Author's Note: Ok, this chapter gets pretty intense and for all those who like Merlin whump…well…you've got it in spades. I had to do a lot of research into medieval torture devices just to see what I would and would not use and can I just say that the one I chose for his first round is the lesser of all evils. There was some pretty jacked up stuff out there, people. I nearly got sick reading about it all. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the chapter despite its morbidity. Please REVIEW and let me know.

Merlin woke hanging upside down with his hands tied tightly behind his back. He had no way of knowing how long he'd been there, but if the throbbing of his skull and the numbness of his legs was any indication it had been awhile. He could dimly feel the phantom pressure of a rope around his ankles and he tried to raise his head to see if what he was attached to was breakable. As he strained upwards his shoulder screamed in protest and Merlin fell back, gasping. He wished he could untie his hands, but the icy burn of Verbana in his veins stopped him from even thinking of a spell in his head.

Black spots danced merrily across his vision, but Merlin could just barely make out the trunk of the tree he must have been dangling from. He could hear voices behind him and the irritated whinny of horses to his left. The smell of roasted rabbit and herbs wafted through the air and Merlin's stomach clenched uncomfortably. It seemed strange that he would feel hunger in a moment like this, trussed up and vulnerable, with an aching shoulder wound and the threat of torture hanging over his head. Still, the body would not be denied and his stomach mewled out a piteous growl for attention. The sound only confirmed Merlin's aching desire: he had to get out of this mess.

He briefly toyed with the idea of swinging the rope to and fro in the hopes that he would be able to shake himself loose, but he quickly dismissed it. The last time he'd attempted to move had been agony on his shoulder and he doubted he would be able to remain quiet for long. If he screamed, cried out, or so much as groaned he would alert the bandits to his plan and they would swiftly put a stop to it…painfully. Besides, with Merlin's luck he would somehow manage to smack his head against the trunk of the tree in the process of getting free and knock himself out again. He would still be in the same position only now he would have a head wound to throb in time with the one in his shoulder.

Merlin concentrated on breathing deeply in and out while he ran through various escape scenarios. Unfortunately, every one of them seemed to involve magic of some kind and Merlin suddenly found himself wishing that Arthur were there with him. A selfish thought, perhaps, but the prince always seemed to weasel his way out of situations such as these and without magic Merlin wasn't much use at all.

His thoughts were suddenly halted when he heard footsteps crunching through leaves coming towards him. He quickly closed his eyes and tried to look unconscious, but he must not have been very convincing because there was a low laugh followed by a rough kick between his shoulder blades by a heavy boot.

"We know you're awake, little rat," Badger told him. "So open your eyes. You're not fooling anyone."

Merlin opened his eyes just as Badger grabbed the rope around Merlin's legs and swung him around to face him. Badger's long, lean frame towered over him, a malicious grin spread across his face, eyes shining with sadistic merriment. He held a knife in his hands and Merlin watched wearily as he leaned over him. Not that there was much he could do if Badger decided to stab him with it. A second pair of boots appeared on Merlin's right and his eyes immediately shifted to address the newcomer. It was Hagan, the veritable giant of a man that had shook Merlin around like a doll made out of straw. He had an old fashioned bow swung over his shoulder and while Badger was grinning like a loon his face was somber and serious.

"Coran wants to see you, little rat," Badger told him, bending down and flipping the knife back and forth haphazardly in front of Merlin's eyes. "He says we haven't been treating you right, tying you upside down and all. So we're here to cut you down and bring you to him."

With that Badger straightened and sawed the knife through the rope until it snapped, sending Merlin tumbling to the ground in a heap. He landed on his injured shoulder and the pain that jarred through him took his breath away. He rolled over on his side and whimpered, but was granted little reprieve as Badger's boot struck him hard in the ribs.

"None of that," Badger ordered, yanking Merlin to his knees by his rope tied hands. "Coran doesn't like to be kept waiting." He pulled Merlin to his feet and practically swung him around to face Hagen as Merlin desperately tried to get his legs to work. They were completely useless after being strung up for so long, but Badger cared very little whether his prisoner's feet worked or not.

"You see this man, little rat?" Badger continued, gesturing at Hagen with his free hand. "He's a marksman with that bow, you know. You try to escape and he'll put an arrow through your knees before you get five paces. Understood?"

Merlin nodded once, his teeth grit tight as the pressure on his shoulder and the burning pain in his legs began to overwhelm him. Badger seemed to accept this, however, because before Merlin could process what was happening he was being dragged across the bandit camp towards a large makeshift tent in the corner. The throbbing in his shoulder reached a crescendo and before he could stop himself he whimpered and squirmed in Badger's grasp, trying to find relief from the pressure the man was exerting.

"What did I tell you?" Badger hissed, throwing Merlin roughly forwards. Perhaps the bandit had been expecting Merlin to stand on his own, but without the man's agonizing support Merlin's legs gave out almost immediately and he toppled to the forest floor. There was a snort of derision and then, "Hagan, help our young friend here reach Coran's tent."

The giant man lumbered towards him and Merlin tried to scrabble backwards, out of Hagan's reach, but his hands were tied too tightly to allow him much movement. The big man backhanded him once across the face and Merlin tasted blood and was fairly certain he could feel a gaping hole where his right molar used to be. Dazed by the blow, Merlin was unable to keep Hagan from wrapping his sausage fingers around his throat and lifting him upwards, dangling him from the big man's hand as if he were a rodent Hagan had caught.

Merlin tried to struggle in Hagan's grasp, but between his tied hands and the fact that his legs refused to work properly he wasn't making much headway. An awful sound reached him, a sort of harsh, spluttering cough that sounded painful to his ears. It took him a moment to realize that the sound was coming from him as he attempted to breathe past Hagan's gripping fingers. He could feel the giant man moving beneath him, large strides that would have easily matched three of his own. His vision was beginning to dim, but before the warlock could black out completely there was a soft rustle of fabric being pulled aside and an angry snarl from someone on the inside.

Suddenly, Hagan's fingers released and Merlin dropped to his knees, coughing as air attempted to rush back through his bruised throat. The black spots began to recede and Merlin looked up to find himself at the feet of a young man, not much older than himself. He was scowling distastefully at Badger and Hagan and as the rushing sound faded from Merlin's ears he was able to make out what the man was saying.

"You've disrespected our guest," he was saying coolly. "And embarrassed me. I will not tolerate stupidity among my men. Nor will I tolerate disobedience. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Both men nodded, but Merlin could see how much it cost them to do it. They didn't like being told what to do or being chastised in an extremely public manner. Merlin looked up at the man in front of him and studied his cool, intelligent eyes and confident posture. This man was the leader. This man was the infamous Coran Merlin had so desperately wanted to avoid meeting.

"Go and do something useful," Coran told them dismissively. "Your presence is no longer required and I find myself growing rather tired of seeing your blank faces and vacant stares." He leaned down to Merlin and chuckled softly when the warlock flinched back from him. "I need time to speak with our new friend. Alone. I do not wish to be disturbed for any reason unless that reason includes the young Prince Arthur's head on a stake."

The two bandits nodded and took their leave, sending Merlin one last scathing look as they left. Suddenly, Merlin found himself alone with Coran and he almost wished the bandits would come back. Coran had tools designed for torture. Coran liked to break men who were loyal and true. Merlin was sure that he fit the bill for both those qualities and he knew he was going to be used for whatever purposes Coran deemed fit…whether he talked or not. The man would show him no mercy and give him no slack. Merlin was sure of it.

He was so sure of this fact that when Coran knelt behind him and cut the ropes from around his hands he was rendered speechless. Slowly and gingerly, he brought his aching hands around and tried to rub the feeling back in them, being careful not to overstretch his shoulder. He stared at Coran uncertainly and the young bandit grinned.

"What?" Coran said. "Did you expect something else?" Merlin didn't answer and Coran's grinned widened. "I suppose I can't blame you after the way my men have treated you thus far. My humblest apologies…Merlin, was it?"

Merlin continued to stare at the bandit uncomprehendingly, but whether this fazed Coran or not he couldn't say. The bandit leader simply shrugged his shoulders and made his way across the tent to small wooden chest. He lifted the lid and pulled a strip of cloth from its depths then crossed the room again where he picked up two steaming bowls of what smelled like rabbit stew and two goblets filled with water. Coran haphazardly juggled the handful to where Merlin sat and carefully placed the two bowls, the water goblets, and the strip of cloth next to one another on the ground. Then, without a single glance at his prisoner, the man grabbed a bucket from beside the tent's entrance and walked out without a word.

Merlin blinked once in shock. The man had left him alone. He couldn't believe that the bandit's leader was that incredibly stupid, but he wasn't going to stick around to tell him so. If Coran actually thought Merlin would be there when he returned from wherever he'd been going then he deserved every ounce of ridicule Merlin knew would be coming from his men. That was the thing about leadership. It was great until a mistake was made…then it turned insulting…sometimes dangerously so.

It wasn't until Merlin tried to rise that he realized Coran's departure had nothing to do with stupidity. His legs still wouldn't work and it took all he had just to manage a small, hitching step before his knees buckled beneath him. He landed hard in the dirt and his shoulder exploded with pain. He yelped, but was still determined to make good his escape. If he could just pull himself forward with his arms he might be able to—the pain of that simple gesture left him breathless and Merlin realized he wouldn't be escaping. Coran had known that from the beginning.

The tent flap opened and Coran stared down at him, unsurprised to find him sprawled out across the ground. The bandit sighed theatrically and shook his head, stepping over the prone warlock as he set the bucket, now filled with water, down beside the bowls of stew. Then, as if to confuse his prisoner even more, he bandit gently helped him back into a sitting position before wetting the cloth in the bucket and handing it to him.

"To clean the blood off your hands," the bandit explained. "Before we eat."

"Eat?" Merlin questioned hoarsely.

"Well," Coran said in a surprised tone. "Yes. You didn't think I could eat two bowls of stew by myself, did you?"

Merlin was speechless once more, but he didn't know if this was because he had nothing of any importance to say or if his silence was born from complete shock. Coran stared at him expectantly from his spot on the ground. Merlin sighed and pulled the bucket towards him, wincing as the movement pulled at his wounded shoulder. He dipped the cloth the bandit had given him into the cool water and tried not to groan in relief as it dripped down on his rope burned skin. He gently wiped his hands clean of dirt and blood then rinsed the cloth out so he could clean the arrow wound.

"Here," Coran said softly, leaning towards him. "Let me help you."

Merlin jerked back from him and Coran stopped, frowning.

"I'm not going to harm you," the bandit told him. "I'm trying to help."

"Why?" Merlin croaked.

"You have something I want," Coran said. "Something I need. It would behoove us both if we conducted our business like civilized men, don't you think?"

"I know what you want," Merlin whispered. "And I can't give it to you."

"That remains to be seen," Coran said with a sunny, unconcerned smile. "Every man has his price, Merlin. I just need to discover yours. In the meantime, there is little reason for me to act like a barbarian so, please, let me help you."

Merlin studied the young bandit for a long moment. There was something about him that seemed both terrifyingly peculiar and alarmingly familiar all at the same time. As he looked closer, Merlin realized that there was no stupidity in this man, no chance of fooling him. His eyes were warm at the moment, but Merlin could see the cold and calculating intelligence in those vibrant pools of green. The young man smiled again, as if to ease his doubts, and it was the grin that struck him as familiar.

Arthur. Arthur smiled like that. Usually when he wanted something or thought he was being particularly clever. It was unsettling to see the same cocky grin that Merlin had grown so accustomed to seeing for the last five years on a man who could not be more different from his prince. Instead of easing his doubts, the man's grin only made the flame of unease in Merlin's belly grow into a raging inferno.

Still, if playing Coran's game bought him some time he would be a fool not to take the man up on his offer. So, with a reluctant sigh, he held out the damp cloth like a peace offering, trying not to grimace when the bandit's hand touched his. He stiffened when Coran stood and walked to stand behind him, but he needn't have worried. The bandit sat down behind him and took Merlin's tunic between his hands, pulling the fabric apart so he could gain easier access to his wound.

"That was my favorite tunic," Merlin said drily.

"My apologies," Coran commented lightly, ignoring Merlin's hiss of pain as he dabbed at the injury as gently as he could. "I thought that between the blood and the arrow hole you would consider it soiled, but I suppose I was incorrect in that assumption."

"I suppose you were," Merlin hissed, wincing as the cloth fibers caught on the edges of his torn flesh.

"You seem to have finally found your voice," Coran chuckled. "I was beginning to wonder if you could speak more than a single syllable. I find this version of you much more entertaining."

"I only aim to please," Merlin grunted.

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Aim to please?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"Who it is I'm supposed to be pleasing," Merlin answered slowly, watching the bandit's hands move over his shoulder to clean the front of his wound.

"Let's say, for the moment, that the person you're supposed to be pleasing is me," Coran said.

"Well, then it depends on what you're asking."

"I think you know."

"Do I?"

"Morgana never mentioned you were this much fun," Coran laughed instead of answering his inquiry. "I believe that word play is every bit as important as sword play, but it seems our friend the witch does not agree. She's rather boring, isn't she?"

"Morgana," Merlin whispered. "She's here?"

"Not yet," Coran shrugged. "We've sent word to her, but have no way of knowing when or where she'll show up."

"Sent word to her? About me?"

"About our failure to kill Arthur," Coran corrected. "I told her nothing about you."

"Why would you do that?"

"I already told you," Coran explained. "I believe that you and I can come to an agreement without any further unpleasantness. If she knew of your presence she would demand I kill you and I would have to deny her."

"Why?"

"Because I am not a servant to be ordered about," Coran hissed, pressing the cloth hard into Merlin's shoulder. "I follow no whims but my own." His death grip on Merlin's shoulder released and Coran was the pleasant host once more. "But, you would understand that, wouldn't you, Merlin?"

"How do you come to that conclusion?"

"Arthur doesn't appreciate you," Coran replied, coming back around to sit across from him again. "He doesn't see what you sacrifice for him, does he? How could he? He's royalty. They're all alike, you know."

"Arthur's not," Merlin said immediately. "Arthur is different. He'll be a king worth following one day."

"Did he teach you to say that?" Coran asked sadly, shaking his head. "Did he instruct you to sing his praises if anyone dared speak ill against him?"

"No, he—"

"He brainwashed you," Coran interrupted. "I've seen it before, Merlin. He's bullied you and belittled you until you actually believe the lies he sells you."

"That's not true," Merlin snapped. "I haven't been—"

"Of course it is. If course it's true. It's sad really—the way you can't see what is right in front of you. You're expendable, Merlin. That's all you've ever been."

"Your wrong," Merlin hissed. "Arthur isn't like that. He cares about me. He—"

"Does he?" Coran asked slowly. "Are you sure?"

"I know he does," Merlin replied adamantly. "I would stake my life on it."

"I really wish you hadn't said that," Coran told him softly. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, you see."

"What are you talking about?" Merlin asked slowly.

"I know for a fact that Arthur doesn't care about you the way you think he does," Coran whispered. "I can personally guarantee that he would abandon you if it suited him to do so."

"No," Merlin repeated, shaking his head. "I don't believe that. Arthur has always been loyal to me."

"Such blind faith," Coran said gently. "You haven't even seen the evidence yet."

"You have no evidence," Merlin told him stonily. "You have nothing I would be interested in looking at."

"Don't run before you walk," Coran warned him, rising and striding to his chest. He pulled the lid open and took a stack of parchment from the top before closing it again. "Look at these and then tell me if your prince is so loyal."

Merlin took the pieces of parchment and unfolded them, his lips quirked in a smug smile of disbelief. There was nothing written on these papers that would shake Merlin's undying faith in his friend. No words that could turn him against his prince and all that he would build. No sketches or drawings that would—Merlin froze as the words on the parchment began to sink in.

The parchment contained a letter written in the prince's untidy scrawl. Merlin would have recognized it anywhere and knew the piece of paper he held in his hands was no forgery.

Father,

I am unsure of how to begin this letter of condemnation due to the relationship I share with the man who stands accused. Merlin, my servant has been remarkably loyal and, while not fit for most physical activities, he possesses a certain charm that is undeniable. He has, against all warnings you have given me, become my friend and I cherish his opinion above all others, excluding yourself. However, despite my unorthodox friendship I can no longer ignore what has been staring me in the face for some time. I am loathe to inform you of his activities because I know what your knowledge will mean for him, but I also feel that it is my duty, as your son and sole heir, to inform you of any suspicions I may have regarding the use of magic. I believe that my servant is involved with numerous members of the Druid community and that he socializes with them quite regularly. I am also inclined to believe that he has studied the Old Religion, although I cannot tell you with any certainty to what extent. I am unsure if he has practiced sorcery, but I cannot deny the possibility.

I understand you must do what you see fit in this situation. I cannot deny that seeing Merlin perish would sadden me greatly, but you have always taught me that duty comes before emotions. No matter how strong they are. I trust that you will make the right decision regarding Merlin's fate and you may expect no fight from me regardless of the choice you make. You are a wise and fair king and I am certain you will see that Merlin is of little danger to anyone. I trust him with my life and with the lives of those I love best, including yours. I hope that you take my feelings under advisement, but if you deem death to be the only punishment you feel capable granting I will not question your judgment. I am your loyal and loving son and hope that I can be the great king you have been.

Your son,

Arthur Pendragon

Merlin stared at the letter uncomprehendingly. He read it again and again, relentless in his need to find something he had missed that would make the letter fake or untrue, but the truth was in front of him. This was Arthur's handwriting. This was Arthur's letter. And this was Arthur's betrayal.

"Wh—where did you get this?" Merlin asked hoarsely.

"From your master's chambers," Coran answered quietly. "We were attempting to find information regarding Camelot's defenses and this was among the papers we found."

"You broke into Arthur's room?" Merlin croaked. "How?"

"We have our ways," Coran frowned. "Do you see now, Merlin? Do you see how he has lied to you?"

"There has to be an explanation for this," Merlin said. "There has to be. Arthur wouldn't…he wouldn't…" He trailed off, staring at the piece of parchment in his hands.

How long had he been holding on to this? How long had he been planning on going to his father with the information Merlin only recently discovered he knew? Had he meant what he said? Had he truly meant it when he'd written that he wouldn't fight for Merlin? Merlin would fight for Arthur. Would always fight for Arthur.

"You're not so sure now, are you?" Coran said sadly. "Is it true? What the letter says? Do you practice the Old Religion?"

"I—I practice magic, but—"

"Then we have something in common," Coran said earnestly. "If we rid the world of the Pendragon line we can finally be free to be who and what we want. Aren't you tired of hiding? Of fearing for your life simply because you choose to believe in something greater than yourself?"

"Yes," Merlin said softly, closing his eyes in horror even as the word slipped from between his lips. "Yes, I am tired of hiding."

"Then join us," Coran told him. "Join us and help us rid the world of Uther Pendragon and his hatred."

"I can't," Merlin rasped, shaking his head. "I can't betray Arthur."

"But he betrayed you," Coran snarled. "Or was going to. Why are you so damn loyal to him?"

"Arthur's different," Merlin repeated. "He's not his father, Coran. I promise you—"

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Coran said darkly. Then he was all smiles again and for the first time Merlin saw the madness lurking just beneath the surface of his eyes. The insanity quivering at the edges of his smile. He would have to tread carefully.

Coran pushed the bowl of steaming stew towards him, but Merlin didn't touch it. The hunger that had plagued him earlier had suddenly vanished and left him with an empty pit inside. Coran dug into his own meal with relish, as if he'd been starving for days and the bowl of stew would be both his first and last meal. Merlin felt sick and despite the thorough cleaning the bandit had done on his shoulder it ached more fiercely than before.

"Does Morgana know?" Merlin asked, watching Coran eat. "About the letter, I mean?"

"Morgana," the bandit snorted with a dismissive roll of his eyes. "She has the whole world fooled, but I see the witch for what she really is." He chewed a piece of rabbit thoughtfully before continuing. "She's the same as Uther Pendragon. Only difference is she has magic on her side. It won't be long before the world sees her for the tyrant she is."

"Then why serve her?" Merlin asked. "Why follow—"

"I don't serve anyone," Coran hissed suddenly, his eyes narrowing. Merlin flinched back, but the bandit did not touch him. "I am my own man, Merlin. Whatever else you may think of me…know that I am not governed or ruled by anyone but myself. I choose who I work with and for what purposes." His demeanor shifted back to calm and collected and Merlin was dazed at how quickly the young man changed moods.

"As for my partnership with Morgana," Coran continued, gesturing for Merlin to eat his stew. This time Merlin took a hesitant bite if only to keep his captor mentally stable for the moment. "She is just a piece in a larger puzzle. The future I have in mind goes far beyond what she is possible of envisioning. Still, she has proved useful and if she wishes to believe that she has me safely tucked away in her pocket I won't deny her that pleasure. It will make it easier for me to kill her in the end."

Merlin almost choked on his stew. Kill her? Kill Morgana? He knew he was the last person that should be throwing stones since he'd had those same thoughts only a day ago, but somehow hearing Coran talk about her death as if it were nothing more than a spider squashed beneath his boot disturbed him. He would kill Morgana if the time came, but at least he'd feel bad about it.

"You seem…displeased at the thought of her death," Coran frowned. "I would have thought that you above anyone would be glad to see her dead."

"She was my friend once," Merlin whispered. "I cared for her."

"That should make her death even more gratifying," Coran said. "A betrayal should never go unanswered, Merlin." He lifted his bowl and drained the last of his stew with a satisfied smack. "Which is why you should tell us the location of Arthur Pendragon."

So. They had finally come full circle again. Merlin was faced with the choice of betraying his best friend or being tortured for his silence. He wanted to say that the idea of outing Arthur instantly disgusted him, but he would be lying if he said he didn't feel a flash of fury at his prince over the letter. Arthur had been prepared to betray him for a moment of glory and his father's affection. It would only be fitting if he—

No, Merlin thought fiercely. Never going to happen. There was an explanation behind the letter. There had to be. His friend was more or less king now and if he had seen reason to judge Merlin for his supposed contact with Druids and study of the Old Religion there would have been no need for a letter. Arthur would have confronted him, face to face, like the man he was and would always be. No, there was an explanation and as long as that remained true than Merlin would remain loyal. Oh, who was he kidding? Even if there wasn't an explanation Merlin would remain loyal to the end. Because he believed in Arthur. Because he believed in the world his friend would create.

"I can't," Merlin said softly. "I can't tell you."

"What?" Coran gasped. It was clear from the look on his face that he hadn't expected that answer. "What do you mean you can't tell me? Why not?"

"He's my friend," Merlin explained. "No letter is going to change that."

"You're a fool," Coran snarled, throwing his empty bowl to the ground in disgust. "Why do you remain so loyal to him? Are you truly this naïve?"

"I believe in who Arthur is," Merlin told him. "One day all of this will change. We won't have to hide anymore because he'll—"

"He'll see us all dead," Coran shouted, rising angrily to his feet.

"Your wrong," Merlin insisted, realizing he was losing control of the situation. "He wouldn't do that. You don't know him like I do. You'll see…when he comes for me you'll see."

Coran stopped and stared at him for a long time. Merlin watched him uneasily and began to wonder if he'd said something he shouldn't have. There was something primal in the way the bandit looked at him that made Merlin's hair stand on end.

"When he comes for you," the bandit muttered. "When he comes for…" Coran smiled. "You think he'll come for you? Truly?"

Merlin didn't answer. What had he just done? His words had laid the foundation for some plan in Coran's insane mind, but for the life of him Merlin couldn't figure out what it would be. His own brain wasn't exactly working up to speed. So he opted to remain silent.

This turned out to be a very bad plan. Coran waited for him to answer, but when it became clear that he wasn't going to the bandit's face clouded with anger. Suddenly, Coran struck out and his fist slammed into Merlin's injured shoulder with all the force of a catapult thrown boulder. Merlin screamed and tried to jerk away, but the bandit's hands held him in a death grip, his thumb pressing steadily inwards on his wound.

"When I ask a question," Coran snarled. "You answer. Is that clear?"

"Yes," Merlin gasped breathlessly. "Gods, yes. Please—I—I'm sorry. Just—please."

Coran released him as suddenly as he'd grabbed him and Merlin slumped backwards, breathing heavily and shivering. His body was covered in sweat and he could feel fresh blood from his shoulder leaving a hot trail across his throat and down along his ribcage.

"Do you think he'll truly come for you?" Coran asked again, wiping his bloody hand on the wet cloth they'd used earlier.

"If—if he can," Merlin rasped out. "And when—when he does you'll see the—the kind of man he is. Too—too bad you'll be his enemy."

"This is perfect," Coran said, ignoring Merlin. "He'll come for you, like you said he will, and when he does we'll be ready for him."

"No," Merlin stammered. "No, you can't—you said he wouldn't come for me, remember? You didn't—you wouldn't believe me. You were right. He won't. I see my mistake now. I shouldn't have—" Merlin stopped at the look Coran gave him. He wasn't sure he could handle another round of agony at the moment.

"We'll plan for both," Coran told him. "In case Arthur doesn't show we'll make sure we rip every piece of information on Camelot and her defenses that you know out of that delightfully entertaining mind of yours. And if he does show…you can watch as I slit his throat." He put a thoughtful finger to his lips. "Or perhaps I will burn him upon a pyre. Poetically fitting, wouldn't you say?"

"No," Merlin groaned. "You can't do that. I won't let you—"

"And how do you plan on stopping me?" Coran snorted. " With your magic? Don't forget that Verbana runs through your veins. Your magic is useless to you now. Besides, you had your chance to talk, Merlin, but you decided to remain loyal to your precious Arthur. By the time I'm done pulling Arthur's secrets from your lips you won't be able to do much of anything except pray for the moment your agony ends." He smirked. "Unless you wish to do this the easy way. I like you, Merlin. I'll offer you one last chance to tell me everything you know on Arthur Pendragon and Camelot. One last chance to join me in my quest to see the world as it should be. What do you say?"

"I won't betray him," Merlin said quietly, closing his eyes as the reality of his situation truly began to set in. "Do what you like, but I won't betray Arthur."

"I wish your answer had been different," Coran told him softly, leaning down to meet his eyes. "I suppose I should applaud you for your bravery, but since I know you'll be screaming in a few moments I can't see anything but the foolishness of your decision."

"Wh-what are you g-going to d-do?" Merlin stuttered as his heart pounded with fear.

Coran did not answer him. Instead the young man walked calmly to the flap of his tent and leaned through it, beckoning to someone Merlin could not see. He tried to move, to do something other than sit there and wait to be tortured, but while his legs felt much stronger than before he knew he wouldn't be running anywhere very fast. Not fast enough, anyways. Still, he had to try and he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled towards the back of the tent, reckless with fear and adrenaline.

He hadn't made it five feet before the pain began. It drove him to his knees and Merlin cried out, curling around his stomach like Arthur had done so many hours before. It felt like something was eating him from the inside out and when he coughed, blood spattered the dirt, sinking into it and creating black dots spread out around him. Suddenly, the pain ended as quickly as it had begun. Merlin uncurled and lay gasping, tears mixing with sweat to make grimy tracks across his face.

"Try that again," Coran hissed, lowering the hand that had thrown magic only moments before. "And I'll make it last forever." He made a beckoning gesture with his hands and both Hagan and Badger entered the tent, faces split with malicious grins.

"They're ready for you, Coran," Badger said. "Nice and red…just like you wanted."

"Good," Coran said emotionlessly. "Bring him out. I want the men to see this. Tell them this is what happens when you defy me."

"Do you think he'll talk?" Hagan wheezed as he stooped down and threw Merlin roughly over his shoulder.

"They all talk," Coran said lazily. "Like I said before…its only a matter of finding the right price."

Hagan left the tent, following along behind Coran and Badger. Merlin could only make out the two other men's boots from his position over Hagan's shoulder. It didn't take them long to reach their destination and Merlin could hear the crackle of a fire near him. He was thrown roughly to the ground and before he even had a chance to get his bearings, a strong arm slid around his throat and held him in a chokehold so tight that he couldn't even swallow.

It was only then that Merlin saw what waited for him above the open flames. Only then that he realized what he'd gotten himself in to. Whatever happened after this moment there would be no walking away. Not for him. Not from this. He struggled against the man holding him, but his captors arm merely tightened and Merlin's attempts to escape were halted in their tracks.

"No," Merlin whimpered around the pressure on his throat. "Please—Coran, you can't do this. I beg you…don't do this. Please."

"So," Coran said quietly, taking tongs from his pocket and drawing his first set of torture tools from the heat of the flames. "The fear has finally begun to sink in, has it? This is good. Fear makes adrenaline, you know. And adrenaline…well, it keeps you from passing out."

The men around Merlin chuckled and Merlin whimpered again. Coran held the flaming hot pieces of metal out and away from him then nodded to someone Merlin couldn't see. Two men suddenly grabbed his arms and another two grabbed his legs, locking him in place so that he couldn't move.

"These are my pride and joy," Coran told him as he brought the items closer to him. "Some say the use of iron boots is uncivilized, but I find that they are far more efficient than slicing flesh and breaking bones. Far less messy to." He smiled. "Are you ready to know what true agony is, Merlin? Are you ready to see how far your loyalty to your precious Arthur will go?"

Merlin would have answered yes. He would have told Coran to be damned, but by the time the thoughts made it from his mind to his lips, the bandit was slipping the flaming red shoes over Merlin's bare feet.

At first, there were no screams. His nerves hadn't quite figured out what was happening to them, but seconds later the sound of his burning flesh reached his ears and any pain his body might have blocked out surged through his defenses. He understood then. He understood what true agony was…just like Coran said he would. There were no words for his pain, no human way to explain what he felt in that moment.

There were only his screams. And his tears. And finally, after what felt like an eternity of flames, his darkness.