Usually, they had more time than this.
It wasn't every day that Arthur was captured by some bandit leader who was stupid enough to think he could get away with it. But it was every other month or so. Definitely often enough that certain patterns developed, and the situation was no longer an alarming one, but something rather like a routine.
And usually, they had more time than this. At least, a half an hour or so before the bandit leader came into the cell, demanding, threatening, or sometimes even thrusting him as a participant into some kind of sick game or underground tournament. It all really depended on whether or not the leader knew Arthur was a king. In truth, Arthur preferred the cases where they already knew, because these scum had a tendency to be overly impressed when they did discover his identity, and were therefore, apparently, enlightened to the worthlessness of Merlin's life, and would try to kill him.
This time, though, the leader came much sooner. This hadn't given him and Merlin anytime to do their usual collaboration, in which they would find some means of escape. Not that it really seemed to matter. The raven-haired man was chained to the wall opposite him, arms hanging in cuffs above his head, which was ducked downward to his chest, as if he were asleep. But he wasn't, Arthur could see from his open eyes, and the way his lips pursed into a pale strip across his sallow face when the door to their cell opened, and their captor ambled in.
The man was large, unsurprisingly, with grotesque rolls of fat badly hidden beneath his thick, furry cloak. The thick, flabby layer of skin collaring his jugular area jiggled rather unattractively as he let out a typical, villainess cackle to the uninterested ceiling.
Arthur rolled his eyes, and they landed upon the still unresponsive form of his servant. He was like a statue, staring unnervingly hard at the ground as if he might be sick by looking anywhere else. He looked it, too. His skin was an ever deepening shade of green, and there was a strange tremble to his shoulders. Arthur was fairly certain that Merlin hadn't been injured during the fight, but he was just on the verge of being concerned when their captor spoke up,
"Well, then. I suppose your situation has been made clear to you. You are my prisoner…Arthur Pendragon," his voice was unusually nasal, which made the pointed emphasis on Arthur's name far less impactful than it should have been. Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes again, and simply returned the man's gaze impassively,
"So, you know who I am, then. Congratulations," he said. The man laughed again, a terrible wheezing sound that was far too shrill and far too forced to be anything less than extremely painful to Arthur's ears,
"Oh, yes," the man managed after a while, his face splitting into a wide, yellow grin that served to make his already beady eyes even tinier, "And I know exactly what I'm going to do with…" he faded off, a strange sound interrupting his declaration that turned Arthur's blood cold as he realized the source.
Merlin was crying, shoulders trembling more visibly now in accordance with the small, quiet sobs escaping through the gaps in his choked, ragged breaths,
"Please," he whimpered, and Arthur felt his heart clench with pity, his throat close up with disbelief, "Please, let me go,"
Their captor turned towards Merlin, brow furrowed in annoyance. Arthur fought a losing battle to keep his jaw from dropping, because Merlin wasn't being his usual, smart ass self with his snarky, rebellious comments and stubborn refusal to be anything but practically suicidal in the face of danger and was, instead, begging to be let go.
And though Arthur would have thought himself to be relieved that Merlin had finally gained an understanding of the value of his own life he was, instead, only confused and somewhat sick inside. Because, damn it, Merlin was not smart enough for that, and Arthur had been certain never would be. And he was afraid at the prospect of Merlin being…well, afraid.
The feeling grew as their captor sauntered over to Merlin, and folded his arms across his massive chest a few feet in front of him. The effort seemed to take a lot out of him, and he sweated profusely even as he smirked in condescension,
"Please," Merlin begged, his voice little more than a tragic rasp, "Please…I don't want to die. Let me leave, I'll tell no one, please," He grew evermore upset, and their captor's face pinched in derisiveness and irritation,
"Now, why would I do that, you little maggot?" he sneered. Arthur fought against his restraints, the metal chaffing his wrists raw as he yanked and pulled. Merlin's broken sobs tore at his heart, twisting his gut in what felt like anger but could have just as well been guilt or sorrow, or a combination of all.
"I beg of you," Merlin wailed, now flailing against his own restraints, raising a devastated, tear streaked face upward, eyes pleading and bloodshot, "Please!" Their captor unfolded his arms, now looking angry,
"Stop," he commanded. Merlin continued screaming though, weeping and shaking, an animalistic terror causing his cries to rise in volume with each passing second. Arthur's horror grew as the bandit leader took a step forward,
"That's enough!" he roared, but Merlin only answered with louder, more desperate laments, "Stop!"
Their captor tromped over to him, and bent over so their faces nearly touched. His own was flushed and furious, eyes wild. Merlin continued weeping, head bent over as sobs tore through him. Arthur could only watch in growing alarm as the man yelled, spittle flying from his flapping, chubby lips onto Merlin's face,
"Shut up! Now! Just. Shut. UP!"
Suddenly, so abruptly and entirely did Merlin's countenance change that he seemed to suck the air out of the room with his deathly silence. He raised his head, drew it back, and whipped it forward. His forehead connected with the man's face, a loud crack resounding through the cell as it did. The man screamed and fell back on his haunches, clutching at his nose as a waterfall of blood cascaded down his lips and chins and onto his shirt.
The guards who had been waiting outside rushed in, and Arthur cried out in warning. But Merlin, with a prolonged yell of determination and pain, yanked his hands out of the cuffs, blood streaming down his forearms as he jumped to his feet. He intercepted the first guard's stab, sidestepping the strike, grabbing the guard's wrist and then stepping in to connect his elbow with his face.
The man stumbled back an crumpled against the wall. The next guard didn't have a chance to get close enough for the same fate. Merlin dropped to the ground in a crouch and spun his leg around in a decisive sweep, knocking his attacker's feet out from under him. He hit the ground hard on his back, and Merlin quickly stepped one leg over his torso, bending down over him and then rearing back his fist. He dealt a powerful blow t the side of the man's head, knocking him unconscious.
Arthur's mouth was wide open, but he couldn't seem to draw in a breath, only managing a daft croak here or there.
Merlin plucked the keys from the guard's belt, then approached him, and Arthur couldn't help but be fascinated by the grim quiet marring his tear stained face that had, just a moment ago, been twisted in grief and a cowardice that had rendered Arthur speechless,
"You…" Arthur stammered as Merlin freed him from the chains, "You…you just…how…Merlin, you can act!"
Merlin rolled his eyes, eyes that were still red and wet from his many shed tears, and Arthur, still in a shocked and addled state of mind, predicted that they would be very sore, later.
Arthur rubbed his wrists as he stepped away from the wall, though his eyes were stuck firmly on Merlin's. The skin was ripped from where he had freed himself, and blood continued to stream from the ugly wounds, mixing with the grime on his skin,
"Did…That hurt, didn't it?" It was a stupid question, and Arthur wanted to slap himself as Merlin raised an eyebrow without quite looking up, his own eyes glued to the sight of his ravaged wrists. He simply nodded, and, for the first time, Arthur noticed that those tears in his eyes were not faked. Not like the others. Arthur swallowed uncomfortably, raised his hand, twitched it forward awkwardly, and then rested it on Merlin's shoulder. He shifted stiffly and sniffed, before coughing and withdrawing his touch,
"Shall we, uh, shall we go…then?" Merlin gave him an amused smile,
"We better. I can only save your arse so many times before it really starts to hurt,"
...
A/N: An author's note to tell you I have nothing to say.
