Author's Note - Hey everyone, thanks very much for the reviews! This chapter is much shorter than the last but I thought it was a good time to end it and I wanted to leave you in suspense for the next part. I thought you'd like it sooner rather than later anyway.

By the way, for people who asked how Uther knew about the sorcerer, refer back to chapter 19. You've probably forgotten but it explains it there. :)

And thank you very much to theowlsgo for her beautiful fanart on The Last Dragon Egg. See my profile page for a link to her livejournal and you can see them.

Evening came and the sky was streaked orange as the sun set behind the mountains, lending its last rays to the peasants who were making their way back from the fields. Gentle hands coaxed grazing horses into the safety of their stables and rubbed them down so they would be ready for another day. Chickens were ushered into their coops so they wouldn't fall prey to deadly foxes in the night, settling down on beds of straw and feathers. It looked to be a clear night.

In the courtyard of Camelot Castle, a solitary axe man slide the blade of his tool along a large whetstone. The rock was already indented with the grooves and chips of hundreds of preparations and would be barely affected by just another one. Glinting in the light from the flaming torches that surrounded the square, the silver axe was an intimidating sight; much like the straight-backed, merciless figure that stood in the lee of a window watching with cold, grey eyes.

The axe man tested the edge of his weapon, checking that it was ready to do the job. He was loath to make it too sharp because he didn't see the sense in punishing someone with a clean swipe. If they had committed a crime – especially one as evil as sorcery – then surely they deserved to suffer? He understood that the life he would be ending today was that of Prince Arthur's manservant and that was a shame, he'd always liked the boy, but sometimes it was the people that you least expected that turned out to be the bad ones.

As he worked, quietly, he was aware of the people coming to gather around the podium where the chopping block was mounted. They all had equally miserable expressions on their malnourished faces as they stared at the wooden stand on which a head would soon roll. The axe man had never seen them look so subdued. Granted, not many of the citizens seemed to enjoy the executions – not as much as they used to anyway – but he didn't usually see them so depressed.

"Oi, you," he called to a young woman looked especially upset, "What's wrong? You must have seen an execution before?"

"Yeah," she whispered, tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear, "But it wasn't Merlin, was it?"

"You mean Prince Arthur's serving lad?" the executioner frowned, dropping the head of his axe on the hollow wood with a loud clunk. The girl flinched.

"Yes, I can't believe that the King is accusing him of sorcery," she said, tearfully, "He's such a nice person. He'd never be capable of any evil. He used to give me his jacket when I got cold hurrying across the castle." A small smile graced her lips. "He said that if I got any bluer then I'd be a blueberry."

The axe man grunted. He had little time for sob stories. Seeing that the girl had finished, he turned back to his work, hefting the axe back onto the whetstone. Suddenly, the handmaiden let out a whimper and scurried away. He guessed that she wouldn't be there to watch the actual executions – too much for her delicate stomach. Glancing up at the sky, he saw that it was almost time. Adjusting his skin cap, he sat back on the block, indifferent to the black splatter-stains, and waited for the prisoner to be brought out.

Arthur paced in his chambers, wringing his hands uneasily behind his back. It was almost time; he could feel it in his bones. His trusted sword waited beside the foot of his bed and a sheepskin rucksack hung of a hook, ready to be grabbed when needed. Gwen had put that together for him, after they had reconciled somewhat. She had still been pretty angry at him but thankful for what he was doing.

Soon, his father would send a messenger and then everything would begin. He could see it all in his head. The plan was foolproof. Well, not foolproof, there were still a few creases that needed straightening out but he would just have to wing those parts. Frankly, he had just run out of time and needed to act before it was too late.

He could feel his gut twisting uncomfortably inside him and wished it would stop. It was the feeling he got before any tournament or battle; except the outcome of this event was much more important than any of those things. If he got this wrong then Merlin could die.

Knock. Knock.

Arthur started. Pulling himself together and breathing out heavily, Arthur strode over to the door and tugged it open. Standing in front of him was a young servant, who dared not look at him in the eyes but merely stammered: "T-the king wishes for you to collect the prisoner for execution."

"Right," Arthur nodded, "Tell him I'll be there."

Once the messenger had scampered away, the prince hurried back into his chambers and scooped up his sword and the bag. After he had done this, he headed for the door and peered, cautiously into the corridor; there was no one about. When he had established this, he marched quickly down the passage, trying not to look too suspicious but at the same time attract very little attention.

Upon arriving at the dungeons, Arthur pulled the keys of his belt with shaking fingers and cursed himself for his nervousness. Usually, he never got nervous – and that wasn't even a lie. Perhaps, it was because he had his best friend's life in his hands. Jangling loudly, he shoved the key in the lock and twisted, fiercely.

"No need to take it out on the lock, Arthur," Merlin said, softly, appearing from the gloom.

He looked creepy in the half-light of the flickering torches: gaunt and feral. His scar was livid on his pale cheek and made him look more intimidating than Merlin, in Arthur's opinion, should ever come across. However, considering he hadn't shaved in quite awhile and his hair hadn't been cut in months, the once vaguely clean looking manservant looked positively wild. It didn't help when he smiled and his sharp blue eyes glittered.

"Take what out on the lock, Merlin?"

"Your stress," the boy replied, calmly.

"I'm not stressed."

"Yeah, and I'm not a sorcerer." Slowly, the manservant reached through the bars and spread his long, white fingers over the lock. It clicked open.

Arthur scowled. "Why don't you free yourself then, if you're so skilled?"

"It wouldn't be half as much fun," Merlin shrugged, grinning.

"You do realise," the prince hissed, yanking the barred door open, "That I'm risking my life and my position as future king of Camelot for your sorry ass?"

"I'm very, very grateful," Merlin said, perhaps a little too earnestly, patting his friend on his muscled shoulder. He could barely hide the smirk curling his lips.

"You know, you really don't sound that sincere."

Rudely, in Arthur's opinion, the manservant didn't answer him but merely loped, silently, through the darkness. He paused at the bottom of the flight of stone steps and looked up. Then he turned back to the prince and gestured something, frantically. Arthur had no idea what he was trying to say and flung his hands up, wrinkling his brow. Merlin tried again, flourishing his arms and mouthing exaggeratedly. Still, Arthur could not comprehend.

Abruptly, the boy marched back over to him and grabbed his ear, hissing, "And you said I was shocking at mimed instructions."

"Merlin!" Arthur admonished.

"All right, all right, shh…the two guards that you sent out are waiting at the top of the stairs. They haven't left. You'll have to pretend you're escorting me towards the chopping block. In the crowd, I'll make a break for it."
"But Merlin, that's cutting it way too fine," Arthur replied, alarmed.

"Cutting being the operative word if it goes wrong," Merlin offered him a toothy, if somewhat nervous, grin.

Arthur glowered. "Not funny. There has to be another way. We had it all planned."

"My lord!" one of the guards yelled down, "Are you having trouble with the sorcerer?"

Arthur swore under his breath and then groaned before shouting, "No, I'll be right up." Then he turned back to Merlin. "This had better work, Merlin."

"We'll never know until we try it."

Swiftly, Arthur grabbed his friend roughly around the neck, thrusting his head forward into a position of submission. He then pretended to hold his other hand behind his back.

"Whoa, not so hard."

"It's got to be believable," Arthur retorted, firmly, but he was half grinning.

"Just don't get used to this," Merlin frowned and allowed himself to be thrust, bodily, up the stairs.

They met up with the guards who flanked them down the corridor and out towards the chopping block that would ultimately be Merlin's demise. Arthur felt his heart beat increase as he walked and he desperately looked for any chances to set his pretend captive free. He could sense how tense his manservant was just by their proximity. The boy was also searching for an escape route. Unfortunately, nothing offered itself up. They were trapped.

Pushing the great oak doors open, the guards allowed the pair into the courtyard. Surprisingly, considering the late hour, it was filled with people and they all turned to stare at the arrivals with unreadable expressions. Flaming torches flooded the dark space with light and Arthur could make out the ominous figure of the axe man standing on the podium; waiting. His father was also beside the executioner, his hands clasped behind his back and his crown shimmering on his head. He was observing his son with vigilant eyes. Obviously, he didn't trust him. They were going to have to make this more credible.

"Punch me," Arthur hissed in Merlin's ear.

"What?" the manservant gaped.

"Punch me. Now."

"I can't."

"I'm ordering you to punch me. Do it now you idiot-"

Crack.

Pain exploded in Arthur's head and he reeled backwards, almost stumbling down the stone steps into the courtyard. Dizzying stars were scattered in his vision and he tried to blink them away but to no avail. That had been quite some hit. Clearly, Merlin had put a lot of meaning into it, was the wry thought that entered Arthur's spinning mind.

Vaguely, he could hear yells and several hands grabbed wildly at him. He could feel warm, viscous liquid spilling down his chin.

"Catch that sorcerer!" the king's voice bellowed above the ruckus.

Trying to make sense of what he was seeing, Arthur watched dimly as Merlin attempted to make an escape through the crowd only to be met by a barrage of soldiers. Oh gods, the prince thought, the idiot was going to get caught. This had all been for nothing. Panic flashing in his sapphire eyes, the warlock spun on the spot and charged back into the castle.

"Bloody hell," Arthur murmured, "He's really lost it now."

"Arthur, can you hear me?" It was Gwen. It was her soft hands stemming the blood flowing from his nose. "I hope he'll be all right." He heard her say. He didn't know if it was directed to him or herself.

"Me or Merlin?" he asked, amusedly.

"Both of you," Gwen replied, honestly.

Merlin ran for his life. He knew that he could turn around and take out his pursuers with a spell but he didn't want to hurt people. He never wanted to hurt people, unless they were evil, but these men had done nothing except follow orders. They had families; he was sure. He was also sure that they wanted to kill him and he certainly wasn't going to allow them that privilege.

Blood rushed in his head and he could hear his breath echoing down the corridor as he pounded down it. He was rather glad that he had spent a lot of time in the castle running ridiculous errands for both Gaius and Arthur because if he hadn't then he wouldn't have known his way round so easily. If he turned into this passage then he could follow it round and get out of the castle out the back.

Skidding round the corner, Merlin felt his heart leap into his throat as he was met by another line of soldiers. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he wheeled around and charged back the other way, choosing another corridor. This happened several more times and, with dwindling hope, he knew that they were closing off all his escape routes. Soon there would be no way out.

Hurtling into another passage, he scrambled up a winding staircase, taking the massive blocks of stone two at a time. It was at times like these that he was thankful for his long legs. His boots thumped on each step and between his own footfalls came the thundering stampede of the soldiers'. It was a terrifyingly close sound. Closing his eyes for a second, Merlin willed himself to go faster and for his lungs to draw more oxygen in; they were screaming at him to stop.

And then he burst out onto the battlements, drawing in a great mouthful of cold, evening air. Stars shone brightly above him and the moon hung between them like a huge silver coin. He blinked a few times and then sprinted along the length of the stone wall. Slamming into the wooden door into the next wing of the castle, he was stunned when he found it locked. There was no way down and the soldiers were advancing on him from the other end of the battlements.

Running a trembling hand through his messy raven locks, Merlin eyed their deadly weapons with wary eyes.

"Come on, sorcerer-boy," one guard called, "Just come quietly. We won't hurt you."

Merlin was reminded, with a jolt, of Morholt and he felt his stomach lurch sickeningly with the memory. What that knight had done was still a fresh wound in his mind; unhealed and stinging. Frozen by the mere words of the guard, the warlock stood, motionless, waiting to be taken.

"There's no way down from here," another guard jeered.

"I could jump," Merlin replied with more bravery then he felt.

"And what would be the point in that?" the first guard asked, his sword point raised.

Merlin shrugged. "Then again, I could just blast you away with my magic."

That provoked a reaction. The manservant saw them all visibly recoil. It both pleased and upset him because he really didn't want fellow human beings to be scared of him. He'd never wanted that.

"Hang on," one said, "If he was going to use magic then he would have done it by now!"

"He probably can't. He's probably one of those ones that can't actually do anything and that Uther's just killing because."

Merlin's eyebrows shot into his hair. "If I can't do magic then surely you shouldn't be trying to kill me?! What's my crime then?"

"Uther's orders." They shrugged.

By now, they were just a few short feet away from him and their swords were precariously close. Merlin was certain he was done for. He couldn't do magic quick enough to disable them all without killing them by throwing them off the battlements. He was truly stuck. Imagining himself either being run through with a fatal blade or being grabbed and taken down to have his head removed from his body, Merlin closed his eyes. He heard the soldiers guffaw at him.

Hey, Merlin, fancy a ride?

The soldiers watched with astonishment as the prisoner they thought they had cornered fell sideward over the edge of the wall. With gaping mouths, they stumbled over to the ledge and stared into the darkness. Merlin had vanished from sight.

Arthur had been mopped up by Gwen's handkerchief and was standing beside his father, trying to look angry at Merlin's plight into the castle but failing miserably. Instead, he just affected a completely blank expression. He didn't know how Merlin was going to escape his predicament but he really, really hoped he did. One thing he certainly didn't want to see was his friend skewered on a sword.

Suddenly, somebody screamed and everyone jumped. Then people began pointing into the sky. Arthur looked upwards, expecting to see a flock of bats or something, and felt his jaw drop. There was Alizarin, sweeping like an enormous silent ghost through the sky, his wings beating rhythmically. On his broad back sat Merlin, his ash haired ruffled by the wind, and his face graced with a massive grin. Even from this distance, the manservant managed to catch the prince's eye and they both shared a triumphant grin as the crowd stared on with awe.

"What are you smiling about, Arthur?!" Uther roared, "The sorcerer is escaping….on the back of a dragon! Explain yourself!"

"Father," Arthur turned to him, "I don't think you can really blame this on me. Merlin managed to escape of his own accord – see…" He gestured to his bloody nose as if that was evidence. "And as to where the dragon came from…I thought it was you that was keeping one as a pet in a cave below the castle?"

"Yes, but…." Uther spluttered, "My one is not red!"

"Its dark," Arthur shrugged, hiding a smirk, "How can you tell?"