I don't want to die. Those words were frequently said and thought by Merlin, when the situation got out of hand once again. Were it a campfire that would almost burn down the whole camp, were it the stain he made in Arthur's newly washed shirt, or were it when his horse decided to go into a full on canter when Merlin wasn't prepared for it. Yes the words 'I don't want to die' were always in the back of his head, ready to come out.
Arthur would usually accuse him of him being a dollophead, even though Arthur knew that was his word. But lets not think about that, he had other stuff to think of, more important things than Arthur's accusation when he did something stupid. This time however it was really not his fault, nor Arthur's. It were those bandits. Yes that awful, smelling, with rotting teeth lot, that decided to kidnap him when he was just minding his own business plucking herbs for Gaius around the river just a couple of miles from the castle walls.
He might be the King's consort, but in no means that meant that he would stop doing some domestic chores and it certainly didn't meant that he wouldn't continue his herb plucking business he had going on for Gaius. That old man was always short on at least one kind of herb. And being consort to the King could be boring at times. Merlin wasn't one to sit at court on a typical calm day and listen to Round Table meetings, going on about the number of livestock one noble had or about a feud between nobles on how much land one noble owed the other and some other boring businesses. He couldn't use his magic to solve these boring matters and even if he could then Arthur wouldn't let him use it. Not in the condition he was in, even though Merlin had reassured Arthur about a thousand times, that using magic wouldn't harm him in any way.
He was against being escorted by knights on these kind of outings. He always stayed close enough at the castle walls so the look outs could keep an eye on him (it was the only compromise Arthur would make to let Merlin go out on his own) and Merlin had enough trust in his magic. But the attack happened when there was a change of guard and he was unsupervised for less than fifteen minutes, and he was turned with his back towards the bandits so he never saw the blow coming that knocked him out. When the change of guard had taken place and they noticed that Merlin was missing, it was already too late and the bandits had enough time to cover their tracks and get a large distance between them and the knights of Camelot.
Merlin sighed and thought 'I don't want to die' once again. This time for serious. Life and death serious.
Arthur is not there, no one's there. He's alone in this godforsaken smelling cell, hell even rats don't come here. It's bad alright, really bad, but he vowed to himself that no one would break him. He would always keep Camelot's secrets and protect that little soul that was growing in his belly. No one could break him as long as he kept faith in Arthur to find him soon. How long has it been? Days, weeks or are it months already?
His sense of timing is off… way off. Those torturing that he receives ever day render him unconscious and when he wakes he has no idea how much time has expired since the world went black. He just hoped that those beatings wouldn't have any effect on the baby, which was his biggest fear.
The room, well cell, he was in had no windows or something similar. He never thought he would miss light so bad, he can't even remember when it was the last time he saw daylight, or even something more than these four walls. This torture chamber, where Merlin's magic wasn't allowed. Or well actually, let he rephrase that. It is allowed, encouraged even, but if he decides to use it he finds himself in excruciating pain. Pain that he rather avoids, thank you very much.
And then there were those damn shackles that not yet rip his hands apart from his wrists. Would it hurt the bandits to loosen them up just slightly? He guesses so. And they just had to hang those shackles so high, his arms are absolutely killing him in the position they have been the last… weeks. Merlin decides it has been weeks since he's been captured, because the 'food' he receives on a daily basis isn't much and he's starting to famish. Although food is a generous description of what he gets, it's some stale bread that's probably covered with invisible rocks. He never tasted bread that tasted so foul and with such a hard crust, in his still young life.
He felt life draining from himself but he didn't want to die however generous that might sound in his ears at this moment. He couldn't die because of the baby that was growing inside of him. The heir of Camelot. Merlin didn't know it was even possible for him to get pregnant. He read about male pregnancies in the many magic books, but he didn't count himself on the list of lucky warlocks that could get pregnant. Because he's Merlin and "Merlin" usually wasn't lucky. So the day that he and Arthur found out that Merlin was indeed pregnant was one of the happiest in their lives since the wedding.
However, the moment when they found out about it wasn't really a pleasant one. He and Arthur were just sitting at the table in their room, eating breakfast. Everything was fine, Merlin was laughing at Arthur's bad jokes and they planned to go out that day, just the two of them. Merlin would gather some food and refreshments from the kitchen and Arthur would take care of the rest. But when Merlin stood up from his chair he swayed a little, nothing too much to get noticed and Merlin just reasoned it was because he stood up too fast from his chair. Steadying himself he took three steps towards the door and then the swaying really begun. Now Arthur noticed and panic was laced through his voice when he called on Merlin. But he was swaying so bad and black spots forming in front of his eyes that he didn't even registered Arthur calling him.
Blackness was calling out to him and he welcomed it with open arms. And before he knew it he swayed all the way to the right and falling towards the ground, but the impact to the ground never came because of the exceptional reflexes of his husband who caught him in time and then the panic was everywhere when Merlin didn't open his eyes and Arthur went screaming for guards and Gaius, who later confirmed the pregnancy.
Arthur immediately called Merlin off at practicing magic and wouldn't even listen to the protest that were forming on Merlin's tongue and Gaius' reassurances that magic could never harm the baby. Arthur, the stubborn git, would have nothing of it and so it resulted that Merlin sulked around the castle ever since. That was three months ago (he thinks, not knowing the exact time has passed since he was captured) and his little baby bump was starting to show.
Looking down he gave a weak smile at it, it was still just a tiny bump but it was clearly visible. His mood changed again when he couldn't bring his arms down to caress his belly and it drove him almost insane! He growled towards the chains and had to refrain himself from using magic against them. It wouldn't do him good and it certainly couldn't mean a whole world of good for his baby.
And then the door opened and those familiar heavy boots made their way to the on the wall shackled Merlin. Entering was Caedmon, the ugly leader of the bandits. He was smiling with his rotten teeth showing and his clothes having tears in all kinds of places. But don't let looks deceive you, this leader was clever. He had deceived Arthur for the past weeks, because Merlin was still in this stinking cell. He was exhausted, sore and just drained of his energy. He really didn't know how long he could keep this up, but even so he held up his chin high and defiant towards the leader.
Caedmon would just as always walk towards him and standing there for a good solid minute before he would crouch down to Merlin's eyelevel and then eyeing the growing belly. Merlin would growl protectively if the leader would glare at it just a second too long and that gave the leader an opportunity to laugh out loud and calling him names and telling him that Merlin was his prisoner and he could do as he damn well pleased. Then the beating would start, but the blows would never be aimed at the stomach. The favourite spots to hit were Merlin's head and legs.
And today was no other story.
