3. Cry Havoc

There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others.
- Jane Austen

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Arthur was not prepared for the sight that met his eyes as he turned from pacing one direction to go back in the other. A man stood behind Merlin, hand clamped tightly over his mouth and a wicked looking knife pressed against his throat. His servant's eyes shone with shock and fear.

"Hey, what are you doing?" he cried, drawing his sword and striding closer, all thoughts of apologies dropping from his mind as it instantly entered battle mode.

"Securing your cooperation," the man answered without fuss.

At that moment, men melted from the trees just outside the clearing, completely surrounding them with swords drawn. There were at least a dozen, perhaps closer to fifteen, though Arthur didn't take the time to count for sure, and these were not clumsy bandits. These were trained soldiers – apparently well-trained if they had been able to follow and surround him without Arthur even noticing, despite his distracted state of mind.

His heartbeat increased, though he didn't let it show, and his mind raced through plans and strategies, trying to find the best way out of this mess without either Merlin or himself ending up dead.

"What do you want?" he demanded, projecting a calmness he certainly did not feel.

The man still holding Merlin hostage spoke again.

"You," he answered simply, tightening his hold on the trembling manservant to the point the prince could tell it was painful. Arthur glared, and his eyes narrowed as he finally studied him closer. He was the messenger, the one they had passed on their way out of the city.

What exactly was going on here?

Merlin was shaking his head at him, eyes frantic, until the man pressed his knife closer, drawing a thin line of blood and the servant stilled again.

"Why should I comply with your demands and cooperate?" Arthur said. "What makes you think threatening the life of the boy would hold any sway with me? He's just a servant." The words were painful to say, but he couldn't think about Merlin's feelings right now. He had to play the part of prince, not friend, if they were going to get out of this alive.

"Because your reputation as a just and fair man proceeds you, Prince Arthur. He may be just a servant, but even the life of a servant has meaning in your eyes, does it not?"

Frustration filled Arthur as he saw his options sliding away. As a prince, he could not show the weakness of appearing to care for one man, but he also knew in his heart that he couldn't let anything happen to Merlin, to his friend. He was stuck, and everyone there knew it.

Until Merlin chose that moment to chomp his teeth down on the hand that covered his mouth. His captor jerked it off in surprise and the boy twisted away without hesitation, even though it left a trail of blood etched from his cheek to the top of his neckerchief. Without stopping, Merlin scooped up the knife he'd been using to prepare food and planted himself at Arthur's back, his eyes frightened but firm.

Despite the seriousness of their situation, Arthur was slightly impressed. Apparently, not everything in two years of forced training sessions has slipped through his servant's grasp.

"Don't do this," the man said, shaking his head. "It will just make things harder in the end."

Arthur's only response was to grip his sword more firmly and swing it round a few times, to loosen up his muscles and prepare.

"Make a dash for it as soon as there's a clear path," he whispered over his shoulder to Merlin, trying to keep his eyes on all the men circling them at once. "Get back to Camelot. Send help."

He never had the chance to hear Merlin's answer because just at that moment some sort of signal must have been given and the soldiers closed in from all sides.

And then he forgot everything except the battle skills that had been drilled into him since the time he could barely walk.

Block, thrust, parry, whirl…

Punch here, shove there, swing around…

It only took him a few minutes to realize the men were holding back slightly, fighting without trying to deliver any mortal blows. Arthur held no such compulsion. He fought like one possessed, desperately trying to win this battle against such staggering odds.

Suddenly, a struggling figure was dragged into Arthur's line of sight and forced to his knees. It was Merlin, battered and bleeding, arms wrenched and held behind his back. Someone's gloved hand was fisted into his hair, yanking his head back painfully and a bloody sword was pushed against his throat.

"Surrender!" the fake messenger ordered Arthur, signaling for his men to stop fighting. "Or the boy's head comes off his shoulders right now. It's your choice, Prince Arthur."

Arthur knew what he'd been trained to do in this situation, what he should do. Knew without a doubt what his father would do. And he also knew with just as much certainty that he couldn't do it.

With an angry growl, he threw his sword to the ground and backed up, holding his empty hands out to his sides.

"Now let him go!" he spat, jerking his head toward his servant.

They didn't exactly follow his order, but the fist left Merlin's hair as the sword was lowered.

"Arthur! No!" the boy shouted, trying to struggle to his feet against the hands that still held him. "Don't do this!"

"Shut up, Merlin," he muttered, breath still ragged from exertion. He didn't resist as he felt someone come up and pull his arms behind his back, fastening them tightly with strong rope.

"Wouldn't it have been easier to just comply in the first place?" the leader asked, anger in his voice as he checked on his wounded men.

"Maybe," Arthur shot back, just as angry. "But I feel a lot better anyway."

The man glared at him and gestured suddenly to someone he couldn't see. Before he even had a chance to turn a heavy weight crashed into the back of his head. For just a moment, pain exploded like sparks of a wildfire behind his eyes and then he crumpled as everything went dark and his consciousness fled.

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"NOOO!"

The shout tore from Merlin's lips as he watched Arthur fall limply to the ground. A sudden surge of pure power, hot and alive and uncontrollable, welled up inside of the warlock. Without real, conscious thought it burst out and suddenly the men surrounding Arthur were thrown away. Another push and the ones holding Merlin went down.

He was on his feet and racing to his friend's side before the men had even finished hitting the ground. He didn't think of the injuries that littered his body and sent stinging pain through him as he moved. He didn't think of how he would explain to his master that he won the fight against fifteen men while Arthur was unconscious. He didn't think about anything other than the need to make sure the prince was all right.

And he surely didn't think of the fact that the men around Arthur and the ones that had been restraining him weren't the only ones present, which was why he never had time to defend against the blow to the head that came out of nowhere and sent him to the muddy ground.

He rolled to his back, groggy and in pain, as his vision blurred in and out. Still, he stretched out a trembling hand, knowing he should do something to stop the man he saw standing over him, but the magic that just a moment before had been so powerful seemed to slip and twist just out of reach in his now muddled mind.

"Oh, lad," the non-messenger said, almost a little sadly, "you should not have done that."

And then he raised his sword hilt first and Merlin's spinning world went black.

Author's Note: Thank you once again to Missy and Smuffly, for help and support and making this chapter happen! And to all the rest of you - I have to admit I've been rather blown away by the response to this story! Thank you so much!