Things That Merlin Isn't Allowed To Do (According to Prince Arthur)
37: Get Captured by Slave Traders (It's So Bothersome)
Merlin wakes up with an enormous headache, as if someone's been using his head as anvil. But that makes no sense. He's not been near any forge for weeks and would certainly not let any smith use his head as anvil.
Then why does it hurt so badly? He's certain he didn't accompany Gwaine to the tavern last night … or accidentally got too close to one of Gaius' less safe potions …
The smell of dirty socks fills his nostrils, making him feel a bit ill. His eyes open slowly, meeting a dark stone ceiling, and immediately closes them again as his head pounds in protest.
They'd been riding through dangerous territory with Arthur because of said prat's need for a quest of some kind – again - wherein they of course had to go through woods filled with monsters and dangerous bandits and other less pleasant things. Merlin had loudly protested against this, again, since it's just stupid travelling there and they'd only land in trouble. The prat had as per usual not listened to Merlin, he never does, the stupid, stubborn git he is. (Why is he always so reckless? Merlin doesn't want to babysit him for the rest of their lives!)
And now look where it's landed them!
At least Arthur doesn't look hurt; there are no wounds and no blood visible when Merlin comes to, his head resting in the prince's lap (which is a rather nice place actually). The man's jaw is set, shoulders tense and there's a line of worry on his brow.
"Arthur? What happened?" Merlin asks, confused and sits up, and regrets it at once, his head starting to ring like there's a giant bell (and possibly a hammer) inside it. "Owowow. My head." He's vaguely aware that a firm but gentle hand lingers on his back, steadying him; it's kind of nice, warmth sliding up his neck.
"We were captured," the prince says quietly, the hint of an angry snarl on his lips. "Stay still or it'll only hurt more."
"Great," Merlin mutters sarcastically. "The start of a wonderful day."
He twists his head to inspect his surroundings seeking any eventual escape routes: the cell is dank, dirty but sturdy and well built, there's one window very high up and through the thick bars of the door he can spot a long row of brawny guards and he twitches nervously at the sight. The cell is mostly made of layers of shadows all around them and something moves in dark, maybe a mouse or something else tiny with teeth. Unconsciously Merlin crawls up against Arthur's chest like seeking cover. "Where are we?" he asks quietly. "D'you know why they've taken us? Are Percival and the others all right? Are you working on a plan to get us out yet? Have they-"
"Will you hold your tongue for one minute, Merlin," the prince retorts, "and I might be able to think in peace."
"Be careful so you don't hurt yourself," Merlin reminds him cheekily.
At that moment, a voice (far too jolly to suit this kind of situation) reaches the pair. "'Lo there Merlin! Fancy meeting you here."
"Gwaine!" the warlock exclaims with shock. Merlin had hoped the knights would've escaped, seeing only him and Arthur there, but apparently not. "Where are the others, Percival, Elyan, Leon? Are you all right?"
"They decided to crash the party too," Gwaine reports with a grin and squats down next to the warlock, who's rubbing his head trying to will the headache away. From behind him, three familiar faces appear. The knights' cloaks and armour have been removed, and Leon has a gash on his temple. Immediately Merlin starts worrying, bombarding them with questions but due to his headache (Arthur's now petting his hair, murmuring something about checking for a head wound) Merlin can't go into full mothering-hen-mode.
The prince is nowhere as enthusiastic as Gwaine, eyeing him darkly. "I've told you to stop that attitude," he says briskly. "It irritates me."
"What? I'm just keeping out spirits up. See, lads, soon enough we'll get out of this rat hole and find a cozy tavern. Drinks will be on me."
Even if their situation is very bad and this isn't the time for jokes, Merlin chuckles, albeit it makes his head hurt more and he has to lean against Arthur's broad chest, his vision swimming, and Arthur doesn't mind, wrapping a supporting arm around his manservant's waist. "You, paying for a drink – or six of them? I've never seen that happen!"
"Well, seeing is believing," Leon adds and Percival's lips quirk up in a grin.
Seeing his manservant's grimace of pain, Arthur is quick to react, stroking his back in a (hopefully) soothing manner while not being too soft, after all he's not some kind of girl.
"I'd almost pay just to see it myself," agrees Elyan, who's seated himself on Merlin's other side; the warlock is now effectively swarmed by protective knights from all sides, and he knows that now, there's no use in struggling so he lets Arthur keep him in his lap and Percival fuss over the bruise on his wrist and Leon asking concernedly about his welfare and totally ignoring Merlin's responses that he's fine. And Gwaine happily goes on talking about their escape-to-be and ale and flowers while petting Merlin's hair.
"Quit it!" Arthur barks at him. "It's an order. One more word about taverns –"
"All right, all right." The dark-haired knight sighs exaggeratedly, gesturing with his hands.
"Honestly," the prince mutters to Merlin, who thinks he should take pity on him and pats Arthur's arm. "Why did we even go on this stupid trip?"
"For glory! For honour! For-"
"Be. Silent. Whose idea was it to let Gwaine come with us?"
The knights are all suddenly very busy whistling and admiring the sturdy stone-work of the prison walls.
()()()
The thug looks very pleased with himself, eyeing the prisoner with a huge grin on his face. "Arthur Pendragon and his formidable knights. I never thought I'd have the honour to meet you in person."
"Oh, well I'm frankly quite sorry we've met in person," Gwaine says and is hit in the face by one of the bulky guards.
"Gwaine, you idiot!" the prince hisses on his breath. "Shut up!"
The slave traders in the room regard the weatherworn knights closely, still smirking. It's not every day you have a prince and his men stumbling into your domain. Trapping them was quite a struggle, but it will be worth it indeed.
However, they've heard about King Uther Pendragon, of his stubbornness. Sending a ransom might not prove fruitful, but surely they will make a fortune by selling the bunch at a slave market, for a good deal of money. Yes, for who wouldn't want their own prince or knight or maybe all of them at once? Oh, what a lucky day! The slave traders' eyes gleam with happiness. Soon they're going to be some very, very rich and very, very happy men.
But then their eyes lands on – like seeing him for the first time – that lanky young man, forced onto his knees last in the row. The lad doesn't look sturdy at all, so he can't be sold as a worker; and he's definitely not noble. "And who's this?"
The prince is quick to speak. There's an edge to his voice, sharp and breathy. "Nobody. Just a servant."
The thug's lips curl upward in delight, as he looks the servant up and down. Thin, pale, a servant's hands, yes - but not entirely unpleasant to look at. Not at all. Certain customers would pay quite a lot to have him. One of the guards pokes the servant's shoulder and says, "Quite a feisty one, boss. We'd to knock him out to bring him back, he kept strugglin' and tryin' to run off."
"Yeah, bet he's just as feisty in bed," another guard joins in staring at the servant gleefully. The room fills with cold laughter and Merlin flinches.
Arthur reacts at once, a growl deep in his throat and his hands twitching, trying to reach for a knife or sword or anything. "Don't you dare touch him!" If they hurt Merlin … if they hurt him in any way, Arthur would tear them apart with his bare hands, he'd slash them to pieces, he'd, he'd–
"Seems we hit a sore spot, eh." The leader of the thugs rubs his hands together; this new unexpected information about the prince could be very valuable. "Chain them up again."
()()()
Unfortunately, they're led to two different cells so they can't make a plan together on how to get out of this mess.
"We need to escape," Leon mutters and tugs at the chains. They only jingle a bit and refuse to set him free.
Elyan wrinkles his nose, annoyed the chains are too short for him to reach up and scratch the itching skin. "But how? We've got no weapons."
"If we could take out the guards somehow..." Gwaine says.
"Even if we managed to and somehow got out of this cell. We've no idea where they've put Arthur and Merlin," Percival says. "We need to find out. Bit first, we've got to get out." They all nod simultaneously. "Any ideas? Do you have anything useful on you?"
Making noise as metal hits metal, Gwaine shifts and struggles for a moment, reaching for something near his ear. "Wait! I've got a hairpin..."
"Brilliant!" Elyan exclaims.
"Why a hairpin and not a knife or some other weapon?" Leon asks instead; a knife would've been much more useful against the guards.
The other knight just gives him an incredulous look. "And have it ruin my splendid hair? No way!"
()()()
In another cell, in another corridor, the chains are not as short but still as annoying and the prince finds himself tangled in them every five minutes.
"Merlin, you okay?"
"Yeah, 'm fine," the servant replies, rubbing his head. It still hurts a terrible lot and those guards grabbing him so hard and dragging him didn't make it better.
Arthur doesn't believe him, of course. "Let me see."
"There's nothing to see," Merlin protests when the prince tugs him closer by the wrist and starts examining his head, hand linger on the dark hair.
"There's a bruise right there," Arthur says and growls foul words under his breath, of which most are simply to dreadful to list, the rating won't hold for it. "Those damned -"
"Arthur, you know what I've said about manners!"
"Shut up, Merlin."
That moment, a shadow covers the cell door, falling onto the pair. Startled Arthur springs up and tries covering Merlin with his body, ignoring his servant's annoyed grunt.
It's a man: tall, broad and toothless and he stinks to high heaven, worse than a bunch of knights after an afternoon's training in the hot sun. Merlin pities whoever has to draw his baths. "Prince Arthur Pendragon and his servant," the man says clicking his tongue, and Arthur growls like an animal through his teeth. "I bet we'll get high bids on you."
"Bids?" Merlin blurts out, and then, realizing what it means: "Oh. Crap."
()()()
"A-ha!" With a click one lock opens and the chain falls to land with a thud on the hay-covered floor. The rest of the chains quickly follow its fate, and the knights stand and stretch for a moment, yawning and popping backs. Then they peer out between the bars.
There are four guards five feet away from the cell door, preoccupied with a game of Truth or Dare. Quietly, quietly, more quiet than the quietest mouse, Gwaine twists the hairpin in the lock to open the door. It opens almost soundlessly and none of the guards react.
On Leon's command, the knights wait until one of the guards is forced to do a river-dance and then, the knights jump out of the cell, yelling like wild beasts. Or possibly like they're being chased by wild beasts. Anyhow the guards fall over in shock and are too late to react, and before they can reach for their weapons, Percival has taken them all out. Afterward he flashes his bicep with a pleased expression. "Always as reliable," he remarks.
Gwaine is equally pleased. "May my brilliant escape plan always be remembered," he says proudly and thinks he should make his awesome hairpin a relic once back home.
Meanwhile Elyan has browsed the other cells nearby but all are empty. Leon rolls his eyes at the other two and gestures to the left where there's a large door, half-opened, and a stair leading upwards. Logically that's the way out of here. "Let's find Merlin and Arthur."
()()()
They're led to the same room as earlier, but it's been redecorated some but in a poor taste. A wooden stage has been put at the centre and torhces are burning allover the room, and the hall doors have been opened. It has started to fill up with people: men in worn tunics and dirty boots and with menacing looks about them. Arthur glares at the crowd and at the guards, struggling to keep close to Merlin. He'd do anything for a sword.
At the back of the stage, a man with a scroll in his hand is taking notes and he lifts his head as the guards approach. "The latest ones," a guard says, "the prince of Camelot."
"We'll never have to work again!"
The slave traders look keenly enthusiastic. Even if Arthur pauses, digging his heels into the floor against the tugging chains, and spits in their faces.
"You will let us go," he demands with all the princely authority he can muster.
"Yeah you will!" a voice suddenly rings out over the hall and the crowd falls oddly silent. "I mean," the speaker, not yet visible, backtracks. "To me. As I'll buy him. The market's opened now yeah?"
The speaker of the traders, another burly man with questionable hygiene, walks up onto the stage. "What's yer biddin'?"
"Err - let's see - a thousand gold pieces!"
"Only a thousand!" Arthur bristles. "I'm worth more than that you moron!"
The murmurs begin again and the slave traders exchange looks. They've not sold anything for that much ever!They could buy a castle in some faraway land and become kings!
"Show yerself, stranger!"
"Naturally, naturally," the speaker says and out steps a strangely familiar man. Those clothes ... Yes, that's Gwaine's jacket and blue tunic but he's wearing a terribly ugly hat which makes his appearance confusing. Arthur's eyes widens after two seconds or so when he realizes that it is Gwaine, free of chains, in the middle of the crowd, bidding to buy him - and then he glances at Merlin, who shares his reaction and nods. yes, it's Gwaine. But there are no signs of recognizing him among the slave traders. Maybe it's the hat that's confusing them.
"So I want the Prince. Oh and of course the lovely servant boy too," Gwaine says and dips his hat and were he free of chains, Arthur would've leaped off the stage and strangled him bare-handed. Practically flirting with his Merlin! Has the man no shame! (It's possible to hear the actual sound of gnashing teeth coming from the prince and the nearest guard looks rather uncomfortable.)
"I'll double the prize," Gwaine adds grinning like a madman. "Two thousand for the both of them."
"... Anyone with a higher bidder?" the slave trader asks after a moment. The scribe takes fast eager notes. Maybe he's writing down what an historical moment this is and how rich they'll become and how they'll finally have their happily ever after.
Someone else steps up. "Actually, I do! Two and a half thousand, for both!"
Leon!
How had they escaped? the prince wonders, staring at his knights wide-eyed, and his thoughts are shared by Merlin who is just as surprised. Never mind, it's not important now. The important thing is for them all to escape, alive and in one piece. And without being sold to some strangers.
After sir Leon, two more steps up, namely Percival and Elyan both with slight modifications to their appearance so that the slave traders won't have a clue that just a few minutes ago they too were prisoners here. "We want them too!" they cry.
"I take the Prince!" Elyan says. "Three thousand gold pieces!"
"Then I take the servant! Five thousand!" Percival shouts, and Arthur discreetly moves to stand slightly in front of Merlin to shield him from all the dangerous eyes and the prince glares down everyone in proximity completely ignoring Merlin's complaints of 'I want to see what's going on!'
"Hey, I'll take them both,"counters Gwaine now slightly angrily because honestly, he was here first so it's his right. "For ... uhm ... for ten thousand!"
The slaver trader on stage is nearly crying with joy. It's a dream coming true!
Never mind none of the knights has a penny on them, they eagerly start shouting out higher and higher bids, determined to be the one to take the prize home with them.
"Twenty-thousand!"
"Forty-thousand!"
"One million!"
"A thousand million! Ha, in your face, Gwaine!"
But then, suddenly:
"Hey, hey, wait," cuts in Percival, waving his large hands in protest and the shouts cease. "Do we actually have all of that money?"
Elyan rolls his eyes. "Of course we don't, Percival, we're trying to free them! Obviously."
"By lying?"
"Essentially, yes."
"...This is confusing me..."
The slave trader stops crying with joy and starts crying with anguish instead. Oh no, it's a lie! Deceit! His dear, dear gold, all gone! Poof! Just like that! Oh dear, oh dear.
"But we should gather the money we actually have to buy them, shouldn't we?" Percival asks next.
"Well what do you got?" his friend says.
"Uhm ... a small stone, two bigger stones and three slightly bigger stones than that." He opens his hand to show them. He's proud of them actually: he picked them himself during his travels; they're all smooth and white and round so surely somebody would like them. He'd originally planned to give them as a gift to a certain warlcok, but now they might be even more appreciated.
Elyan fishes something out of his pocket and lays it on Percival's large palm. "And I've got two finely polished buttons."
"Oh! Oh!" Gwaine cries out excitedly and adds his offering to the pile. "It's saddening to give it away, of course, but it's for a good cause and since my awesome hairpin is so awesome it's worth a lot, I promise you that!"
"So, we've got … five stones, two buttons and a hairpin," Percival sums up pleasedly.
"You can't be serious," Arthur growls up on the stage, even more annoyed now. Is this what they call helping? "Why are my knights such morons?"
"There, there," Merlin tries soothing him, "calm down, I'm sure they've got a … a very good plan …" Albeit he's not so certain himself. Actually he's not certain at all. What if some stranger turns up with real money and buys them? Then he'll get separated from Arthur and – no! I must stay positive, he tells himself, calm and positive.
One of the slave traders raises their voice, clearly befuddled: "That doesn't have the value of a million gold pieces! … I think. I mean, I'm not that good at math..."
"Uh, me neither," other slave traders agree and murmurs rise and fall lively in the hall as a discussion among them begins, about whether or not a few stones, two buttons and a hairpin can have the same value as a million gold pieces and thus the same value as a captured prince and his manservant, or maybe it's all useless and they won't get the prince and servant sold, and then what should they do?
(In the background, a sighing sir Leon, also known as the inventor of the face-palm, sinks down on the nearest chair and buries his face in his hands in despair.)
All right, time to give up the 'calm and positive' façade now.
"We'll never get out of here," Merlin whines in despair and despite the chains clenches the prince's arms and Arthur is about to agree with him, because his hope in his knights is steadily sinking like a dying flame in his chest. "Arthur, what are we going to do?"
But before a fight can break out in which people might be harmed and they will be forced to stay even longer here at this dingy place, Gwaine cuts in speaking firmly:
"But they're worth it. Ever heard of sentimental value?"
All of the slave traders' eyes go wide with curiosity at this new word.
()()()
"I can't believe it was that simple," the one of the knights say as they, full of joy and relief, flee the castle and try track down Camelot along with the chain-less Prince and his manservant.
And if Merlin finds himself offered to be carried by all five of them and they ask if he's all right every five minutes, stopping to request that them to massage his feet or have him wear their jackets or some other ridiculous thing, it's rather nice even if Arthur threatens to - well, do less nice things to the knights. It's a rather comical picture that enters Camelot late that night, and the King is less than pleased to hear about their capture by slave traders. Gaius is also less than pleased, but there are no eyebrows involved, at least not in his direction of which Merlin is glad - after all, it's not his fault they got captured by slave traders!
()()()
Not long after, when the prince and his men have found their way back to Camelot and had themselves a few good beers, a group of former slave traders, now their minds at peace with the fact they can abandon their horrid trade, approach a desk at a busy city somewhere in Albion. At the desk there are many travelling offers, to distant lands all-over the world, which is typical in this Dark Age.
However, the former traders are slightly … no, well, let's be honest - they're smoking mad like erupting volcanoes when finding out and this trader cares naught for sentimental value and no, they cannot travel to any sunny beach in the lower hemisphere on five stones, two buttons and a hairpin. No matter how finely polished they are.