A/N: this is my first attempt at Whumptober, and I'm already late to the game! More to come as I hopefully figure this out...

No. 1: All trussed up and still nowhere to go

Whumpees: Arthur and Merlin

Arthur and Merlin were having a good day. At least, that's what Arthur thought… they were out in the forests of Camelot hunting, and for once, the oaf was quiet as he shot a doe, two rabbits, and caught a pheasant. Yes, Father was going to be pleased with him today.

He was in such a good mood that he didn't even mention Merlin's prattle as they walked through the forest to where their horses were waiting. "You know, Merlin," he interrupted without second thought, "it's such a good day, let's have some mead before heading back. I saw a pub not too far along the road."

Merlin was not having a good day. Getting up before the sun always made him grumpy, especially when it meant going on a hunting trip. Not only did it pain him to see innocent animals killed, it also meant more work for him: finding a way to carry a dead animal all the way back to Camelot was not his favorite thing. Plus, trolloping out in the woods all day with Arthur? Ugh. "At least I'm getting a free drink out of it", he thought gloomily.

They found the small thatched pub aptly named The Mucky Duck quickly enough, and as Arthur pushed open the big hewn door, the waft of baked pies and alcohol hit their noses. Arthur wasn't silly enough to wear his red cloak on a hunt, but they were served pretty quickly since his casual shirt was still nicer than most of what everyone else was wearing. Arthur immediately wanted to talk about the hunt, but Merlin tuned him out and started people-watching. If he was made to trek all over the lands of Camelot, he was going to do it doing his favorite activity: watching and making up stories for people. There were the general groups in the pub; the men with the belly that never seemed to leave a tavern for more than a few hours, the casual drinkers like themselves, and the occasional woman laughing too loudly at something someone said. The barkeep was quick with his actions and his words. "Hamish's the name, if you need anything" he said, bringing them a small bowl of nuts and wiping down the table.

Halfway through his people-watching, Merlin was distracted by a small, greasy-haired man who came in with a swagger and a short knife hanging from his belt. He didn't even bother to lower his voice as he asked Hamish for his share of the profits for 'protection'. Merlin inwardly sighed. Surely Arthur wouldn't be able to let this go. As Hamish nervously turned out empty pockets save for a few coins, Arthur gave Merlin his characteristic "watch this" look and crept out of his seat. He tapped the thug on the shoulder as he asked, "What sort of protection do you provide?"

The thug laughed. "Any kind of protection from ruffians and thugs (Arthur snorted at this) that the no-good, lazy king ain't gonna do anything about…. And he's too busy counting his gold to bother 'round places like this here establishment."

At this, Arthur set his jaw and threw the first punch. Even when two of the thug's men appeared as backup, he was able to fight all three of them without a problem – he might have an ego, but he's also been trained to fight since birth. Merlin did his usual background fighting with his magic, but since it was such a tight space, he was limited with what he could do – after all, it's not like he could levitate a jug without someone noticing.

The Mucky Duck didn't have anything near it where they could throw the thug and his friends into a cell for the night, so Arthur and a few helpful tavern-goers tied them up to a nearby tree at the back of the tavern. "If you have any problems with thugs like this," Arthur announced in his princely voice that he saved for official business, "send word to Camelot and soldiers will be here within a few hours."

Hamish was impressed. Tybalt had been harassing him for "protection" ever since the new hotel owner down the road brought him in to handle delinquent tenants. Based on Arthur's speech and nice dress, he knew he was a noble, but how could he promise something like that? He just had to know.

"Thank you, sire… but that's a big promise. How can it be so?"

Arthur turned back to Hamish. "Because I'm the King's son, Prince Arthur." And with that, he gave a quick wave and started to trot off into the sunset, Merlin and his mare on his tail, and the tavern-goers simultaneously bowing and applauding them.

Merlin and Arthur didn't trot on for too much longer. With their delay in the tavern, they'd have to make camp in the forest before getting to the castle the next day. Arthur stretched. "What a good fight that was, even if I didn't even think for a minute that Tybalt character would win." Merlin snorted from his mare next to Arthur. "Ah, yes, humility: the character trait that every prince needs." He trotted off before he could hear Arthur's characteristic "MER-lin!".

With the sun going down, they found a clearing pretty quickly and made light work of collecting firewood, building a fire, and Arthur took care of the horses while Merlin cooked dinner. Arthur was still a little irked that Merlin didn't really help in the fight, so after dinner he quickly announced, "You take first watch tonight. I need my beauty sleep from all the protecting I've done, since you were like a girl hiding under the table during today's tavern brawl." He laid out his bed roll and was quickly snoring.

Merlin gathered up the dishes – he'd have to wash them later – and started setting a tight perimeter around their little camp. Of course Arthur would make fun of him for sequestering off trying to hide his eyes' golden flashes. With a huff, he turned and glared at Arthur's sleeping form. "Leave it to the prat to think that I'm some worthless simpleton" he thought. He was about to say a quick retort (why did the perfect retort always come 6 hours too late) before a foul-smelling rag appeared in front of his face and was jammed up his nose.

"Arth…" was all that came out as he fell to the forest floor.

Birds. Birds were really loud. Why are birds so loud, especially in the morning when you're still sleeping?

Merlin's brain took a while to warm back up, and the thumping behind his eyes made his nose and throat feel even more sore. He felt his head drop to his chest, and he brought it back up, blearily looking at a face that looked familiar… caring, even?…. Definitely impatient. Glaring at him now, ooh. Oh yeah, that was Arthur.

"Sire?" he slurred, shaking his head and blinking rapidly.

"Merlin? Are you alright?" Arthur looked like his usual prattish self, save for a bruise forming under his right eye and a sluggish trail of blood from his temple. He was stretched out like a T between two trees, and it looked like rusted chains were the only things holding him up.

"Oh yeah… well… feel a lil' like a lazy daisy," Merlin got out, slurring a little still.

Suddenly, Tybalt showed up out of his peripheral. Merlin immediately flinched, noticing just then that his hands were tied behind his back, and he was wavering on his knees, with more rope holding his thighs together. And Tybalt wasn't alone… he had about 14 other men with him, greasy men, with a desperation in their eye and murder on their faces.

"Oh, if it innit Prince Arthur," Tybalt drawled, pulling his short knife from his belt. "I wonder, boys, do y'think he bleeds blue or does he bleed just as red as the rest of us?" Egged on by his posse of bandits, Tybalt drew the knife back. The early morning sun captured the flash of the knife one, two, four times. Tybalt never went for serious harm, instead trying to put as many superficial cuts in Arthur's chest as he could before the man passed out again. Sometimes Tybalt stepped back and was immediately replaced by another greasy thug, and each one seemed to have their specialty: hitting, punching, stamping, stomping, and cutting. "You don't have anywhere to go!" they kept taunting, as Arthur took their beating with no complaint.

Throughout the whole debacle, Merlin's magic was stirring, but it wouldn't come out. He knew it was there, could feel it in his chest, but everything seemed so fuzzy and flippy… he tried to stay awake for Arthur, but his eyelids each felt like they weighted 200 pounds. "That's enough for a baby horse," he mumbled to himself as he nodded off again.

Arthur could feel his turn of luck – had felt it ever since he woke up chained to two damn trees and had to watch Merlin suffer because of him. Granted, Merlin was a delicate little flower when it came to anything around hunting, or fighting, or any of the "manly" things that Father and his knights taught him. Merlin was a lot of things, but he didn't deserve this. One of the thugs who Arthur nicknamed Stumpy kept pulling a clear bottle from his pocket and pouring a little down Merlin's throat. Arthur wasn't sure what it was, but he'd be pretty sure it wasn't good.

Finally, the thugs stopped their incessant beating, and took a lunch break. Only Arthur, Merlin, and Stumpy remained, with Stumpy deciding to take his food and a few bottles of ale with him to a nearby copse of trees. With a loud "bleur", Merlin's head popped back up. Upon seeing Arthur, his face broke out in his goofy grin, but it didn't reach his eyes and Merlin's head kept drooping back over his chest. "Arfur!" he said, "You're here! Well, you were in my dream first but now you're here and dreams and reality must coexist, well, because the dragon said I had a destiny, and it's like a dream but also could be a really reality, y'know?"

Arthur knew Merlin could talk a lot but he'd never heard this speedy confusing prattle before (and did Merlin just mention a dragon?). The clear bottle that Stumpy kept pulling out, it could be a drug of some sort. Suddenly, Arthur felt a pang of guilt. Merlin was only here because he had this stupid idea of hunting in order to get out of yet another council meeting. It was such a nice day, he had to get out and go somewhere, and he knew that his days of just leaving the castle were limited. Once he was king, every one of Arthur's moves were to be monitored. And where did that leave him? Chained to bloody trees in the middle of the forest. Even though Merlin was drugged, his rope binding would be easier to get free from, and then they'd have to get the chains undone, and find their way back to Camelot. With a break from the stomping, cutting, and beating, Arthur took a few deep breaths – as deep of breaths that his cracked ribs would allow. He noticed the sun, the trees, the landscape… damn, they were a bit further away from Camelot from their original camp. It'd be hard to get two injured men home before they were caught again… which just meant that they couldn't get caught again.

As Arthur was lost in thought of his escape plans, Merlin went quiet again. Too quiet. "Merlin," Arthur called, "look at me." His voice had just the right amount of princely attitude and an undercurrent of desperation. Merlin twitched. "The sun is too sparkly" he announced, sounding a little less slurred than he did a few moments ago. By Arthur's calculations, it had been more than a few moments since Stumpy last dosed him, so perhaps the drugs were coming out of his system.

Arthur was never known for his patience, and now that he had a plan, he was even more anxious to get the escaping done with before Tybalt and his thugs came back from their food break. "MER-lin!" he stage-whispered. "Let's go!"

Merlin's eyes popped open again (was that a hint of gold, or was Arthur's head just playing with him?) and he finally saw Arthur as he was: barely standing, exhaustion and pain written on his face and blood on his chest, arms, and stomach. Merlin's magic – and anger – were finally kicking to the surface. The forest seemed less fuzzy and colder than before.

"Arthur," he breathed, feeling his pain and hurt full-tilt now. They had to get back to Camelot… but he heard Tybalt and his thugs crashing down the path. They were out of time.

Merlin took a few breaths to steady himself. If Tybalt was in charge of drugging him, he would be expecting one drugged and one chained person – and Merlin wanted to keep up appearances. He slumped his head again, keeping a watchful eye out for Tybalt.

"Right then mates," Tybalt crowed, "let's see how much this prince bleeds!" He saw Stumpy in his copse of trees, snoring loudly with the bottles next to him. "Sleepin' on the job, ya lazy louse!" he yelled, brandishing his knife. Stumpy awoke with a snort and immediately took note of the situation. "It's fine!" he said, "tha' one over there's still out of it, and he wann't gonna go nowhere either, right," he said, motioning to Arthur.

Tybalt was still angry, but Gregory (Stumpy's real name) was the best in the business when it came to potions. Since the little one was still swaying on his knees and the prince was still tied up, eyes haughtily staring at him, he had to be OK with it. "Right then," Tybalt said, recentering himself and thinking about his next moves. "Who wants to see the prince bleed?"

Merlin was not about to let that happen. He copied Arthur's "watch this" look and shot it at the prince until he got a slight head nod. "You will not touch him anymore" he said, standing to his full height over Tybalt. His knees were knocking a bit together, but he stood his ground.

"Ah, fellas, we got ourselves a fighter!" Tybalt crowed, bringing his small knife out. He and Merlin started an awkward dance, with Merlin being stiffer than he realized until he realized that his hands behind his back were cut – and so was the rope. Hands free, Merlin was able to strategically fly Tybalt's knife out of his hands so that Arthur didn't see his eyes, and he used it to cut his binds on his legs. As Tybalt came to get his knife, Merlin elbowed him in the throat and he went crashing down.

The rest of the men came running in as Tybalt went down, and Merlin quickly unlocked Arthur's chains and pressed a sword in his hands. Though Arthur didn't have much feeling in his hands at first, it came back in pins and needles as he kicked, punched, parried, and thrusted his sword in everyone who came in his path – including Stumpy, who had halfheartedly joined the fight.

Merlin was of course, helping in the background and could see Arthur flagging. Three down, then two down, now one… done! All the thugs were laying around Arthur as he twisted around, trying to find the next person to fight.

"Sire," Merlin started toward Arthur. "Sire! Arthur! Put the sword down!" Arthur was still frantically twisting, his eyes bouncing around the forest, looking for the next target. "Arthur," Merlin tried another approach. "Arthur, you have to let go."

That seemed to finally work. "Merlin?" Arthur looked a little lost. "Merlin, you're OK?" Merlin felt his hands stinging, and he was already carefully mentally cataloguing Arthur's wounds.

"Yes, Arthur, yes, I'm fine, thanks to you. Let's get out of here, come on."

Merlin led Arthur to the edge of the area and they found their packs, Arthur's sword, and their horses neatly tied up. He grabbed some gauze and tried to bind his own hand, though finally Arthur seemed to snap back to attention and helped finish the job.

"Y'know, Merlin," he said, with his princely voice creeping back in. "You really should leave this sort of fighting to the knights. I would've found a way to kill them, that's my job." Arthur's voice softened. "You know, you really are tougher than you look."

Merlin straightened. "It's my honor to serve you – now turn around so I can bind your ribs."

After a few moments, they limped over to their horses and started the long walk to Camelot.

"Merlin! Where are the animals I hunted?!"

-Fin-