Hi there, sorry for the slight lateness of this chapter. It's a bit shorter than the previous one, but I will be doing my best to publish another one this weekend, so (hopefully) you have that to look forward to! Updates might be a bit sporadic until the beginning of April (I'm working on a real-world project that is taking up a lot of my time). But I would like to take a moment to say that I promise, right now, that I will NOT abandon this story until it is finished. You have permission to bug me about it if it has been a few weeks and I haven't updated.

That being said, enjoy the third chapter!

~Ra1n

Previously...

Groaning, Merlin shoved his broken hands into his lap and leaned against the wall. Arthur took his chance, and carefully opened the door to the cell again.

Merlin's eyes slivered open.

For a moment, nobody spoke. Merlin surveyed Arthur with slate-blue eyes, still slumped against the wall. His breathing was heavy, his chest heaving with the exertion of pulling air into his lungs. His fingers twitched.

He reminded Arthur of a cornered animal, waiting for the predator to deal the killing bite.

"C-come to f-finish m-me off, yeah?" he said, and let out another one of his chilling laughs. "N-Now that y-you know I can't..."

His hands writhed in his lap.

Arthur took a step into the room.

"No," he said, closing the door behind him. He knelt, getting onto Merlin's level and looking him straight in the eye. "...Now that I know you can't what?"

There was more suspicion in his voice than he had wanted, and he mentally cursed himself. He couldn't help it; being distrustful was his default. It had kept him alive on many occasions.

Yes, and look where that got Merlin.

"Fuck, A-Arthur," Merlin said. He shook his head. "Y-you know what."

Arthur stared uncomprehending until Merlin deliberately shifted, his useless legs scraping against the floor. He succeeded in moving a few inches before collapsing against the wall again, exhausted. He cracked his eyes open to give Arthur a weak glare.

"That h-help?"

Silence.

"-I a-suh-sume execution is easier i-if y-your prisoner c-can't fight back."

Arthur recoiled, opening his mouth to correct him when Merlin smiled again. This time it was a real smile, pure Merlin, and Arthur wondered what could have possibly caused it until Merlin opened his mouth.

"D-do you think I'll s-see W-Will again? O-Or Lancelot?"

The smile wavered a little, his eyes glassy. The king's eyes widened.

"Merlin-! No, no, I'm not-I'm not going to execute you."

The smile dropped, and Merlin looked him straight in the eye.

"B-But I a-already a-asked you once."

"What? Asked me what?"

Merlin was starting to cry again.

"Please?"

"Merlin, I don't know what-"

"Please."

"I don't…"

"Please, just m-make it end."

And Merlin's eyes rolled back into his head.

No.

That was the only word that Arthur had time to think before he was scrambling across the dungeon floor, still in a partial crouch.

No. No, No, No…

He reached Merlin's limp form in seconds.

Please, don't do this. Not now.

His hands hovered anxiously over Merlin's body, afraid to touch him, afraid to make things worse.

He can't get worse if he is already dead, a voice in his mind muttered. Arthur growled and shook his head to clear it.

Merlin was not dead. Arthur refused to believe it. He couldn't be. After enduring weeks of interrogation, there was no way Merlin could give up now, after Arthur knew the truth. He couldn't die the day he was given his freedom back. Arthur couldn't live with that.

"C'mon, Merlin."

There was a long moment of silence.

"C'mon…"

And then, Merlin's emaciated chest shuddered and lifted.

For a second, Arthur didn't understand what he was seeing. Then the second passed, and Arthur took note of how shallow the servant's breathing was, and how his fingers were still bleeding sluggishly onto the floor, how Merlin's lips were a faint blue.

"Shit," he said before spinning around in the cell. He needed to get Merlin help -he needed to get Merlin medical attention.

The guilty-looking guard from before was still standing just beyond the cell walls, watching, and Arthur made a split-second decision.

Damn it all to Hell, he thought, and beckoned the guard to enter the cell. Panic attack or no, Arthur needed the guard's help.

The guard shuffled forward, his eyes worried.

"Help me," Arthur pleaded, motioning towards the frail sorcerer. The guard hesitated in the doorway. Whether it was out of fear for himself or fear for Merlin's well being, they didn't have time.

"He's unconscious," Arthur hissed, "Get in here. Now."

The guard glanced at Merlin's bruised face once more, closed his eyes for a moment, and then moved into action. Kneeling beside Arthur, he, too, looked afraid to touch him.

"What should I…?"

"Help me lift him," Arthur grunted, sliding an arm beneath Merlin's legs. The guard nodded and quickly maneuvered Merlin's bony shoulders away from the wall, supporting his head like a child's. Arthur got a hand under Merlin's spine, and carefully, with the help of the guard, stood.

Once up, Arthur was startled by how light Merlin was. The ridges of his spine and ribs were pressing uncomfortably into his forearm, and his bony hips jutted grotesquely beneath his skin. His limbs, now dangling freely, were long and thin, the knots of his bones far too prominent.

Arthur took a moment to breathe as the guard removed his cape and draped it over Merlin's naked body. This aspect, at least, wasn't the guards creativity. It was Arthur's.

"Sire, the sorcerer doesn't seem to respond to pain."

It was the middle of the second week of Merlin's imprisonment, Leon had reported that Morgana had delayed her attack another fortnight, and the guard who reported to Arthur kept coming back looking more and more guilty.

"Of course he does," Arthur said nonchalantly, "Everybody responds to pain. I told you to be creative. "

"No. We've underestimated his tolerance, sire." The guard looked at his hands. They were trembling slightly, and Arthur fought the urge to roll his eyes. If his guards couldn't deal with a little torture of a known sorcerer and ally of Morgana, then what good were they?

"Have you tried cutting back his rations?"

The guard looked startled. "I'm sorry?"

"Rations. Have you cut back his rations?"

The guard's mouth fell open slightly. "His- No! No, he is already on half-rations, sire. That is the standard protocol for a sorcerer during interrogation."

Arthur hummed. "But I think you and I both know this is not standard. Morgana is forming an army as we speak. There is no time for protocol when Camelot's citizens are at stake."

The guard was silent. Arthur leaned forward.

"Do I make myself clear?"

The guard nodded. "Yes, sire," he whispered, and exited the chamber.

"Sire?"

Arthur was startled out of his thoughts by someone worriedly speaking to him. His eyes focused and he found himself still standing in Merlin's cell, cradling the boy to his chest. The guard was standing in front of him with his brow furrowed, speaking.

"Sire, we need to go. Now."

Arthur didn't need to be told twice.

Would you believe me if I said I don't hate Arthur?