A/N: I've never been to Marseille; all my wisdom about it's ancient form in the 5th century stems from Wikipedia. Therefore, should anybody find my descriptions are at fault, I'd be glad to hear of it.

R&R please!

14. Stolen soul

Arthur unwittingly gritted his teeth when he recognized the voice in the corridor. Barkas again. The damned brute's dirty laughter was unmistakable. Why Duke Yvain, usually so meticulously conscious of showing off his education and refinery, insisted on having this primitive, barbaric bastard at the head of his personal guard was beyond the Prince but even so...

Another burst of derisive, abusive laughter drifted into the room and it became clear that Barkas wasn't alone out there. At least one other man was with him. With an impatient sigh, Arthur closed the book he had held in his hands and concentrated on the coming and going on Massilia's quayside.

Seen from the big windows of the Duke's magnificent residence the merchant city's harbour spread out like a panorama, from the old jetties to the somewhat newer Christian monastery of St. Victor at the harbour's south end. The water glittered seductively in the sun and the busy loading of seagoing vessels was hardly suited to calm someone who wished nothing more than to leave the beautiful house for good.

Arthur let his head fall against the window frame when a passing Prelate from one of the city's bigger Christian churches reminded him of tonight's dinner. Yvain had planned it as a welcome gesture for St. Victor's new abbot. The Duke had widespread business connections with the religious groups and he groomed and entertained those connections most carefully. If the house and its furnishings were something of a give-away, he was most successful. Of late he had developed a tendency to show his latest acquisition around in those circles. As nobody knew that Arthur hadn't exactly volunteered for the position of Yvain's ward, people were most impressed with the Duke's family sense and warm affection for his young nephew. The unexpected show of kindness and emotionality had done wonders for the Duke's reputation, especially in the families who had an unmarried daughter to offer.

At the thought of tonight's inevitable pretence the familiar bitterness rose in Arthur's throat. His initial hope that by this roaming in Massilia's social circles word of his whereabouts might get back to Albion, eventually to Camelot, had long been proved to be a chimaera. There were ships which went back to Londinium or even further north or west of Albion but they would do him any good only if he were aboard them and Yvain had taken the utmost care to ensure that this would never be the case.

Which reminded the young captive of the detested soldier who still amused himself with something – or rather someone – in the corridor outside. The Prince really was hacked off by the breeze the man was kicking up. He slid off the window sill, planning to go to the library to find some peace before Yvain's inevitable order to join him for this vexed dinner would end his illusion of independence. Arthur had made up his mind to make the best of the few hours Yvain spent outside the mansion today and he was determined to do so.

If only the Christian notables knew their most admired friend for what he really was, they wouldn't be so eager to consort with him. For all the Prince knew they detested sorcerers – and members of old heathen religious cults at that – even more than King Uther did.

With his mind fighting to stay away from hurtful subjects like 'Camelot' or 'father', Arthur opened the door and tried to walk by the two guard soldiers without catching their attention. At least that was the plan until he saw the young servant woman the two were rough-handling. With her dress being torn, her skirts lifted and her hands tied the intentions of the two men were obvious enough. As was the rag they had stuffed into her mouth, which explained why she hadn't been heard so far.

Apparently Arthur hadn't been the only one who had planned on having a mouse's dance on the table while the ducal cat treated itself to an outing.

"What do you think you're doing?"

The Prince's sharp voice stopped the two soldiers in the middle of what to them doubtlessly was no more than a practical joke. Servants didn't score high in Yvain's household after all.

"Having a little fun on a boring afternoon, with Your Highness' permission of course" Barkas said derisively. "She won't mind, she's used to it!"

As if she wanted to prove him wrong the girl started to struggle frantically in the other man's hold.

"Let her go" Arthur demanded. "If my uncle hears of this..."

"He's going to tell you that you have no right whatsoever to order me about." Barkas' grin was perfectly beastly. "You better be on your way before I teach you a lesson you won't forget!"

"I said, let her go!"

Now the fun on Barkas' face was gone. He didn't take well to being ordered about at all and most definitely not by someone he considered a hapless prisoner without any rights.

"Listen to me, princeling" he gnarled. "In case all this dilly-dally with His Grace has given you a wrong idea of who's in charge here - I can easily remind you!"

"Then go ahead and try!"

"Barkas, let off" the other soldier said. He released the young woman who ran away immediately as fast as she possibly could. "Let's go and find someone who's a bit more willing to have some fun, aye? There's nothing in this but trouble! Barkas!" Hesitatingly the second soldier looked at his confederate for a moment. Then he bowed furtively and allusively to the general direction of where the Prince stood and made haste to get away.

Barkas didn't even hear him. His attention was solely focussed on the man who had dared to challenge him. With calculated tardiness he drew his blade, making sure that the sun gleamed on the sharp edge.

Arthur almost snorted with disdain. Dear Gods, the idiot wouldn't last a day in Camelot's training ground or barracks. Just look at the way he held this blade. Really, Yvain had no clue of how to properly staff his guard. Every untrained idiot could take this sword away with a simple trick.

The Prince feigned an attack with his right fist, just what Barkas had expected him to do. Without thinking the soldier directed his first sword blow at the attacking arm, completely oblivious of the fact that his opponent had two hands at his disposal.

"How lucky you were that I've always been tied when you handled me!" Arthur thought when his left hand caught the wrist of Barkas' sword arm and twisted it violently.

With a surprised yelp the soldier let go of his blade and turned, instinctively trying to save his wrist from being broken. With a short laugh Arthur kicked at the unbalanced man's feet and made him stumble.

The polished marble floor was unbelievably slippery. Yvain liked it that way. It looked very shiny and impressive and it showed off the marble's exquisite quality and colour. The Duke himself was, after all, as sure-footed as a mountain goat. As was his nephew. Barkas, unfortunately, was not. Especially not when the three ales he had gulped down for lunch caught up with him.

Unable to regain his balance the soldier slipped and fell with another yelp. He tried to stop his fall with his right hand but the injured wrist gave way and his chest crashed to the floor, burying his left hand underneath the rib cage.

"That should have left the bastard with some very bruised ribs" Arthur thought. "He'll have to do without the girls for a few days I shouldn't wonder."

With his arms folded before his chest the Prince leaned against the corridor wall and waited for his opponent to get up.

It took a moment before he noticed the blood that streamed from somewhere underneath Barkas' unmoving body. He went down to his knees at the man's side, turned him over and recoiled with a jerk at the sight of the knife in the soldier's left hand. It was buried in the man's heart up to the hilt. The head of Yvain's guard had been killed instantaneously the second he had hit the floor.

This was one victory Arthur could have done without. He alerted the first guard he could find and watched the body being taken away with a more than just queasy feeling in his guts. The Duke most surely wouldn't like this very much.

The second he met with Yvain at the entrance to the large state room he knew that his apprehension had been justified. If it hadn't been for the most jovial abbot and his retainers the Duke would have made his point then and there. As it was they both dragged themselves through the evening as best they could until it was finally time to see the Duke's guests off.

Immediately afterwards Yvain retired to his study and his nephew didn't wait for the order to follow him. Things wouldn't get better by a delay.

"If you were the insolent child one could take you for by your behaviour, I could simply slap your face and be done with it, but unfortunately that's not an option with you!"

Arthur faced the older man's cold wrath with all the calm he could muster. He knew he couldn't do anything, neither to avoid nor to influence the verdict. So best get it over with as soon as possible. "What other option did you choose?" he asked simply.

"You may remember that you struck a bargain with me. You gave me your word that you wouldn't go against me. I thought that I could trust your word but obviously I was mistaken!"

This, for all of Arthur's better wisdom, hit a nerve in the young captive. "No, you were not! You can't tell me you concur with what Barkas was about to do..."

"The girl is not the issue here!" Yvain stated flatly. "You knew my orders. You are to obey my guards in everything and most surely you are not to fight them with a weapon in your hand, let alone kill them! Did I or did I not make that abundantly clear to you?"

"Yes, you did!"

"So you do not deny that you went against my explicit orders when you confronted Barkas?"

What was to be said to that? It was an accident? What about the wretched girl? Nothing of it would interest the Duke in the least. Especially not the fact that the girl had had dark skin and large, dark eyes. That she had resembled another woman, a woman he missed with all his heart... Don't think about her. If you start thinking you won't survive.

"No, Your Grace, I don't deny it!"

"But you would do it again, if the circumstances called for it in your opinion!" Yvain stated a fact, he didn't ask a question.

"Yes, I would!" Arthur met the angry gaze steadily. No use denying the obvious.

Yvain took a deep breath and straightened his back. "I know you don't like your life here much. You feel caged, albeit I allowed you to move freely inside the mansion. You don't like my friends, you don't like accompanying me. You don't even like talking to me. Maybe it's time to teach you some appreciation for the leniency I've shown to you."

He rang for the guards. "Take him down."

Down in the house's vast cellars Yvain watched sternly while the soldiers executed his orders. They chained Arthur's hands behind his back, cuffed his ankles and chained them to the wall before they finally shoved a gag into his mouth and secured it tightly with a rope.

"You will untie him for one hour in the morning and one hour in the evening only; he is to be restrained like that at all other times, including the gag, is that understood?"

"Yes Your Grace but..."

"If you feel you're not up to the task of guarding him I can arrange some more befitting tasks for you!"

The soldier faltered immediately. "There's no need for that, My Lord!"

"We shall see how long it takes before you beg me to trust your former word again!"

Arthur didn't react to Yvain's parting words. Frankly, he wasn't much scared. Nobody in his right mind would think a prisoner could hold out long under such conditions and if the Duke had wanted to seriously harm him, there would have been much easier ways.

It took the captive three days of increasing pain and anxiety before he realized that his uncle quite obviously had meant every single word he'd said. Apparently "easy" wasn't part of the Duke's logic in this. He had virtually buried his captive alive.

Bit by bit Arthur's muscles and joints stiffened until the time he could spent without the restraints was almost as torturing as the endless hours he was forced to sit tight and wait. Just wait. Silent and alone. His lips were cracked and he was always thirsty, no matter how much water he gulped down while he had the chance.

Worse than every physical torment was the inability to escape from his thoughts. He would have given anything for a distraction, no matter what, but there was none. Silent walls. Nothing else. Only his memories, his senseless longing to be somewhere else. To see his friends again, to live again. To be FREE again!. Until he couldn't stand it any more.

The next time the jailer tried to refasten the manacles Arthur fought back with all the insensible courage despair can give. Naturally it didn't help at all. The state he was in, even the old soldier alone could most probably have beaten the living daylights out of him, let alone the three men who ran to the jailer's aid.

At the time they had him chained down again the fight had left Arthur for good, leaving emptiness and numbness behind. "Don't worry, we won't tell anyone about this little wrestling match, me and the boys. It'd only make things much worse for you an' us I reckon!" the old soldier said while he fastened the gag behind the captive's neck once more. The only reaction he got was a shuddering breath that sounded almost like a sob.

But it wasn't over yet. After a while the former frenzy came back to the prisoner and he fought uselessly against his restraints until his much abused muscles abandoned him.

Half an hour later the Duke got a message he had long been waiting for. From his book keeping he turned to his friend. "I think this is it, Maelfwyn. Seems as if he had had enough!"

"I don't think so. Even if he should crack now, he'll recover. He'll always try to fight you any way he can, openly or covertly. You'll never be able to trust him, you'll never be able to turn your back on him."

"There's a remedy for that" Yvain said casually, already on his way out. "Should he fake his submission again, I'll just be forced to take appropriate actions!"

Maelfwyn grabbed his Lord's arm and jerked him around. "This is madness, Yvain. It's against every law of nature and of magic."

Pendragon's eyes narrowed. "Let go of me" he whispered silkily. "Or you'll see what this insolence can cost you!"

"Forgive me Your Eminence" Maelfwyn sidestepped a useless argument. But he did not give up his actual point. "But Arthur isn't meant for you. He never was. He's not meant for you as your other half. We've seen whose destiny that is and it wasn't you!"

"Superstitions nonsense! After all these years, you still can't see that magic is a tool, an instrument to be yielded to a purpose, not a supernatural godly power! Have you made all the necessary arrangements?"

"Yes, I have" Maelfwyn said exasperatedly. "The ship is ready to cast off at a moment's notice. But that doesn't mean that I condone your plans!"

"Why should you?" the Duke asked casually. "I do not need your consent to execute them."

"Damn it, Yvain, Arthur isn't your child and he never will be, however much you wish him to be the son my sister lost after Endred's death!"

It was in this very moment that Maelfwyn felt his throat constrict. Speechless he stared at Pendragon's merciless smile. Yvain cocked a brow at the helplessly panting man. "I've told you before, I do not need your consent for this. Please do not make me believe that I don't need you at all, my old friend."

Maelfwyn watched him vanish in the stairwell's entrance with tears of humiliation and hurt in his eyes. But for all his mortification, after a minute or two he followed his master nevertheless. As he had always done.

"Take off the gag and leave us" the Duke demanded, once he had entered the cell and he didn't have to say it twice. "I take it you see reason now?" Yvain asked his nephew in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Go away, please" Arthur whispered huskily. "There's nothing more to be said."

Roughly Yvain took the young man's chin and forced him to face the older man. "Do you want to tell me that you are willing to go on like this?"

"You didn't care what I want before. No need to start caring now. Nothing of this was my choosing, yet you did it anyway!"

"Arthur, this is intolerable!"

The Prince looked at his uncle's enraged face. "Yes, it is!" he simply stated. "And now leave me alone."

"You'll never give in, will you?" Yvain said sadly. "You're like your father. Uther has never met a Christian in his life and yet their saying that the devil chose ruling in hell above serving in heaven could have been made for him!"

"This isn't between you and your brother any more. Leave him out of this."

Yvain fondled the young man's hair fleetingly. "You're right" he said. "In future neither I nor you will have any reason to bother ourselves with Uther Pendragon."

The instant Yvain's hand covered his mouth and jerked his head back Arthur knew what was afoot. Helplessly he strained against his bonds while the sorcerer's other hand found the sensitive spots in his neck. The blinding onslaught of the wizard's invasive magical energy paralysed him soon enough.

Maelfwyn watched the whole procedure from the door with a sinking heart. He heard the young man's muffled yelps of pain and then his whimpering before Arthur lost consciousness altogether. He saw the Duke's contorted face, the sweat that ran from his brow like water and he knew, this didn't go too well. For all these long years they had been together he hadn't come across a spell or magical action that had taken a toll on Yvain Pendragon. Everything had been swift, effortless, elegant. Always. Until now.

It seemed as if the great master sorcerer for once had overrated himself. For a fleeting second Maelfwyn was sure that Arthur would just die without feeling it and the thought made Yvain's friend almost hilarious.

However, when the Duke finally stumbled to his feet, Arthur's chest still heaved and fell, the pulse in his throat was still visible, albeit a bit slower than it had been before.

"You remember what you have to tell him when he comes to?" Yvain asked while he tiredly wept the sweat from his face. "Dear Gods, I'm too old for such stunts" he murmured to himself.

"We both know that Uther's son will never regain consciousness after this!"

"I've asked you a question, damn you!"

"Yes, I know what I will have to say" Maelfwyn replied angrily.

"Then see to it that he's brought aboard. I'll follow you as soon as I am finished here."

Hundreds of miles away another, a much younger warlock's magic ran wild. Scorching his surroundings blindly, lashing out at each and every thing, barely sparing the terrified people who surrounded him. With only a small part of his mind Gaius was relieved that Geoffrey and Leon had been knocked out by the first hit. There would be time to get things straight with them later. If there was a 'later'.

With Hunith hanging on his arm, desperately begging him to do something, Gaius just watched her son scream and twist in agony. The old physician's eyes widened uncomprehendingly when he saw the silver bracelets on Merlin's wrists burst and crumbled to dust.

The healer was still frozen in place when Hunith sank down at Merlin's side and took her desperately sobbing son into her arms.