Little birds learn lessons

Arthur awoke with a groan. He was soon aware of the blazing pain in his arm, from where the crossbow bolt had pierced it. He groggily opened his eyes, they registered a dimly lit tent, the sunlight was filtering through the dark tent material, shifting lights and colours swirling around the enclosed space. Arthur was in the middle of the tent, his hands tied to the main supporting pole, his armour was gone and he realized that someone had bandaged up his wound.

The arm was tender and it still hurt but it had obviously been well tended to by a competent healer - not Merlin then. . . Wait Merlin! He twisted around, trying to catch sight of his bumbling servant, but other than a small pile of hay in the corner and a plate with a crust of bread on it, he was alone in the tent. Where is Merlin? He remembered being injured, captured and then bargaining for Merlin's life. He must be in the marauders camp, and judging from the light coming through the tent fabric, it was sunset. He had probably only been unconscious for about a couple of hours.

Arthur knew that he had to try to find a way out of here - he wasn't worried much about himself, the bandits probably wouldn't give him more than a few bruises if they wanted him as a ransom. Uther would certainly pay whatever the men wanted - Arthur was his only son and heir. No, he was more concerned for his missing servant. The bandit leader had seemed quite interested in Merlin and he didn't like that one bit.

Arthur tested his ropes with a tug or two, he could probably get out of them if he really had to, but he knew that he would probably have to dislocate a finger to do so. While the prince knew that he could deal with the pain and would be able to pop it back in, Arthur still decided that it would only be a last resort - he didn't want to injure himself unnecessarily.

But then when he heard a familiar cry of pain from nearby, he seriously considered risking the pain. He yelled back "Merlin!"

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Merlin didn't like being tied up, not one little bit. She had been led into a large, well furnished tent nearly an hour ago and then roughly shoved to the floor. Her wrists were sore from the course rope that was tying them behind her back, she had managed to push herself up into a sitting position and was now resting with her back up against the middle tent pole.

The marauders had blindfolded her when they had neared their camp - presumably to keep the location a secret. But once she was in the camp they had removed it again, she had seen the shamble of brown cloth tents and the large fire pit burning in the middle of the camp. She had been surprised to see that some of the bandits seemed to have families - there were a few hard faced women and even two grubby children. It never seemed to occur to her that the men who plagued the forests and robbed caravans might actually have families and almost normal lives too.

Unlike all of the worn, dirty tents that surrounded it - this tent was made of a thicker black material, the sort that didn't let any light through. Merlin wasn't sure how long she'd been in there now, but her aching body suggested it had been quite a while. In true clumsy fashion she had managed to trip several times while being blind folded earlier and now had the bruises to show for it. The young witch fidgeted, what was going to happen to her? She wasn't sure where Arthur was so she couldn't consider using magic and anyway there were more than fifty bandits in this camp - she wasn't going to leave, let alone without Arthur.

"Comfortable?" asked a voice from the tent doorway. Merlin's head snapped up to see the bandit leader enter, ducking through the flap. He was very tall, was thin, but well muscled and had dark skin. He had a bald head and dark glittering eyes that were now fixed on her.

"Not too bad, wouldn't mind untying me would you?" she asked, flashing an innocent smile up at the bandit leader.

"Oh I don't think so, little bird. You look mighty fine just the way you are." Merlin blinked. She didn't like the way that he was looking at her - it was too intense.

"Who are you?" she asked, trying to make him stop staring at her in that way.

"Of course, how rude of me, I am Khal, leader of this modest little ensemble of cutthroats and thieves. May I have your name in return?" Merlin shifted, uneasily on the ground. Khal spoke in a very strange way, she noted, in a very antique fashion, as if he were a nobleman. But there was no way that this man could be a noble - could he?

"Where's Arthur?" she asked. Khal did not seem to like this abrupt change of topic, he frowned and took a step towards her.

"I believe I asked you a question first, little bird. What's your name?" Merlin tried to get to her feet, wobbling as she did so.

"Where's Arthur?" she asked the question in a firm tone, meeting Khal`s dark eyes with her own blue ones.

"Didn't I tell you not to aggravate me? Don't be rude. Answer my question." he stepped forward and gripped her by the chin. She obstinately glared up at him, refusing to play his games.

That was of course, until he brought his wicked looking axe up to her face, he rested it against her cheek. Her eyes widened in fear. Khal sliced the axe across her face with a spurt of dark blood and Merlin cried out in pain. He dropped her, sending a kick into her ribs, she was sent into a coughing fit by this, her eyes watering. Merlin could feel hot, sticky blood coursing down her face from the gash he had made on her face. Then she heard her name yelled. "Merlin!" Prat.