcerer," said Merlin, eyebrow quirked.
The boy smirked spitefully. "No, I mean demon. Sorcery is evil but not even your immersion in the black arts explains the blemish you've become on this land. You torture, you manipulate, you destroy. Even your own people hate you."
Merlin lifted his head, narrowing his eyes.
"And how are you so knowledgeable?"
"I have fought in this war from the beginning. I have seen so many lives lost, so many people destroyed, and the only way I can make it through each day is to remember what it is I fight against." He gazed determinedly at Merlin. "Camelot will not become part of the unending hell your father has created."
Merlin cocked his head to the side, allowing a sardonic half-smile to grace his features.
"Ah, of course. The glorious haven that is Camelot. Where the young labour and the old sing the praises of the grand Pendragon. And yet," Merlin's eyes narrowed, "not one can remember what started his greatest campaign of all – the perilous crusade against the evil magic user. Tell me, what was it that suddenly justified taking a child from its family and beheading it in the arena?"
The man didn't answer. Merlin raised his eyebrows and continued.
"Is a life saved by magic worth any less once revived? I have heard reports of rescued souls burned alongside their healers for being 'tainted'."
Merlin lifted a hand to his captives head, running his fingers through the blonde hair before grasping painfully, forcing the young man to look at him.
"Your precious Camelot murders its own people without trial. The moment they show the smallest sign of magic you tie them to a pyre and let the fire peel the flesh from their bones in front of everyone they've ever loved." He tugged viciously at the golden locks, forcing the man's face upwards, and leaned in to whisper beside his ear.
"I will not allow my home to be insulted by an infidel who praises genocide as heroic." Merlin narrowed his eyes. "This country may be harsh, but we know where we stand, and I will never allow the atrocities your king revels in to touch my people."
Not-Leon breathed heavily, clenching his jaw in anger. He flicked his eyes to the right, glaring at Merlin as directly as the prince's hand would allow.
"These last years I have seen fire rain down from the sky onto the heads of good people," said the captive man, his words burning with anger. "I've seen potions that steal the energy from the young so the old may prosper. And I've seen a country ruled by magic that allows slavery and the utter subjugation of its people." His lips curled in scorn. "I have never been more certain that all magic users deserve to burn."
Merlin's eyes flared.
A steady hum filled the room as every piece of furniture, every ornament, every tool began to shudder in its place.
Not-Leon's eyes widened as the hand let go of his hair, the sudden freedom causing him to drop to his knees. He stared around him, trying and failing to appear unaffected as his eyes met those of the extremely powerful warlock.
Merlin glared back, a look of utter disdain marring his usually calm features. He lifted a hand to point at his captive, causing the prone man to tense in fear. The chains binding him to the table snapped with a resounding crack, loosening themselves from his frame. The man scrambled to his feet, watching the warlock in confusion and fear. A small light leapt from Merlin's finger, dancing between them for a moment, slowly elongating, before shooting towards the blonde captive and wrapping itself around his neck. Not-Leon clawed at the glowing band, panicking as it settled into the very solid form of a metal collar, perfectly contoured to his pale neck. He looked up to his furious host in confusion.
"From now on your speech will not be necessary," said Merlin, his voice cold as ice. "You will do as I say when I say it. Disrespect will not be tolerated." The shuddering of the room increased, loosing a long mirror from the wall to shatter on the cold stone. Not-Leon flinched.
Merlin stepped forward, his eyes holding the gaze of his captive. "Magic is your world now, little soldier. I wonder, if you were to return home, would your precious king accept you now that you've been tainted?" He ran a finger down the blonde man's face. Not-Leon tried to flinch back, but the band around his neck constricted painfully and he found himself gasping instead, clutching at his throat. He glared in furious realisation at his captor as the pressure released, and Merlin smiled. The room stilled.
"Helpful little device, that one. All it takes is one unspoken command from me and your world ends."
Carelessly, Merlin turned from his prisoner and waved a hand at the shattered mirror. With a soft sound like resonating chimes the glass flew back to the wall, seamlessly knitting itself back together.
Not-Leon silently grasped at the collar with rising horror, desperately searching for any escape, any possible way he could avoid servitude to the cruel creature before him. He knew exactly what the king had been implying when he called him a fine prize. He knew why he had been given to the severe prince. He bit his lip in trepidation, bile rising in the back of his throat. There was no way he would let that vital part of himself be taken by force. He would rather die.
But he knew, with frightening clarity, that if the insane man before him decided to take him, there was no way he could stop him. He would try, if he had to trigger his own asphyxiation he would try, but the prince was more powerful than any sorcerer he had ever seen. The man clenched his teeth, digging his nails into his callused palms. If only his father knew where he was.
The blonde man watched as Merlin turned to face him again, and re-evaluated that last thought. He would never want his father to see the shame he had brought on his ancient and noble family. He would never want him to know what had become of his precious son.
Merlin watched his gift with open curiosity, watched as the man straightened his back, lifting his eyes in sheer determination, but not making a move to free himself. Once again the sorcerer was struck with the sheer dignity of the creature chained before him, and a single word came to mind: magnificent.
Merlin clenched a fist, breathing deeply and forcing himself to look away.
"Your chambers lie adjacent to mine. When I call you, you will come without argument. You will perform whatever tasks I set for you, and you will not be harmed."
The blonde man did not speak, seemingly waiting for something. Merlin sighed and waved a dismissive hand.
"Go, now. You shall know when I have need of you."
Not-Leon looked startled, and more than a little relieved. He quickly schooled his features before drawing himself to his full height and stalking from the room. Merlin watched him go with ill-disguised fascination, not blinking until the door clicked shut behind the proud boy. A faint scraping sound indicated that he'd found his new room, and Merlin felt himself frown.
His father had never supported slavery before, and Merlin could not help but wonder how their people would react. Absently, he rubbed a hand over the faint scattering of stubble marring his jaw line and sighed.
Whatever the prisoner's true name was, he was dangerous. That much was certain. But Merlin found he could not think of breaking him without something deep inside screaming in protest. He closed his eyes, shaking his head in annoyance.
What have you begun, little soldier?
A/N: Hey all, this is a piece I found on my computer from early this year. I have a pretty clear idea where it's going to go, but I figured I'd see what reactions I get first. It's a lot darker than my other stuff, and my first attempt at a Merlin story.
For those readers following Until the End, don't worry. I haven't abandon that story and am going to see if I can finish it over the Summer (the Australian Summer). Then I'll focus on this one.
Hope you enjoyed! Reviews are beloved and in the case of this story, very much needed.
Jazoriah.