Chapter Three
"Break off my arms, I'll take hold of you, with my heart, as with a hand." Ranier Maria Rilke
Merlin tried not to wake up. He tried not to breathe, hoping against hope that no one would notice he was awake again. Not for the first time, he wished this agony was over. His arms were chained above his head now and he sagged against the cold stone of the wall. His head still ached relentlessly and his back was a column of agony. Every breath was an effort and he was exhausted. Legget's dagger had left trails of blood over his shoulders and down his torso. He shuddered as he remembered Legget's blade finding his broken ribs. Legget liked to take his time; he liked to follow his own sadistic rules; he liked the agony to go on slowly, slowly. Merlin could feel the neurasthenic trembling of fear that shook him, even now.
Trying to get through the minutes, Merlin wondered what had happened when Arthur had reached Camelot. In his imagination, Arthur had ridden into the courtyard, holding on to Merlin's horse for dear life, causing a commotion of servants and knights to explode into action. There would be exclamations, shouts of joy and relief, and then the questions. Arthur would be taken to Gaius, and then...
Merlin shook his head in helpless pain. Gaius would ask Arthur where he was and Arthur would... Arthur would... He could no longer go on. Merlin could see Gaius' calm old face, his eyebrow flaring in concern and worry. With a child's fierce unrealistic insistence he wanted to see Gaius again. Then he could ask forgiveness for the worries he had thrust on his dear mentor, the only real father he had ever had. He would beg pardon for the lies that he forced an old man to utter, for the danger he had brought into Gaius' already uncertain position in life. He feared he would never see the physician again and Merlin knew, with a horrible certainty, that his loss would break the valiant, old man's heart at last.
Even if they dispatched a rescue party for him, even if Arthur could remember the way, it would be hours before they would arrive. Merlin knew that Legget would return before that could happen.
Merlin hung his head, not knowing which pain brought him closer to despair. Physical doom was on him, but all he could think of was the dream that would end if he died. The dream fueled his courage, his dream of a world where magic was a living presence in Camelot. It would never come to be. His foolish dream where Arthur knew of his magic and still was his friend. This is how dreams ended he thought miserably, with a whisper of hope, unheard. With his heart breaking, his thoughts turned to Arthur again. He was beyond Merlin's protection now. But he was safe. Surely he had gotten away.
Merlin knew his strength was failing. If his body paid a price for the abuse he gave it, it hardly mattered now. He needed to see Arthur. He did not fear death,not in the way of most men, and in spite of prophecies and fate and destiny, Merlin was possessed only by this most simple, mortal need of his heart. He had to make sure Arthur had reached Camelot. And if it happened that he could have one more look into the eyes of his king, surely he could take that memory with him into the dark.
Without another breath, Merlin slipped away into the world of magic , into the world of his hand fire. The land moved away beneath him with the speed of his desperation, following his bond with Arthur. To his shock and horror, Arthur was not in Camelot. Not even close. He was hardly a mile away. As he hovered, paralyzed with frustrated anger and fear, he saw Arthur was leading his horse. It whickered to Merlin in greeting and Arthur alerted. As he watched, the king tied the horse quietly to a tree and unsheathed a sword, that the warlock had never seen before. A familiar twitch of recognition lit his liege's face as he glimpsed the blue orb shimmering near the bushes. The king approached the light slowly, taking a careful breath.
"I'm looking for Merlin," he said softly, but in desperate tones. "Can you help me?"
The warlock froze in shock. He felt flushed with anger. Arthur should have ridden to safety, but instead he was looking for him. He was frightened by Arthur's audacity. He was horrified that Arthur had put himself in danger and he was moved beyond words, that Arthur was looking for him.
But before the warlock could respond, he heard the grate above him in the physical world, as it was pulled open. The dull thud of it's opening sank into his heart with the force of a blow.
Merlin did not know what to do. Agonized, the boy had no time to consider motivation or consequence. He only knew he could not leave Arthur, and if he did, there would not be another hope of rescue. His instinctive connection to Arthur cried out before he even knew what he was doing. In his heart he still wanted to believe that he would live to tell this tale. But he also knew, deep in his heart that once Legget began with him, he would have no strength left to go on.
Knowing no spell, without any real hope, he readied his magic instinctively, reaching into the stones below him, into the air for the power of the wind, into the tears that flooded his eyes, into the fire of devotion that drove this last impulsive action. He hoped some part of him would remain, and if it did not, he would let this be his goodbye to the king he had served. He hoped Arthur would understand.
Caught for a moment in the shadow land of magic and his own tortured body, he thrust his hand fire into Arthur's chest and then exited again. Merlin was sure and strong in his movement, as sure as Arthur with a lance. They were bound ever more tightly . And then with one last look back at his King's shocked face, he let the blue orb fade from sight. Arthur stumbled.
Merlin spiraled into the pain and exhaustion of his body. To his shock, he saw a flare of light as Legget and his henchmen descended noisily into the prison. He could see no shapes, but the presence of the light filled his eyes. His heart seized on that positive with a strength that shocked him.
Legget snapped his whip and Merlin turned towards the sound, praying he looked stronger than he felt.
Roughly, hands unchained his manacles and his ams broke into tingling fire as blood rushed back into them and stiffened muscles were forcibly moved. They dragged him to a pole, and realizing what was coming, Merlin shoved back against his captors with all his remaining strength. His brief rebellion only made them laugh.
They chained his hands up high, so he would be forced to stand. Merlin tried to steel himself but he already knew Legget's style. The first blow took him near his broken ribs, the weighted spike of the leather lash snaking around to hit the front of his chest. For a timeless second, he hung in shock, and then pain exploded him into fragments, into splintered bone and blood, until the darkness. Once again, the darkness.
