Chapter 10 – Leaders and Followers:

Merlin woke up blissfully warm and content, so she was suspicious at once. She gawked, disoriented, at the light filtering through the dirty window and the faded wood paneling and the not-so-fresh sheets and the…muscular arm around her waist. And suddenly, the heat pressed along her back made a lot more sense.

Arthur was sleeping peacefully behind her, his chest flush against her back. Merlin could feel his soft exhales on the back of her neck, and instead of being annoying, like it should have been, it was oddly comforting. She snuggled closer into Arthur's arms and he shifted almost imperceptibly to tighten his hold. Merlin stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, but couldn't have been more than a few minutes, reveling in how easy it was, how wonderful it was to be held and to be cherished. Merlin could get used to waking up like this everyday; and if she shut her eyes, she could almost pretend that this was reality, and that Arthur did have feelings for her beyond mutual affection.

And that train of thought was stopped before it could leave the station. Wandering down that path would achieve nothing but trouble. In one swift movement, Merlin wiggled out of Arthur's arms, vaulted out of bed, and went to get dressed.

X-x-x

Arthur had woken up before dawn, his inner clock kicking in despite being in a different time zone. He tensed immediately upon opening his eyes when he registered the unfamiliar environment, relaxed when he realized where he was, and tensed again when he became aware of whose back he was draped over. Merlin just mumbled incoherently in her sleep, and Arthur didn't have the heart to jostle her out of what was clearly a very comfortable position just because it was awkward.

He tried his best to go back to sleep, but it was difficult when the soft, not-quite-flowery scent of Merlin's hair was pervading his nostrils and he was hyper-aware of his arm rising and falling rhythmically with Merlin's deep slumberous breathing. After a while, just as Arthur felt his consciousness slipping and his limbs growing heavy, Merlin stirred. He panicked and forced his body to relax, feigning sleep.

Merlin shifted, and Arthur could pick out, from her sharp intake of breath, the exact moment she grasped the situation. But she didn't immediately flinch or flee like Arthur expected her to, just the opposite, she nestled closer. Arthur had to try very hard not to reciprocate. And it was better than nice, it was all the way up there with glorious and spectacular and other the colorful vocabulary he was supposed to use in his writing.

And then Merlin squirmed away, leaving him bereft. The springs creaked, announcing her departure from the bed and then it was far too cold and empty. Arthur continued to control his breathing and keep his body still, to prolong the charade. He heard Merlin get dressed with quick efficient motions, and if he weren't faced the other way, he would have tried to sneak a peek.

Arthur waited for the click that would indicate her exit, but it didn't come. He heard her steps come closer, returning towards the bed. The curiosity was too much to resist and Arthur opened his eyes a crack. Merlin's arm dove under her side of the pillow and retrieved a mess of silver. It was the necklace she always wore, but was extremely close-mouthed about. Arthur still didn't know what pendant hung at the end of the chain.

Like a viper, his hand darted out and caught Merlin's wrist. She was startled, but not too startled since, before Arthur could react, she transferred the necklace to her other hand and tucked it away in her pocket. Merlin glared at him. "Must you scare me like that?"

Arthur paid no attention to her question. "Can we talk?"

"About what?" She instantly became guarded and withdrawn.

"About," he gestured between them, "us. Whatever this thing is that we're dancing around."

"There's nothing between us," Merlin responded, a touch too hasty.

"Merlin. You kissed me, remember?"

"A mistake."

Arthur balked at the venom in her tone, wounded by her words. "Are you sure –"

Merlin cut him off abruptly. "Yes."

He made a frustrated noise. "Merlin! I'm trying to have a meaningful conversation with you."

"Well, could you not?" she snapped.

They stared at each other, reaching an impasse. Arthur was half risen off the bed, his fingers still circling Merlin's wrist. She shook him off and stomped out of the room.

When Merlin flung the door open, Gwaine took step back from where he was about to knock. She stormed past him without a word. The captain raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Lover's spat?"

"Something like that," Arthur huffed, getting out of bed and pulling his clothes on. "Bloody women."

Gwaine nodded, sympathetic. "I know, mate. They're fickle." He gazed off into the distance and Arthur could see through the doorway that Gwaine's eyes were on Merlin. "But that one. I like her. You don't see a girl like that too often." His expression was distinctly shark-like.

Arthur frowned. Recently, he'd been spending far too much time fending off Merlin's admirers. In the end, he just spouted something neutral and shoved past Gwaine to get breakfast.

X-x-x

It took them another two days to reach their destination. From Arthur's vague understanding, they had entered the San Francisco Strait and were now sailing in the Sacramento-San Joaquin Bay, which occupied what had once been California's Central Valley. The Lost Queen's Island was one of the lower mountains in the Sierra Nevada range that had been submerged until only its tip stuck out. Supposedly, that was where his mother had been born and where she was laid to rest. And that was where Arthur was headed.

Gwaine stood on the deck, telescope in one hand, compass and map in the other. He was flipping between the three, staring out at the ocean, squinting at the map, and shaking the compass with a confused look on his face.

"Is something wrong?" Arthur asked.

Gwaine scowled at his map. "Perhaps. We should be heading to the southern end of SSJ Bay, yet we are sailing north."

"Have you gotten us lost?"

The captain shook his head vigorously. "This has nothing whatsoever to do with me –"

"Watch out!" Arthur shouted.

Gwaine spun around to see one of his crew members running at him with a club. The captain drew his sword and disarmed the man, then knocked him out with a blow to the head. The man crumpled to the ground, but his charge seemed to be some kind of signal, because after that, more of the crew emerged, crudely armed and shouting bloody murder. Arthur was grimly pleased that he'd been paranoid enough to keep his sword on him. He pulled out his weapon just in time for one of the thugs to attack him. And then another. And another.

Arthur's decade of training kicked in and he became a blur of action. He parried one blade and then pivoted to block a low-line attack then ducked to avoid a floundering swipe meant to decapitate. With more and more sailors pressing in, it was impossible to go on the offense. All Arthur could do was hold them off as long was he could, but he knew it was futile. No reinforcements were coming, it was him and Gwaine up against about fifteen crew members. Despite fighting like clumsy brutes, their sheer number put the odds in their favor. This wasn't a structured duel like what Arthur was used to, these men didn't play by any rules. This was a mutiny, and they were out for blood.

Gwaine was surrounded by a similar mob of the men he had once trusted. And since he was the captain, they were attacking with a viciousness that Arthur had been spared. Gwaine had always taken pride in his swordsmanship, but one man could only do so much. A few luckily landed blows and a particularly nasty cut to the leg had him down for the count. He was swiftly disarmed, pushed to his knees, and bound up with a length of rope. Arthur was similarly restrained, though it took them a bit longer to subdue him. Gwaine had to admit his grudging respect for the man's skill with a blade.

"Your quarrel is with me, not our guest. Let him go," Gwaine commanded.

The man who was allegedly in charge of the mutiny, a rat-faced louse named Cedric stepped forward. "Ya ain't our capt'n no more. We ain't gon' do nothin'."

Another man ran up. "Look what we found in 'is bags!" He pulled out Arthur's red cape, the Pendragon crest blaringly obvious. "Sonny 'ere is a knight!"

"Who cares?" Someone else shouted. "Jus check if 'e's got dough."

The man rummaged in Arthur's pack. Arthur winced, waiting for him to find the colossal amount of money he'd stashed away. But he came up empty handed. "'e ain't got none. Which one of ya rats took it?"

His accusation resulted in a brief scuffle that distracted the crew for a minute. They gathered around the two men, shouting "Fight! Fight!"

But soon enough they returned their attention to Gwaine and Arthur. Cedric stalked up to the two prisoners cockily, a move he wouldn't have dated to do if they hadn't been trussed up. "Ya may've hidden ya cash, but we can still get somethin' outta ya. The ol' lord o' tha mount'n'll pay to get 'is hands on th' likes of ya."

"Oi! Wha 'bout tha girl eh? Where she get off to?"

Two men peeled off the main group and lumbered away to find Merlin. They found her barricaded in the pantry. It was quick work from there, ramming down the door and dragging her up to the main deck.

"Don't touch me, you moron!"

The man ignored her until she stuck a dagger through his hand. He howled and hopped around in pain. Arthur stifled a laugh.

Merlin was backhanded across the face and the blow had her reeling backwards. Right into the other sailor's arms. He tied Merlin's wrists behind her back and pushed her down next to Arthur. She glanced at his bleeding injuries with worry writ across her face. He dismissed it with a microscopic shake of his head.

Both of their heads snapped up when the man in the crow's nest called, "Land ho!"

Looming majestic over all of their heads was a jagged mountain range, dotted with scrawny vegetation and pockmarked with caves. And while the crew had been occupied with staring at the landscape, Arthur surged to his feet and landed a kick on the thug guarding him. His oof! when Arthur's foot connected with his solar plexus alerted the others. The prince was quickly taken down again and struck over the head with the pommel of his own sword. Arthur slumped, unconscious, a ruby bead of blood skating down his temple. Merlin and Gwaine quickly shut up and made themselves look as far from intimidating as possible.

The boat stopped about half a mile out from the coast. They rowed ashore in two separate rowboats, one with Merlin, Gwaine, and three of the crew, the other with Arthur, Cedric, and three more goons. A man dressed in rough robes stood with three horses, waiting for them at the water's edge.

The three of them were tossed out of the boats unceremoniously the instant they reached the shore. Merlin tripped and fell in the wet sand, creating two damp spots in the fabric of her skirt. She struggled to her feet before the men could prod her forward and make her stumble again. Arthur, still out cold, was thrown over one man's shoulder and then hefted over the back of one of the horses. Merlin and Gwaine, on the other hand, were tied to the bridle of the other horse by rope leashes, while Cedric mounted the animal himself.

Their guide, sent by the "Lord of the Mountain", lashed the horse Arthur was on to his own steed and set off down a barely-there path up the mountain. He had to pause every few minutes to let Merlin and Gwaine catch up. The trail was treacherous, loose shale giving way under their feet and tumbling all the way to the bottom of the steep incline. Merlin, because she was just not built for it, and Gwaine because he was battered from the skirmish earlier, were not having a fun time. It took them about half an hour to travel about a mile to their final destination, a dilapidated castle.

Merlin wished Arthur was conscious for this; she knew he'd appreciate the irony buried somewhere in there. And his warrior mind was a lot more proficient than hers at committing every escape route to memory.

They entered the castle courtyard to a flurry of activity. A bewildering amount of people were everywhere, carrying strings of fish, leading squalling toddlers, or balancing woven baskets filled with dirty laundry. Their arrival went mostly unnoticed, which made Merlin wonder if seeing tied up and/or knocked out hostages was a daily occurrence. But one man did notice their presence. He strode over with the stern countenance of one not to be messed with.

"Seneschal," their guide murmured with deference. "I have the pirate and the captives."

The seneschal favored the man with a brusque nod. "Leave the mutineer and the captain with me. Take the other two to the dungeon. They will be dealt with later."

Their guide gestured at a few men to help him. Together, they hauled Arthur off his horse and dragged him away. Merlin was almost an afterthought. Someone cut her lead rope from Gwaine's and led her across the courtyard. Now the people openly gawked and parted like the red sea for her. Merlin had to refrain from showing them an inappropriate hand gesture.

"Careful, sweetheart," the man escorting her said when they reached the stairs. He held out a hand to aid her descent.

Merlin bared her teeth at him like an angry cat. "Call me sweetheart again and I'll skin you."

He didn't offer to help her again, but he sure as hell looked tempted to when Merlin nearly pitched face-first over an unseen threshold. Her fierce snarl, however, held him off. She'd had it compounded into her head that men were creepers. With the amount of psychopaths she ran into on a daily basis, Merlin wasn't taking any chances with these strangers.

They reached the dungeons just as Arthur was being dropped off. Her chaperone dumped her in the same cell, too lazy to find the keys to another one. It was small: ten by ten feet square, surrounded on three sides by stone and one with a metal grate, and carpeted with moldy hay. The only source of light was a tiny, high window and the meager torches outside the cells.

After their shuffling footsteps and jangle of metal faded away, Merlin was left with her own breathing, the skittering of rodents, and an incessant leak that reminded her too much of the brig. She got up and went to check on Arthur. He was breathing pretty regularly, but still unconscious. There were a few shallow scrapes on his arms and sides, blood clotted and dried, and a couple deeper ones that had been reopened over the course of their journey. What worried Merlin was the lump that was sure to be on his head.

She turned her body and scooted around until her bound hands could reach the knife concealed in Arthur's boot. There were a few weapons stashed on her person as well but this was easier to access. Then, balanced on her knees, Merlin unsheathed the blade and gripped it with her feet. Carefully, she stretched the rope taut between her wrists and brought it to the knife, sawing back and forth with slow, measured motions.

Once her hands were free, Merlin cut Arthur free as well so he wouldn't strain his shoulders. Then she saw to his injuries as best she could, cleaning them gently with the dubious water from the pail in the corner and tearing strips off one of the shifts she was wearing to use as bandages. On the whole, Merlin did a rather shoddy job. She hoped Arthur would wake up soon, so he'd be able to dress the wounds better himself.

Merlin ghosted her questing fingertips over the crown of Arthur's head. The knob wasn't too hard to find; it had bled profusely and though she had just wiped his face clean, it was beaded with ruby drops once again. Merlin pulled his head onto her lap and lightly dabbed at it. Arthur made a whimpering, pained noise. She decided to leave it and ask for ice or a poultice later. Instead she traced curious fingers over the uninjured parts of Arthur's face, swooping down his nose, outlining his jaw, and venturing over his collarbones. When Merlin began to feel a bit weird about touching the prince in his comatose state, she played with his hair, making little braids and letting it slip out again, or just combing her fingers through the strands, enjoying the silky feel.

That was what Arthur woke up to, soft hands stroking his head. When Merlin realized he was coming round, she made to move away, but Arthur caught her hands and tugged them back. "S'nice. Don't stop," he mumbled.

"How are you feeling?"

Arthur's hands came up to feel the swelling on his head and the crudely-dressed gashes on his body and he winced. "Not too great."

She just continued to pet his hair and Arthur tried not to purr like a sleepy kitten.

"So where are we?" He eventually asked.

Merlin glanced around. "In a dungeon."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Oh thanks, I didn't notice."

She frowned at him but continued, "We're in some sort of castle on an island in the northern part of the Sacramento-San Jacinto Bay. I assume Cedric intends to sell us for some sort of bounty to the overlord here. So we're not exactly in danger –"

"Just in prison," Arthur finished for her. "Even if we did escape, we've lost everything. It'll be impossible to return to Orkney or get word to Leon without any money."

That made Merlin start grinning like a loon. "But we haven't lost everything." She reached down into her boots and pulled out folded maps, including Gwaine's nonsensical one along with multiple daggers. "When I saw you were in trouble, I went back to our room and took everything important, maps, knives, money. Then on my way to the kitchen I found the sailors' bunks and took most of their earnings." Merlin fished out coins from down the front of her dress, concealed in the sash, the bodice, the pockets, and tucked into the seams. "And I put a hole in all their barrels to drain their rum supply," she finished gleefully.

Arthur's mouth fell open. "I think I love you right now." He also made a mental note to never ever get on Merlin's bad side.

She looked down at him and smiled fondly. The tender expression was promptly wiped off her face by the clink of keys and chain mail heralding the approach of guards. Arthur scrambled to a sitting position, swaying and biting back a groan when the vertigo and headache hit him all at once. Right away, Merlin's steadying hands were there, ready in case he fell. Arthur ignored her and lurched to his feet using the rough-hewn stone wall as leverage. He took a few uneven steps forwards and placed himself between the entryway and Merlin.

The guards weren't fazed by the gesture. They unlocked the door and went in, two of them grabbing Arthur and another man taking Merlin. Their wrists were swiftly clasped in shackles, and this time Merlin would not be able to cut them free with only her feet and a dagger. They were marched out of the dungeons and up to the throne room through a passage which was built for that express purpose of transporting prisoners.

There was a man sitting in a plain wooden chair on the dais where a throne was meant to stand. In fact, all of the furniture in the room was mismatched and shabby, completely out of place in the majestic hall. Gwaine fidgeted in the center of the room, untied but resembling a chastised child.

"Another one, Gwaine?" the man was saying, exasperated. "This the third crew you've lost. I'm afraid I can't grant you another one."

The pirate was nodding sadly. "I understand, my lord. But for the record, I did bring back some precious cargo."

The man on the throne sat back and regarded Arthur and Merlin. "I suppose I can't disagree with that. You're dismissed, Gwaine, I'll speak with you at another time."

Gwaine gave an extravagant bow complete with hat sweeping and hand waving and then hurried out.

Arthur and Merlin were prodded forward by some unseen hand signal. They were scrutinized by the man, though he skated over Merlin, indecipherable eyes lingering on Arthur. He eventually got up and descended the platform to investigate further. Finally he spoke. "Welcome to the Isle of the Dragonlords, Prince Arthur."

Arthur didn't even flinch, although Merlin's loud gasp was reaction enough for the both of them. "Lord Balinor," he acknowledged.

"Very good," Balinor responded. "And you know what I do here?"

"From what I understand, you run a madhouse filled with people who would love to kill me."

Balinor, luckily, seemed more amused than offended. "We like to use the word sanctuary. And it's nothing personal, more like guilt by association. You see, for that same reason, I'm afraid I can't allow you to return or you'll surely lead your father here, and I can't have that. I am responsible for all these people, you know."

The guards swarmed forth and restrained Arthur and Merlin. "Stop!" Arthur shouted. "Let her go!"

Merlin struggled fiercely. "Shut up, Arthur, I'm not leaving you."

Balinor suddenly seized her by the shoulders, his face pale and his eyes fixated on something. He caught her necklace, which had fallen out from where it had been tucked in her bodice. "Where did you get this?" he asked in a low, frightened voice.

"I –I don't –"

He shook her. "Tell me! Who did you steal this from?"

Merlin tried to shrink away, but Balinor's hand was clamped on her arm. "I didn't, I swear! It's mine!"

"Don't lie to me, girl!" Balinor snarled.

Arthur wrestled with the guards behind them. "Just give it to him, Merlin. Just let him have it!"

Balinor froze. He looked into Merlin's eyes and recoiled as if he were burned. "Merlin? You can't be –"

Merlin was a step ahead of him, her confusion clearing in seconds. She moved closer to Balinor. "You're him, aren't you? The man from the picture? You're my –" she choked around the unfamiliar word. " –father."