Merlin's been hurt, Arthur's fed up, and secrets don't stay secrets very long when the prince has something to say about it...
Not Merthur. Don't like, don't read.
Merlin TV show and characters (c) BBC and their respective actors
The room was quiet. Too quiet. And dark, much darker than Merlin preferred. Not to mention its out of the way location. All of the boy's instincts were screaming at him to flee, that this was, without doubt, a trap. But the raven-haired young man couldn't leave. Arthur's life was on the line… again. Recently, the young manservant had received letters, well, notes really, vaguely threatening the prince's life. At first, they didn't seem all that serious, so the warlock had simply been keeping a closer watch on who surrounded the young Pendragon at all times. Until this last note. This one had been a tad more… deadly, warning, in excruciating detail, that unless he went to a certain out-of-the-way storage room in the cellar at midnight the next night, the future ruler of Camelot would be dead before the sun rose. And that Merlin simply couldn't ignore. So here he was, walking into what was almost certainly a trap. But the young wizard squared his shoulders and stepped into the darkness anyway. He wasn't about to let anyone get away with threatening Arthur.
Before his eyes even had time to adjust to the low light, a hand roughly grabbed Merlin from behind and a foul smelling cloth was shoved against his nose and mouth. The fumes clouded the young man's senses but he fought back with all his might, so the unseen person pushed the cloth even tighter against the warlock's face, cutting off all air. When the boy still struggled, his attacker cuffed him, hard, on the head. Light blossomed behind the ebony-haired young man's eyelids while pain danced down his neck and he slowly slipped into the blackness of unconsciousness.
The next morning, Arthur stormed up to Gaius's quarters, ready to chew out his lazy, lay-about manservant. Shoving open the door to the physician's main room, the prince stalked in, his foul mood filling the entire chamber.
Looking up, the old man asked, "Did you need something, Sire?"
The young Pendragon nearly growled when he answered, "Yes. Merlin. He hasn't shown up for work."
Gaius frowned. "That's odd. His bed was empty when I went to wake him this morning. I assumed he had left early without waking me, although that would, in fact, be out of the ordinary for him…" he trailed off.
The scowl on the blonde boy's face faded, to be replaced with puzzlement. That was strange. Merlin wasn't exactly a morning person, for one thing. For another, Gaius was like a father to the boy and for him not to say goodbye to the old man, even just for a day of work… It didn't sit well. Several nasty suspicions worked their way into Arthur's mind, not least of which was that his manservant was doing something extremely idiotic and highly dangerous again. "Do you mind if I have a look at his room?" he inquired. He was concerned but quickly tried to hide it with an offhand comment, saying quickly, "I mean, he's probably in the taverns, but it doesn't hurt to check."
The old physician nodded his permission and the prince headed up the stairs to his servant's room. Pushing the door open, he scanned the chamber for anything out of place, any clue to the raven-haired boy's whereabouts. The young man's quarters were a mess: there were clothes piled on the floor, a cupboard hung open, books lay stacked every which way… all what the young Pendragon had expected of the untidy boy who served him. But then his eyes fell on the bed. It was made neatly, didn't appear to have been slept in, and looked completely out of place in the chaotic room. Looking closer, Arthur noticed a corner of parchment sticking out from under the pillow. Striding over to the bed, the blonde boy pulled out the paper and read the note written on it. His face turned white and he raced out of the room, then on into the corridor, not even pausing to tell Gaius what was going on. Grabbing a torch on his mad dash downstairs, the prince reached the out-of-the-way storage room specified in the letter and frantically scanned the chamber for any sign of Merlin. But, aside from the boxes and crates swathed in a layer of dust decades deep, the only thing there was a dirty old cloth lying forgotten in the middle of the floor. Picking it up, Arthur took a small, careful sniff. As he suspected, it smelled strongly of a powerful sleeping drug he'd had run-ins with before. Even one small whiff of the fumes sent his head reeling. If that had been placed over anyone's nose, such as, say, an unsuspecting Merlin, it wouldn't be long before he was knocked out, even if he struggled. The prince's worst fears, ignited by the odd circumstances of Merlin's absence and the obvious trap set up in the note, were confirmed: for some reason, someone had lured the raven-haired, naïve, overly-loyal manservant here, attacked, and kidnapped him.
Arthur trudged back up to Gaius's quarters. He dreaded telling the old man of his charge's disappearance, but he had to. The physician needed to know, he was the boy's guardian, after all; and besides, the old man might have an idea where to begin looking for Merlin.
Having told Gaius the bad news, both he and the blonde boy had attempted to brainstorm possibilities for the young manservant's whereabouts, only to draw a blank. But Arthur was the crown prince of Camelot and he wasn't about to let a little thing like a lack of ideas stop him. Gathering a small contingent of knights, completely loyal to him, who knew and rather liked the goofy-eared boy that had gone missing, and without ever asking his father's permission (since Uther wouldn't give it and Arthur would disobey anyway), the young Pendragon rode out of Camelot as if the very demons of Hell were nipping at his heels. Maybe they were. After all, Merlin had been kidnapped while attempting to protect him.
The building, situated in an overgrown clearing deep in the forest, was falling apart and one could almost see the foul aura surrounding it. This was the place, Arthur could just feel it. Motioning his men to move silently, he crept forward to the half-open door of the hut. He could hear two voices inside, one deep, the other high-pitched, but they were speaking too quietly for him to make out anything they were saying; all the prince could discern was a triumphant note in the tone of the high-pitched voice. Suddenly, a soft, weak moan fought its way past the door. The young Pendragon would recognize that voice anywhere. It was Merlin, it had to be. Arthur saw red. Drawing his sword, he charged through the door, rage in his eyes and vengeance fueling the fire of his attack.
CRASH.
A flash of gold, silver, and red, a gleam of fiery cobalt. Arthur. Merlin let his eyes slip closed, no longer fighting the paralysis of the poison or the little voice in the back of his mind telling him to let go, relax, allow the venom to take over. The raven-haired boy's shallow breathing slowed, but he didn't care. His master had come to save him. He was safe now.
Arthur's breath hitched in his throat when he caught sight of Merlin. The ebony-haired young man was beaten and bloody, fresh bruises and lacerations visible on nearly every inch of exposed skin, both dried and fresh blood staining his clothes (what was left of them) and his body, one of his feet resting at an odd angle, his breathing shallow, perhaps a rib or two fractured. The image of Merlin's broken body only added to the prince's rage and heightened his fury. The witch and her partner in crime (a man the young Pendragon recognized as a servant from Camelot, no less!) never knew what hit them. One minute they were torturing their prisoner and cackling in triumph, the next they lay on the floor, dead. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, the blonde man saw Merlin's blue eyes fall shut and the labored movement of his chest slow to almost nothing. The prince's heart stopped for a moment and he roared in rage at those who had dared do this to the boy, those who now lay dead, and in fear that his servant might not make it. (He claimed to have no remembrance later of making any sound, let alone a roar, and all of his knights thought it safest not to disagree; dread of what the young Pendragon might do to any who dared suggest it had happened held their tongues.) Gathering the half-dead boy into his arms, Arthur leaped to his horse, settled the raven-haired young man before him in the saddle, and raced to Camelot, to Gaius, to Merlin's only hope of survival.
Like it? Want more? Review! I promise I'll update regularly if you do... And I give virtual cookies! What more could you ask for? ;)
Saoirse