14. Saying Goodbye
It well may be
That we will never meet again
In this lifetime.
So, let me say before we part:
So much of me
Is made of what I learned from you.
You'll be with me
Like a handprint on my heart.
And now whatever way our stories end
I know you have rewritten mine
By being my friend.
- Stephen Lawrence Schwartz
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By the time their group reached the base of the mountain, Merlin was numb – on the outside from the cold and the exertion, and on the inside from too much looming terror. He'd sometimes morbidly wondered what it would feel like to be condemned and forced to sit around anticipating his own execution – now he knew exactly how it would be. He could see lights in the distance, was aware what it most likely meant for him, but he was too physically and emotionally exhausted to care anymore. Everything was beyond his control and all he could do was follow mutely where they took him.
But the lights ahead became a border stockade – not a city or a mine – stone walls and four wooden towers rising from the corners. There was daylight left and Merlin figured they would press on past but to his quivering relief, Sir Einar turned the group aside, declaring they would halt for the night and finish the short trip to the citadel in the morning.
Merlin's feelings were mixed – it was the gift of another night of relative safety, but also another night of awful uncertainty and dreading the unknown.
The wooden gates of the structure opened wide and their group entered – horses, wagons and all. The last to file through, the boy glanced around apprehensively. An open square was surrounded on three sides by wooden rooms that had been built up against the stone walls. The square itself held two huge bonfires that cast light on dozens of soldiers milling around, and three large, metal cages filled with waiting slaves.
The servant's terror returned full force.
Men dismounted. Arthur was unbound from his horse and helped to the ground before being led away to one of the wooden rooms. Merlin waited for his own turn, but there seemed to be a sort of quiet discussion going on between several of the soldiers a little ways off from him. He recognized Twyford, his new guard, and a few of the others. Eventually, the group broke up and Twyford approached him.
Unable to hide his shaking, Merlin gestured with his head to the pens full of waiting slaves.
"Later," Twyford nodded sadly as he released the boy from the rope that tethered him to the wagon. "But not quite yet. There's work to do and many mouths to feed tonight; the servants are short-handed, so for now, you will still serve. Between you and me, Merlin, the others don't look easily pressed into domestic duties. Would you dare eat anything they cooked?"
Merlin glanced back at the miserable, trapped men – all muscles and foul mouths and hairy chests – and couldn't help but agree.
So he spent his unexpected extra evening once more hauling water, arranging bedrolls in the long, side rooms where the soldiers were to sleep, and peeling enough potatoes to quite literally feed a small army while trying to avoid Gobert's blows, Hab's rancid tongue, and Molls' wicked spoon. He was sitting on an overturned bucket, up to his elbows in potato skins and idly listening to the conversations of the soldiers around him as a way to distract his brain from unavoidable, future events, when he heard Sir Einar speak behind him.
"Is the prince settled?"
"Yes, sir," a voice Merlin didn't recognized answered.
"You left him unchained and the guard has been doubled at his door?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. After supper, have the lad heat two extra buckets of water and then tell Soldier Adric he will attend His Majesty tonight, that he may be clean and refreshed for our arrival tomorrow."
The half-peeled potato and knife sat forgotten in Merlin's hands as he listened, full understanding of what he was hearing quickly clicking in his mind.
For whatever reason, trick, or charade – Arthur was being prepared to enter the citadel tomorrow in regal splendor. A bath and a shave, clean clothes and combed hair… Some nameless soldier with no respect for the Crown Prince or Camelot would be assisting him, while Merlin spent the last night he would ever be near his master skinning roots and scrubbing pots.
He glanced at the far side of the compound to the cages full of slaves – one or two had leered almost hungrily at him as he passed back and forth for his chores – and saw his own future staring back at him with sickening certainty.
Emotions, hot and conflicting, crashed through him – fear, desperation, pride, anger, love – and he acted on impulse – he had nothing left to lose. He dropped the potato and knife to the ground and scrambled to his feet, rushing the few paces to where Sir Einar stood with a small group of soldiers. The boy didn't pause to think, to ponder what could happen to him, he simply sank to his knees before the weathered man and poured every ounce of pleading he could muster into the gaze he turned up to meet the knight's shocked eyes.
"What do you think you're doing! Get away!" angry voices cried while rough hands grabbed at him, yanking him back as his chains clanked. They began to drag him to his feet but Sir Einar stopped them with a quick motion. Unceremoniously released, Merlin fell back painfully to his knees and then ducked his head down, unashamed that he was begging.
"What is it lad? What do you wish of me that you would take such a risk?" the man asked, real curiosity coloring his voice.
Merlin dared a glance up as he gestured shakily toward the room where Arthur was locked and then back to himself where he mimed the action of shaving. Sir Einar's eyes flashed with intelligence, understanding, and something else he couldn't place before the boy once more lowered his head.
"You heard me speaking?" the knight asked.
Merlin hesitated for a moment but then nodded.
"And you wish to serve your prince tonight yourself?"
He nodded again, more sure this time.
There was a long pause while Merlin's heart thudded loudly in his chest, and then the leader spoke again. "I will allow it," he said firmly.
Merlin's head jerked up in surprise as several of the surrounding soldiers came alive with protests.
"But, sir!" one cried. "Surely that's too great a risk, with the prince completely unbound tonight?"
"He's just a slave!" another said in shock. "Why listen to his begging?"
Something cold passed over the old knight's face and he rounded slightly on the man who had just spoken. "You know where this boy is headed tomorrow, what his fate will be," he said, his voice suddenly gone chillingly quiet. "Yes, he's just a slave, but he was not always so. And what if he were you, Soldier? His downturn of fortune yours? Would you not want one last night for fond memories and farewells?"
Merlin watched in incredulous disbelief as the soldier fell silent. Sir Einar turned to the others. "As for the pair escaping, the boy will remain chained and tethered inside the room, and are there not two of our very own set to guard the door each hour of the night?"
The men nodded.
"Besides," Sir Einar concluded, "where would they run?"
Chagrined, the dissenting men moved off, leaving Merlin alone with the knight, still hardly able to believe what had just happened as he knelt on the muddy earth. He pressed his head gratefully to the tops of the other's boots, trying to convey his thanks, before fingers faintly tugged his hair and bade him look up.
"Finish your potatoes, boy, and help with dinner. Then you may boil the water and bring it to the prince's door. Soldiers will meet you there with the other things you will need."
Merlin nodded and started to climb wearily to his aching feet, but he stopped when a calloused hand landed on his shoulder.
"Lad, I warn you, do not test my kindness."
The servant gulped – message clearly received – and nodded heartily. Sir Einar let him go and stepped back, and the boy quickly pulled himself up and rushed back to his peeling. He'd just been granted a gift he'd thought was impossible – the chance to see and serve Arthur one last time. No way would he jeopardize that by being slow.
00000
Arthur sat in his current room, resting his elbows on the wooden table and his head in his hands – and wasn't that a weird feeling to actually sit in a chair after more than a week of only sitting on a horse, the ground, or a hard cot – fully aware that his mood was rivaling that of a completely disgruntled bear. He was angry and bored and beyond frustrated, and he felt no need to hide those facts.
Soldiers had led him into this place and puttered about for a few minutes. A fire was lit, candles as well, and he heard other movements he couldn't place. Finally, they had removed his blindfold and manacles and then came a shock when they retreated without attaching the chain to his ankle!
Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Arthur had jumped at the chance. The sound of multiple locks on the thick door had barely finished clicking when he was moving about, examining every corner of the room built of stone and wood.
A fire burned in a center ring, smoke escaping through a hole in the distant thatched roof, and candles lit the room from rustic sconces mounted to each wall. There was no window. The packed earth floor was covered in places with animal skins, and the furnishings consisted of the table, two chairs, an empty chest, a chamber pot, and a single rope-bed that was built into one wall and made up in wool and furs.
The outer, stone wall was impenetrable – he'd checked. Even if he could stack the furniture high enough to reach the smoke hole in the ceiling, and then manage to climb it without falling, the thatching would never hold his weight and the resulting crash would alert everyone to his plan. He could smash the furnishings to pieces, but again the noise would be noted, and to what end? He'd have a wooden club to use against a garrison of soldiers armed with steel swords. There was nothing to dig with, and no time for a proper tunnel through the dirt floor that was packed hard as stone. He supposed he could light the wooden walls on fire, but he would probably die of flames or smoke long before there was a viable escape route, and the more likely outcome was that it would quickly be detected, put out, and his mobility restricted harshly. And punishment administered – probably brought down on Merlin.
So he now sat there, feeling bored and caged – beyond restless – and wishing the stupid soldiers had at least given him something to do. Even the horribly dull reports his father made him deal with at home sounded welcome at the moment.
His stomach growled loudly, reminding him they had yet to bring him food for the night. Maybe they figured leaving him unbound was reward enough and he had no need of super?
As if knowing his thoughts, sounds suddenly came from the other side of the door, the noise of locks being undone. Arthur stood, reflexively reaching to arm himself with a weapon that wasn't there. Embarrassed, he crossed his arms and glared at the door as it swung open instead.
One soldier entered and stood near him, sword loose in his hand but stance firm and unmistakably a warning not to move. A second brought in a chain and fixed it to a rung at the foot of the bed.
"Changed your minds, huh?" Arthur spat darkly, unable to keep his spirits from sinking at the thought of being bound again, though he managed not to let any of his disappointment reach his expression.
And then his servant blustered in, arms full of cloth and items that threated to tumble to the ground at any moment and a familiar – if very tired – grin plastered across his face and Arthur forgot all about an answer to his question.
The boy scanned the room, noted the chain and its length, and then headed over and dumped his armful messily on the bed. It was such a normal, Merlin action that Arthur couldn't help the smile that parted his own lips – mostly from relief as a huge knot he hadn't even noticed in his stomach loosened and relaxed.
Merlin was still alive!
His servant gave him another little grin and a wave, and then limped quickly out of the room again. Arthur's face fell in disappointment, but before he could even protest the black-haired boy was back, this time with a tray full of food. He hobbled over to the other end of the table nearest the bed – Arthur started to take an instinctual step toward him but the guard brought his sword up in warning and the prince stopped – and quickly arranged what looked like an actual meal on the table: bread, stew, cheese, some dried fruit, and a goblet. Then the young man took a small bowl and tucked it under the bed near where the chain was attached before exiting yet again, carrying the empty try.
This time Arthur tried not to panic, instead just waiting, and sure enough, Merlin returned a third time, lugging two buckets filled to the brim with steaming water, which he placed carefully near the burning fire. A last trip and he dumped an armful of wood to the side, enough to last through the night and again, purposefully within reach of the end of the chain.
Arthur waited for the guards to order him over to the restraint, desperately hoping he would be allowed to speak to his friend before they forced him out of the room for the last time. To his surprise, however, it was Merlin who walked over to the bed and sat unprotestingly while the second soldier fixed the iron cuff to his skinny ankle, tethering him to the room. Then, with a final warning glare, both guards exited and slammed the door shut, locks grating back into place.
Glancing away from the door and around his less empty prison, realization hit Arthur with giddy joy – Merlin was staying, at least for a while, and he'd carefully placed things where he'd be able to reach them at the end of his chain.
Arthur looked back at his friend who was still just sitting there, smiling a smile that was equal parts ecstatic and mournful, and he suddenly felt slightly lost. He felt the days full of distance and different paths of suffering and pain that stretched between them, his helplessness to do anything to protect his servant from the terrors he'd endured, but he also felt the desperate pull and deep longing of the familiar, of a short break from the worry and the anguish. He thought he could see a similar conflict reflected in the rather watery, blue eyes of his servant and it helped ground him slightly in his new, uncertain world – gave him someone to be strong for.
"About time you showed up for work, Merlin," he teased gently, leaning casually back against the table's edge with his arms crossed. "Been over a week. Where on earth have you been?"
A real smile, one that even reached the boy's eyes, filled his friend's face and he lifted his manacled hands palms up into a shrug. Arthur knew the gesture well – it was his 'I don't know what you're talking about I'm totally innocent' shrug – and he couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up and escaped.
It was more healing than any medicine or balm, but it couldn't last for long. Merlin pushed himself to his feet and gestured for Arthur to sit and eat. The prince shook his head, moving to intercept his friend as he stepped toward the table and stopping him with a light hand on his shoulder.
Serious once more, Arthur gripped the boy's chin softly and studied the green, yellow, and blue bruises that littered his face, tilting his head gently one way and then the other. His skin felt cool – no traces of a fever to Arthur's relief – but appearances could be deceiving and he had learned his servant was a master at hiding his own needs.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
A small tremor ran through Merlin at the question. He quickly hid it with a double thumbs-up, but Arthur caught the deception. His eyes narrowed and he frowned.
"And that was an outright lie in answer to probably my stupidest question ever," he said with a sigh as he dropped his hands to his sides. "Come on, then. Let me see. Tunic and jacket up."
Merlin crossed his arms and rolled his eyes in silent defiance.
Arthur crossed his arms and skewered Merlin with a full-blown 'I am your prince and master' glare.
Arthur won.
Merlin sighed and tugged his clothes up, then stood there, not really meeting his eyes, as Arthur examined his friend's mottled and scabbed-over skin. The horrible bruises from almost three days ago had faded slightly, sickly brown and yellow now instead of stark purple and black. Arthur wasn't fooled, though – he knew from personal experience how much lingering pain the boy would still be enduring from the beating. The addition of several newer, dark bruises on top of the old made his blood boil and he had to clench his teeth to keep from saying something he'd regret.
"Ribs mending?" he asked instead, reining in his desire to touch the bruise that remained the darkest, though slightly smaller, right over two of his friend's fragile bones.
Merlin nodded and Arthur let the boy's clothes drop back down.
A quick check on the wound he was most fearful of showed that, while it was still barely scabbed over and far from healed, no infection was present and it was bandaged and clean.
"The red-haired man kept his word?" Arthur asked, almost shocked. "He got you help?"
Merlin nodded again as he rewound the bandage and fixed his trousers.
"At least there is one semi-honorable man here," the prince grumbled.
His servant rolled his eyes once more, clothing sorted back to normal, and then gestured with exaggeration to the meal spread on the table.
"Would you please deign to eat now?" he almost heard Merlin's mocking voice ask.
"Absolutely," he answered the implied question. "I'm famished."
It was true. The food was warm and good and after the first bite Arthur found that he was totally starving. He dug in with relish and had made it through the fruit and cheese and most of the stew before he noticed he was alone. He glanced up in a slight panic and looked around for his servant, quickly finding him sitting on the floor by the bed, his back braced against one of the legs for support and the small bowl in his hands.
"What are you doing over there? Why don't you sit with me?" he asked in confusion as he pointed to the glaringly obvious second chair. Merlin wasn't one to worry about social proprieties such as sitting in the presence of royalty in normal times; he should have known Arthur would never begrudge him a seat in such an extreme situation as this.
Merlin answered by wiggling one of his legs, causing the chain to jangle slightly as he raised his eyebrows pointedly at his master.
"Oh," Arthur answered lamely, realizing far too slowly that Merlin's tether wouldn't let him move that far. How quickly being free of his own restraints had caused him to forget that Merlin was not so lucky.
The boy just shrugged and turned his attention back to his bowl. Suddenly, the food Arthur had just eaten with such relish felt cold and lumpy in his stomach as he looked at the pitiful amount of stew Merlin was slowly scrapping from the bowl with a single, hard crust of bread, making sure not to miss a single drop. He dropped his eyes back to his own plate as an unfamiliar rush of shame shot through him and all twinges of hunger fled.
He wasn't used to feeling like this – all full of worry over a servant and shame at have more of something than another. He was a prince – princes always had more and the best. That's just how things were. He knew that – Merlin knew that – everyone knew that.
So why did it feel so incredibly wrong this time?
He toyed with the rest of the stew on his plate for a few minutes, unsure what to do, but an idea formed as he noticed his still untouched pieces of fresh bread. He picked them up with a slight grin.
"Oi," he cried, getting his servant's attention before lobbing the bread at his head. Merlin fumbled to catch it, dropping his empty bowl in the process and throwing Arthur a very familiar glare. "This bread is disgusting. Get rid of it somehow, would you?" he ordered haughtily then turned back to finish his stew. He didn't know if Merlin saw through his ruse or not, but when he looked up from his empty plate a while later, the bread was nowhere to be seen. He smiled, though deep inside his heart hurt just a little more.
Merlin stood stiffly then came over and gestured questioningly to Arthur's empty dishes, asking if he was done. When he nodded, the servant stacked everything sloppily on the empty plate and pushed the lot down the table as far as he could reach since he couldn't actually leave to take things away. Arthur had to fight the urge to snort as he realized Merlin's version of cleaning up while a prisoner wasn't actually that much different than his version of cleaning up back at home.
The boy brought one of the buckets of warm water over and set it nearby, turned and tugged Arthur out of the chair and onto his feet, then fluttered his hands about for a moment before gazing expectantly at the prince.
Arthur felt the pretend normalcy shatter and reality crash back down around him as he stared at the servant - he had no idea what Merlin was asking. His eyes were drawn against his will to the boy's neck and the scarf that purposefully covered the cursed metal that had stolen his friend's tongue. Merlin watched him, saw his confusion and the direction of his gaze, and his posture slumped.
"I'm sorry, Merlin," he sighed, running a hand through his hair and ready to sink back into the chair and let the grief that had seeped once more into the room swallow him. Before he could, however, his servant forcefully squared his drooping shoulders, plastered on a determined expression, and tried again.
Arthur watched as the boy marched over to the bed and picked up two items. He pointed at Arthur, then scrunched up his face as if smelling something vile while holding his nose, then pointed to the bucket of water and held up what the prince now saw was a clean cloth and a small lump of soap.
"Hey, I do not stink!" Arthur cried indignantly.
Merlin simply crossed his arms while still holding the cloth and soap and scoffed at him.
"Well, I'll have you know that you don't exactly smell like a basket of roses yourself, Merlin," he tossed out, glad to be back on the comfortable footing of shared banter.
In response, Merlin threw the soap at his head.
It was as if something that had been long stuck had finally come undone – released. Arthur grabbed the goblet and chucked it back at his servant, and then suddenly the air was alive with objects flying through it. He laughed as he ducked and dodged, Merlin doing the same as far as his chain would allow him, the two boys lobbing everything they could – bowls and clothes, a spoon and a goblet and the poor blob of soap – back and forth at each other with giddy delight. A sock landed perilously close to the fire but still they didn't stop – not until one of Merlin's throws went woefully off and his bowl struck the closed door with a crack, splitting down the middle and falling to the ground.
They both froze, looking at each other with wide eyes, and a thump sounded on the outside of the door followed by a shout. "What's goin' on in there?" a grumpy voice yelled.
It wasn't funny – it was the farthest thing from funny in the world, given their current situation – but Arthur found he suddenly couldn't hold back the snorts of laughter. One look at Merlin showed him to be in the same boat, desperately holding a hand to his mouth to keep any thought of vocalizing that mirth at bay.
"Quiet down or I'm comin' in to make you!" the voice threatened.
The two friends waited a moment, nervous, but when all remained still they shared a smile and relaxed. Feeling about ten pounds lighter, they slid back into their reality and the tasks at hand without the need for any comment. Merlin gathered up the scattered items he could reach and Arthur collected the rest. Once everything was back where it had started, the servant again held up the soap and cloth and Arthur nodded.
He felt himself return easily to the role of prince and master as Merlin helped him remove his coat and then his tunic, grateful for the fire that burned steadily and kept the biting cold back to the edges of the room and away from his bare skin. Gently, Merlin scrubbed his back and his chest, washed his arms and hands, wiped away days' worth of dirt and dried sweat. Arthur felt his tensed muscles loosen and relax from the warm water and Merlin's caring hands. When asked, he knelt without protest and leaned over the pail, allowing his servant to wash his filthy hair then dry it with a rough, scratchy towel.
When he stood again, feeling much better, Merlin put the soap and rag into his own hand, pressed a folded pile consisting of clean trousers and smallclothes into his arms, and then turned respectfully away.
He finished his makeshift bath quickly – even with the fire it was too cold to stand around without clothes on when he didn't have to – and was sitting in the chair to wipe down his admittedly smelly feet as he grumbled about wearing borrowed clothes when the rag was gently pried from his hands. He looked up in surprise as Merlin rinsed it out and then knelt down before him. Merlin – his servant who swore the stench of Arthur's dirty socks could bring an enemy army to surrender – then pulled his left foot forward and started to tenderly clean it.
A solemnity stole through the room and Arthur straightened purposefully in his chair. To wash a man's feet by choice was to grant him the greatest of honors. It was an expression of devotion and loyalty and love. The flickering firelight caught on the boy's scraggly hair, glinted off the metal of his chains, highlighted his bruised face and the small tears that were barely visible tracking down his cheeks - and Arthur found himself humbled and touched to the core that Merlin would do this for him, while in the midst of his own great suffering.
When his servant finally released his feet, now both snuggly clad in warm socks, Arthur had to work hard to find his voice again.
"Thank you, Merlin," he whispered with sincerity. Merlin just gave a watery smile and then stood. He turned away for a moment and Arthur knew he was swiping at his face and eyes, before he stepped over to the bed. When he returned, he held up a bowl, a brush, and a small razor, tilting his head in question and desperately trying to pretend the touching moment hadn't ever happened.
"Yes, please!" Arthur cried, following his friend's lead and putting the humbling experience aside to think about later. "By all means you may remove this revolting beard from my face! Honestly, I don't know how Leon stands it!"
Merlin gave a silent laugh, and then the prince settled back in his chair and let his servant shave him. The boy's hands trembled a little and the cumbersome chains were a pain, but Arthur stayed still, determined to show Merlin he trusted him. A few minutes later, after Merlin had dragged a fishbone comb through his now dry hair, Arthur sat up and gratefully ran his hands over his smooth, clean-shaven face.
"That feels so much better," he said, and he meant it. To be warm and clean, have enough food in his stomach, to wear fresh clothes and be free of scratchy stubble… It boosted his spirits and cleared his head, made it easier to think, though he forced himself not to dwell on the reason he'd been allowed all these privileges. He could confront that reality in the morning – for now he would enjoy the respite with his friend. He grabbed the towel and wiped the last of the foam from his face, then stood and wandered closer to the fire, letting the heat warm his still bare chest.
A short clap sounded behind him and he turned back, realizing Merlin had been trying to get his attention and reminding him again how much he missed the incessant blathering his servant would usually fill such times as these with.
"Yes?" he asked.
The boy gestured at the now cool and soapy water, asking through motions if he was done and the pails should be moved aside.
Arthur started to agree but then stopped, his eyes catching once again on Merlin's own filthy hair and scruff-covered face. "Why don't you clean up as well," he offered sincerely, holding out the towel to his friend.
A strange and almost desperate fear seemed to suddenly fill the boy's eyes and he quickly shook his head no.
"No, really," Arthur pressed, confused. "You hate 'face-fuzz' as I seem to recall you naming it even more than I do, or was all that whingeing during hunts for the last two years just for show? Besides, who knows when we'll next get the chance," he couldn't help adding darkly, reminded of exactly where they were. "You should take it." The night had been such a strange interlude in the horrors of the last week – the laughing, the luxuries, the humbling honors rendered by his friend. He felt the need to somehow do something for the young man in return.
Seeing his face, Merlin sighed and agreed, reaching out to take the towel from Arthur with shaking hands.
While the boy washed, Arthur settled down to sit on the bed, pushing the rest of his new clothes aside – he'd don them in the morning. Merlin chose only to wash his face and hair, attacking it quickly with the cold water and soap, before drying off.
The bed the prince was sitting on was lumpy, the mattress simply made of straw, but it was a million times softer than the hard wooden cot or the cold, frozen ground. Arthur found himself growing rather comfortable and sleepy as he vaguely watched his servant settle cross-legged on the floor and expertly shave his own face without even a mirror for reference. He fleetingly wondered how he did it, before remembering rather sheepishly exactly how Merlin had been raised. Ealdor was barely a dot on a map, the people existing with practically nothing. He knew for a fact that Merlin hadn't even seen a mirror until he'd arrived in Camelot and became his servant.
So much hardship in such a short life, he mused sadly, reminded of how young his friend really was as he gazed with the unfocused eyes of lost thoughts on the quiet form still sitting there.
Suddenly, his eyes narrowed and he sat up sharply, really looking. The boy was pale and unnervingly still except for the fine tremors that ran up and down his whole body. An expression of utmost fear and hopelessness was etched onto his now clean-shaven face, his eyes distant and haunted, while one hand gripped the razor tightly, holding it frozen a mere hair's breadth from his own throat.
Fear and shock spiked through him and Arthur was off the bed and yanking his friend's hands down, twisting the razor away before he even found his tongue.
"Merlin!" he cried, eyes full of questioning betrayal and anguish. "What do you think you're doing?" he shouted. He pulled the traitorous piece of metal from his servant's grasp and threw it, far into the corner and well beyond the reach of Merlin's chain.
Face flushed with shame and abject bleakness, Merlin turned away from him, and Arthur felt his trembling increase to the uncontrollable level that spoke of stifled sobs.
"Oh, Merlin," he sighed, turning his grasp on the boy's hands to bring him around so his head rested on Arthur's bare shoulder. "We will get out of this, I promise. There's no reason for desperate acts or lost hope."
It was meant to be comforting in his emotionally limited way, but if anything it only seemed to make Merlin's sobbing increase. Arthur soon found his once clean shoulder now wet with salty tears. After a moment of inward panicking and debate, he wrapped an awkward arm around the boy and just let him cry, unsure of what else to do as reassurances appeared to only make things worse.
Finally, Merlin's tears were spent and he sagged into Arthur's side with limp exhaustion. They sat that way in silence for a long while before the prince finally spoke.
"Merlin, I know this all seems most hopeless and frightening to you. You've been sorely mistreated and our situation is still grim. But you must promise me, no matter what, that you will never…never think of or attempt to harm yourself again! As your prince, I demand you swear this."
He waited what felt like an eternity before Merlin finally nodded, though the expression on the youth's face when he eventually looked up to meet Arthur's gaze seem to be that of a condemned man rather than a reassured one.
"It will be all right," Arthur whispered again, desperate to wipe that look from his friend's broken eyes.
Merlin nodded feebly once more and then sucked in a silent breath. He pushed away from Arthur and sat up, scrubbing at his face and visibly trying to pull himself back together again. In a rare showing of tact, Arthur gave him some space, climbing to his feet and padding across the room on his sock-clad feet to the farthest candle. He snuffed it out, glancing up at the inky black hole in the roof, aware it must be very late by now and they both needed sleep.
"Will they come for you again tonight?" he asked after he'd extinguished all the candles and tossed the last of the wood onto the fire.
The boy was calmer and once more in control – though Arthur's heart still pounded slightly in his chest and he knew the image of Merlin holding that razor to his own pale throat would haunt his dreams. In answer to his question, Merlin simply shrugged, indicating he had no idea. The servant stood on wobbly legs and gathered up the rest of the shaving equipment, placing it all on the table with the soap, towel and rags, then moved the pails of dirty water aside and under the table's edge.
Quiet fell and they both settled down, Arthur on the bed and Merlin on the skin rug beside it, staring wearily into the dancing flames of the fire.
"What was the monster they unleashed today, on the mountain?" Arthur asked, suddenly remembering the still unexplained terror, though it felt like a lifetime had already passed in the few short hours since it happened.
Merlin turned his face up toward him, lips pursed in obvious frustration, and Arthur mentally kicked himself for forgetting the limits of their communication. Still, after a moment of thought, the younger boy tugged on his hand, pulling it lower and turning it palm up.
Snow, he spelled out slowly and carefully across it.
Snow? Arthur puzzled before his brain awoke. Snow – an avalanche! A deliberate manipulation of nature to close the pass and hinder escape.
"Tharennor," he muttered aloud, pieces of the huge puzzle combined with years of royal lessons and training finally clicking into place. Small, mountainous country…strange, mysterious king…"We're in the kingdom of Tharennor."
Merlin nodded, looking at him as if this was old news.
Arthur sighed, letting his head thump back against the wall he was leaning on, forgetting for a moment his own speech about not losing hope. "Tharennor has only one pass in or out," he explained quietly. "And an avalanche rarely melts until spring."
They were stuck – well and truly trapped. Merlin's mouth formed a silent "oh" before he cringed slightly and ducked his head, shoulders slumped dejectedly.
"Get some sleep," Arthur finally ordered, forcing himself out of his dreary thoughts. "You're still healing; you need the rest." He handed off the warmest of the furs, ignoring the servant's gestured protests, then slipped into the bed, pleased when Merlin finally curled up on the floor beside him and tucked the soft material close.
He thought sleep would be hard to find, given all the new information and strange events of the evening that his brain needed to process, but his head had hardly touched the musty pillow when he felt his eyes slip closed and the warm, pleasant darkness of slumber claimed him.
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Arthur awoke without prompting to the strange feeling of being both warm and well-rested, and urgently aware of some horribly important deadline approaching. Light was just barely starting to grey the patch of sky he could see through the smoke-hole, and he knew it was still very early. He turned his head and glanced down – Merlin's half-awake eyes blinked back at him.
With a tandem sigh, both of them rose, reluctantly shedding their warm blankets. The fire had burned to coals during the night and the room was chilled, their breath ghosting out to fog the air before them.
There were no jokes this morning – Arthur found himself with very little to say and Merlin…Merlin couldn't even if he wanted to. But besides that, a strange sort of finality had come to fill the room and the space between them - Arthur didn't quite understand it, but it felt solemn and sacred and he feared to break it.
Merlin's tremors of the night before were gone, replaced by an almost worse sense of resignation. Arthur watched as he folded the fur and then straightened the bed, pale and wraith-like and looking oh so young and lost. The prince opened his mouth to ask, but the servant shook his head, eyes desperately pleading, and Arthur let it close.
He allowed Merlin to finish dressing him – soft tunic, fine doublet and belt, warm coat – the familiar motions taking on a virtually ritualistic feeling in the strangely charged half-darkness of the prison room. The boy fought his sleep mussed hair back into order and then stepped away, staring at him, as if he were trying to commit the sight to firmest memory.
"Merlin?" Arthur breathed, attempting to give voice to the awful something that hung in between them, but his friend turned away, once more shaking his head.
The servant stepped up to the bed and retrieved one last item. When Arthur saw what it was, anger welled up inside, hot and fierce.
A small circlet – a little crown.
A mockery. An insult.
He felt the overwhelming urge to hurl it at the wall, glower and throw a fit. He wanted to refuse to play this game, the one where he – nicely scrubbed and polished up – put on the show of captured prince and mighty prize.
But then Merlin stepped in front of him and held it out with shackled hands, and Arthur watched in amazement as his servant's back and shoulders bent in a gentle, respectful bow. Merlin – the boy full of enough stubborn backbone and pride to hold himself tall even in the face of expectations and orders – willing deflected in reverence to him without a trace of sarcasm or mocking humor. It was the same show of love and devotion as the night before, and Arthur found himself again rendered speechless.
Wordlessly he nodded, allowing the crown to be placed carefully on his neatly combed hair, realizing something very profound. He might be a mockery to every soldier, every noble, every person in this city they would be entering, but to Merlin he was still his prince.
So for Merlin, he would stand tall and wear the offered crown with pride.
It was only moments later that there were sounds outside and the door swung open. Two soldiers entered, just as before – one to guard Arthur and one to collect his friend. Merlin made no protest, waiting to be unchained and then following the guard without order. He paused at the door, though, the strange heaviness of finality in the room growing thick as he offered Arthur a wobbly smile and a nod, and then he was gone.
It wasn't until almost an hour later that Arthur was able to place the feeling that had infused the room since he woke – it was the same that had filled his chambers on that night more than a year ago when his young servant had come to visit him as he miraculously recovered from the Questing Beast's bite.
At the time, he'd sworn Merlin was bidding him goodbye…
Fear filled his heart, deep and cold, as he gazed at the firmly shut door, afraid of exactly what Merlin had been telling him, and even more of what he had not.
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Author's Note: Thank you so much to the few of you who are still with me, cantering on with this strange little tale I've been spinning. It means so much. And thank you to my guest reviewers – I can't reply to your comments, but I love them just as much as all the rest.
A special note of thanks today to two dear friends. First, M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng who listened and read all day as these words kept coming, giving so much encouragement. Then late in my night, Smuffly. This chapter came out fast and nose-dived down several paths I did not expect. She came and read it, and calmed my fears, telling me it was fine. Thank you, my friends. So, to all my readers, if you haven't taken a gander at their amazing tales Please Help My People, and A Trick of the Light, you should go jump into them right now. They're amazing!