Fact: this story ended up being almost five times longer than I intended.

Hey, would somebody mind giving me a legit, one hundred percent, full-out, fire-all-cannons critique? Because I'm disgusted with myself about this story, and may even delete it once you guys have all read it. It would be for the best...

I swear to you, I've never written anything like this before, and I am to never again. The character whump is really bad (as you know), not like my other stories, which are much milder and...tolerable.

Please tell me, you avid readers out there, that you've read worse on this site. Please. It would make me feel slightly better about myself...Okay, a lot better about myself.

~10~ The Great Escape

Merlin put a rag in Arthur's mouth to prevent him from biting his tongue, and also to silence him, as the servant popped his dislocated shoulder back into its socket. The king was ashen-faced as Merlin released him, but he swallowed the pain and just took several deep breaths as he relaxed.

"Move your arm," the servant ordered, but Arthur just stared. Merlin clicked his tongue. "Alright then. Percival?"

"An illusion. It was an illusion?" Arthur fell faint. "It looked so real..."

Percival put his arm and shoulder through the hole, created when they'd worked off the grate (well, that Merlin had created, with some aid from his forbidden ability), and waited to pull them both out. Merlin had been the only one small and thin enough to fit through the tight squeeze like a bug, even with armour, so getting Arthur out would prove a big challenge, especially because he was injured.

"This probably won't work," Merlin muttered, comparing Arthur's size to the width of the gap above. "You may be too fat."

The king's bewildered, shocked expression turned into one of infuriated exasperation, and he called Merlin something that would've made a tavern brawler blush. The servant simply grinned.

"Let's just try," said Percival. Arthur reached up to let the knight grasp his wrist, as his own hands were crippled, but it was too high. Even if they could reach each other, the situation would have been very awkward. Merlin stepped forward and got onto his hands and knees.

"Stand on my shoulders," he said. Arthur looked sceptical.

"Are you strong enough?"

"Just do it."

It wouldn't have been possible if the king was wearing armour, but as he was just in a ragged shirt and trousers, Merlin managed to get off his hands, and eventually rise to a crouch, using the wall to help him. He put all his strength on his left side, where Arthur listed heavily because of his injured right leg. With him on one knee, Percival was able to grab Arthur by the elbow, yet it wasn't high enough to get him out without hurting him, so Merlin forced himself to straighten and stand on both feet. Inevitably, his knees started to quiver under the strain.

"Hurry up!" he grunted, fighting to retain his balance.

"My shoulders are too wide," said Arthur defensively.

"Are you sure it's your shoulders and not your stomach—?"

"Merlin!"

Despite the expanding ache on his upper back, Merlin grinned, but then an expression of horror flew across his face as he heard the distinctive click of a lock unlatching.

"Pretty boy ready to talk now? I don't mind if you don't. I like playing with my toys and best friends. You..."

Merlin and Arthur might as well have stared into the face of Medusa. They became so still, even their hearts seemed to stop.

"Well well, what do we have here?" Romulus's shock was gone. "A new playmate?"

A spear of pain impaled Merlin's back, driving him forward into the wall. He fell, gasping soundlessly for air, leaving Arthur dangling in Percival's grasp.

"Aw, come on, don't leave now! We've only just started!" The Torturer flicked a finger. There was a ominous crack like wood snapping and suddenly Arthur was crashing down on top of Merlin, who groaned from the impact. Outside, Percival howled and supported a broken arm.

Arthur crawled off of Merlin and tried to stand, but his vision blurred and stars flashed, and he swayed precariously, dizzy from blood loss. The servant stood to support him as he looked ready to be sick from pain and nausea.

"And you said you didn't know who I was talking about," said Romulus, chuckling eagerly. "I asked you for the location of the boy, yet you said you didn't know him."

Arthur just glared, breathing heavily through his nose as the agony coursed through him.

The Torturer grinned, his scarred mouth stretching grotesquely. "Thank you for bringing him to me. He and I have some unfinished business."

Arthur resisted the urge to glance over at Merlin in confusion, but he could feel the supporting man stiffen beside him.

Romulus moved so fast, the pair had no time to react before they were torn apart from each other and thrown to either side of the cell. Arthur gasped as his ruined knee was twisted, and he struggled to not pass out. Merlin hit the wall, shoulder first, his stolen armour clanging against stone. He slumped, stunned. Then the fluff flew from his head and he suddenly remembered the sword, strapped to his right hip.

He scrambled to his feet, drawing the blade awkwardly with his left hand. He tossed it to the other and held it in a ready position, taught to him by Arthur long ago. Romulus saw the sword, and laughed contemptuously.

"Little fool," he spat, but was still caught by surprise as Merlin lunged forward, aiming for his chest. He just managed to dodge out of the way, and he slashed at Merlin with his gauntlet of metal talons. With a yelp, the warlock stumbled, clutching at the shallow gashes in his neck. Arthur tried to stop him from crashing into him, but grunted as he failed and the pain returned.

Merlin threw himself away from the king and readied the sword again, glaring daggers at the Torturer. He stood between the sadist and the Pendragon defensively, and then Romulus's clawed hand ripped through the air, swift as a cat. There was a slicing sound like blade on whetstone. A moment later, Merlin stared as the blade of the sword fell, looking as though it had been cut from the hilt by a great pair of invisible shears. The tip landed with a pathetic clatter.

"Any more ideas?" asked Arthur, deadpan.

Merlin glanced at him over his shoulder, a hopeless look on his face, then he shrugged and hurled the sword remains at the Torturer. As Romulus attempted to duck beneath the flying hilt, Merlin lunged and tackled him from around the middle. They crashed to the ground in a tangle.

"Run, Arthur!"

The warlock didn't look to see if the king obeyed as he fought to keep the Torturer's clawed gauntlets from gauging his eyes out.

Romulus snarled, pushing Merlin onto his back and pinning him down. A stout, wide blade slipped from his sleeve into his hand. "I'll skin you alive, boy!"

Merlin's heart stopped as the flaying knife flashed past his face. A shearing pain shot across his forehead and he instinctively kicked. Romulus grunted, collapsing, and the warlock shoved him off. Before the next heartbeat he was on his feet. He booted the Torturer's side one more time and then threw Arthur's arm over his shoulders.

"Move it, clotpole."

In his haste, he pulled the king off-balance, making him cry out in pain. His damaged knee crumpled beneath him, and as he fell, he pulled Merlin into a bow.

"Up!" Merlin cried. "Get up!"

He straightened, then saw movement in the corner of his eye. He grasped fistfuls of Arthur's shirt and heaved him out the door just as Romulus's clawed gauntlets slashed across the space the king had until recently occupied. Merlin danced out of range of the second attack and flew out the exit after his friend.

"Just go, idiot!" Arthur snapped, trying to stand.

"Shut it, prat!" Merlin scooped a torch out of a bracket in the hall and swung it at Romulus's head as he emerged from the cell. The Torturer ducked beneath the flames before snatching at Merlin's wrist and holding the torch away. As they grappled with each other, Arthur stuck out his uninjured leg and tripped the sorcerer, and the man fell, dragging Merlin down with him. It was a shocking reflex that forced the warlock to stab at Romulus's hand with the butt-end of the torch.

The Torturer howled in fury and pain as Merlin scrambled away from him, once again throwing Arthur's arm across his shoulders and leading, or dragging, him down the corridor.

It was a circular dungeon, by the shape of the passageway. There were no side branches, and that made it very simple to find the exit. Merlin leaned the king against the wall and inspected the door, hiding his hands from Arthur's view. The door had been magically locked, but with a spear of his own power, Merlin dislodged the pins inside with ease and silently shattered the Torturer's spell like china in one go. Romulus would have had all the time in the world to weave that spell; Merlin came to the conclusion that he was not a very powerful sorcerer, just a sick, twisted sadist.

"Door wasn't locked," explained Merlin as he pushed it open. Arthur never suspected a thing. The warlock supported him once more and took him up the stairs, into the belly of the northernmost turret, kicking the door shut behind him.

There was no response when the servant called through the broken window to the outside. The knights and soldiers of Camelot were gone. Where, Merlin didn't know. He could only hope that they had gotten to safety, if that was possible here.

He started to lead his friend down the corridor as fast as he dared. Arthur was breathing heavily, his limbs shaking with fatigue and pain.

"Wait, wait, put me down." His chest rattled as Merlin obliged, and the servant crouched beside him in concern. Arthur's wounds were terrible on the outside. What had Romulus done to him on the inside?

"I—" He coughed, a horrible hacking sound. "I can't keep going. It hurts—"

"Oh, don't be such a little girl!" Merlin snarled, but there was no force behind his words. He noticed the blood spattered all over his armour. Not his. Not Romulus's. Arthur's.

The servant shivered, then snapped, "What kind of a king are you? Lazy, worthless, who gives up when faced with a few bumps and bruises?"

"You'll go in the stocks for that," Arthur vowed, but he couldn't even glare reproachfully as his breathing hiccoughed worriedly.

"Good. Once we get back to Camelot." Merlin pulled the king back to his feet. "We'll climb the turret. There's an escape bridge—"

"My men..." Arthur's chest definitely wasn't right. He shuddered as Merlin shook him to keep him awake.

"I will find them. I have to get you to safety first."

"Stop sounding like there's hope, idiot."

"There is hope, prat. You stop saying there isn't, and move your feet!"

"You can't talk to your king that way! Thirty lashes for you, and that's a mercy!"

"Again, when we get back."

There would be no lashes, nor any time in the stocks. They both knew this, but just saying that there would be made them believe that they were going to make it out of this one alive, just like every other time.

"These must be the stairs up," said Merlin, using one hand to open a side door. Before he could lead Arthur in, the king threw his weight back in protest.

"Merlin, we must help my men."

"And we will, Arthur. I will find them, but you must—"

"I'll come with you."

"No! You'll only slow me down. I'll get you to safety and then—"

KA-BOOM!

Merlin shoved Arthur to the ground and protected him with his own body as the dungeon entrance exploded. He grunted as chunks of rock ricocheted of the walls and hit him in the back and legs, but otherwise they were both unharmed.

Okay, maybe Romulus was a little stronger than Merlin supposed.

The Torturer emerged from the dust lit by the rising sun through the tall windows, but he made no image of a divine angel with his malicious demeanour and dark intentions.

Arthur couldn't stand again. Merlin, near panicking, hooked his arms under the king's armpits and started to drag him down the corridor, towards the archway that was the turret's exit. Romulus followed steadily, tendrils of black smoke licking off his arms and the tails of his cloak.

"Merlin, I order you to leave me." Arthur's head lolled, his words slurred.

The warlock ignored him.

"If you don't leave, I'll fire you."

Merlin just cursed at him foully enough to make his own mother slap him. Romulus got ever closer, sparks now flicking off his fingertips.

"You're fired."

There was a sudden blast of heat. Merlin screamed, which was not the reaction Arthur expected to receive from his words. The king was abruptly dropped, and he hit the stone floor with a groan. He turned his head up to glower at his former servant, only to see the man frantically smacking the flames that had emblazoned his arms and shoulders.

"Well well well, if it ain't the pretty boy an' the wee bunny!"

Severus the Savage came into view, arms raised. With a motion as though thrusting a ball from his chest, he conjured fresh fire that roared towards Merlin in a raging inferno, who cringed but failed to duck out of the way. The sorcerer cackled as the servant swatted the flames out in a panic, and then knocked him back against the wall with magic, dazing him. Merlin slumped, groaning. "Lord Morgrim will be pleased," the slave master hissed greedily.

The Torturer instantly stopped laughing, and snarled with scorn, "Fool! You think he'd be pleased to hear that his prisoners escaped us both, even if we did recapture them? Who knows what kind of chaos and treasonous thoughts they've poisoned the people with. He must never know they escaped."

Arthur frowned. It was clear that Romulus was the older, and superior, brother. Perhaps because he was more terrifying?

Lying a few feet away, Merlin was thinking the same thing as Arthur. Though he could sense that Severus was more magically powerful, Romulus seemed to be the one in charge. Maybe he could use the jealousy that might have bred between them to his advantage. Somehow. His head was throbbing too much to think properly.

"Take this one back to my dungeon," said Romulus, nodding at Arthur. "The 'wee bunny' can come with me to the Chamber." A demonic grin spread across his scarred face. "I have yet to play Pendulum with anyone this week."

Both the words 'Chamber' and 'Pendulum' led to 'torture' in Merlin's mind, and suddenly an aching head didn't seem such a big deal.

The Torturer did not meet a wounded, harmless young man as he expected when he went to collect him. He met a wild, furious, and very protective servant swinging fists and ready to tear his throat out.

Merlin's hand was latched onto a broken stone piece as he swung it and hit Romulus across the jaw. The Torturer flinched and recoiled, giving Merlin the chance to punch with the rock-wielding fist into his ear. Romulus slashed wildly with his clawed gauntlets, but missed as Merlin danced away. He hit him once more, this time on the temple, and the sorcerer crumpled.

Severus roared in fury. Merlin spun around in time to dodge the spit of fire that shot towards him. It exploded on the wall as the warlock charged at the slave master, murder in his eyes. Severus must have seen the blood lust in that gaze, for his expression became one of horror and he stumbled backwards over the ruins of the dungeon door. Being so rotund, he more rolled than fell onto his back, and his arms waved like a beetle's in distress.

Merlin was merciless. He smashed the rock into the sorcerer's nose, and, hearing the sickening crunch of breaking bone and feeling the hot gush of blood on his hands, he stole a few daggers from Severus's knife belt, left the senseless man where he lay and returned to his king.

Arthur was staring at him, incredulously dumbfounded.

"I swear, I don't know you anymore, Merlin," he said, eyes wide.

۞ Ӂ ۞

The kitchen staff seemed pleased with return of their favourite clumsy but charming escapee. Merlin had followed his nose and rediscovered the kitchen, and took Arthur there to hide him. They had lost the chance to finish off the sorcerer brothers, as what seemed like an entire legion of Essetir soldiers paraded into the turret. Merlin had just managed to get his king into the side door undetected, which didn't lead up the tower as previously supposed but to a maze of hallways. He hid himself and Arthur in a cupboard – which was disturbingly snug – until the danger passed.

Arthur had forthrightly refused to leave the city without his knights, and though Merlin was annoyed, he figured that there should be someone he could trust to look after him while he went by himself to look for the men of Camelot. Unfortunately, the only people he truly trusts are those very same men he must search for. The kitchen staff will have to do.

The pretty kitchen maid, who had given the warlock directions before, was more than willing to help take care of the ailing king. She led both he and Merlin to a storage room full of flour, and made a little cubbyhole for Arthur to hide in. She covered him with empty flour sacks to keep him warm, promising to find proper blankets when she got the chance.

Both men thanked her sincerely, but she just smiled, her cheeks dimpling.

"I'm honoured to help those brave enough to toss that poser lord from his throne," she said. Her expression grew dark. "He should pay for what he has done to me, to my friend, to us all."

Before Merlin could ask what happened, the maid tossed a flour-dusted apron at him.

"You'll need a fresh disguise, I figure," she said, and Merlin slipped the apron over his head. For a moment the garment covered his view, but when it was down over his chest, he was suddenly faced with a white explosion.

Blind, he grunted and stumbled backward, tripping and falling over a barrel.

Betrayed! he thought in despair and anger. And then the maid giggled.

"Now you look like a right bread baker."

Merlin coughed and dusted powder from his eyes as he straightened from his cushions of sacks. The maid was holding a reflective silver platter before him, and he barely recognized himself covered in white.

"A very temporary disguise, I'm afraid," she said, shrugging. "But it may buy you some time."

"Thank you," replied the warlock, standing. He snorted flour out of his nose as politely as he could. "I...What's your name?"

"Lucia."

"And why have you given aid to us, Lucia? Strangers?"

Lucia suddenly looked very sad. "I'd rather not talk about it," she said. She turned from Merlin, towards Arthur lying hidden and cozy in the nest of flour bags. "I'll bring you some food, sire," she said, curtsying, and departed from the room.

"Stop staring or your eyes will pop out of your head, Merlin," muttered the king, and the servant tore his gaze away from Lucia, blushing.

By the time the maid returned, Merlin was trying to revive Arthur.

A lot of you may be thinking, "Why doesn't Merlin heal Arthur with magic?" Well, regarding the TV series, I see it this way: magical healing is a very complex skill that requires years of devoted practice. The sorcerer would also have to have lots of power, not to mention knowledge. Merlin has the power, but not the knowledge; he would have been able to save Will, Freya, and Balinor otherwise, no?

I take these assumptions and use them in my stories. Just thought I'd let you know :)

So how about that critique? Should I delete this cursed thing or just downsize the whump? I like the latter idea myself, but it's up to you, friend.

"My pride is the only thing that they can't take from me." ~ Sir William Thatcher (A Knight's Tale)