Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, his property, his friends or his enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.
Merlin opens his eyes slowly, wondering when he had fallen asleep. The lighted torches beyond the bars to the cell are no indication of time but by the way the guards are slumped carelessly against the walls he guesses it must be night time. He stretches carefully, joints protesting at the hours of inactivity he has subjected them to. Glancing around the cell he spies Arthur curled in on himself, looking ridiculously young and innocent in sleep.
Merlin toys with the idea of healing Arthur's wounds but knows it's never going to happen. Not without giving himself away and now's not the time for that. Arthur doesn't seem to be in any pain or discomfort and the risk of discovery outweighs the satisfaction it would give the warlock. Instead, he turns his attention to the guards. He wonders if he could somehow use his magic against them. He runs through the catalogue of spells and powers at his disposal in head and thinks he might have found the perfect solution when there's a commotion beyond the cell walls.
The guards, once so slovenly, are all attention and efficiency, springing away from the walls as though burned. Merlin watches them apprehensively, wondering what could possibly have brought on this speedy change in posture and character.
He doesn't have to wait long for his answer. Through the corridors the heavy fall of footsteps echoes ominously. Merlin counts three, maybe four, separate walkers, all men, all large if the sounds are anything to go by. He glances across to where Arthur is stirring, disturbed by the noise.
Merlin has seen Arthur cross the bridge from sleep to wakefulness countless times and it never ceases to amaze him how the knight always seems to know the best way to do it. In his chambers on a quiet day it can take Merlin up to an hour of coaxing, cajoling, bribing and finally threatening to get his master out of a warm bed. In the forest on a hunting trip Arthur can be awake and on his feet in a heartbeat if he thinks there's danger nearby.
Right now, Merlin knows Arthur is awake but he doubts anyone else has any idea. There's a slight stiffening of shoulders, a minute stilling of his head and over the tumult from outside the cell, Merlin can hear the shift of Arthur's breathing. The warlock allows himself a satisfied smile where no one can see it. Arthur is nobody's fool. He means to eavesdrop on whatever fortune brings to their cell.
Merlin turns back to face the bars keeping them from their liberty and nods slightly to himself as Cenred turns appears, flanked on either side by what Merlin presumes are his personal guards. He watches as the king approaches them, self confidence and arrogance oozing from his pores.
Cenred halts just inches from the bars and looks down at where Merlin is sitting. Merlin has to stop himself from shivering under the scrutiny of the older man. He forces himself to meet his eye, knowing he's overstepping the mark as a servant but not caring. Cenred isn't his King. He owes the man nothing.
Cenred doesn't seem bothered by this show of stubbornness. In fact he seems amused by it and turns to share a whispered joke with one of his personal guards. They both laugh a little and then he waves a hand towards Arthur.
"Still sleeping?" he asks, pointlessly.
Merlin can't tell if he's seen through Arthur's pretence or not so he just shrugs his shoulders. "It's been a long day," he replies casually. Out of the corner of his eye he catches Arthur's shoulders quiver, just a little. It could be a stifled laugh, it could be the cold. Merlin neither knows nor cares.
Apparently, neither does Cenred. "Wake him up," he orders his men.
The guards are careless with the keys and the noise alone would wake the dead, let alone a prince pretending to slumber on. Arthur turns onto his back and glares at the guards now standing above him.
"Enjoying the view?" he asks caustically, even as rough hands grab his arms and haul him to his feet. Merlin is up and at his side so quickly he wonders if he accidentally used a little magic.
But it seems no one has noticed the speed of his movements. In fact, it appears that no one has noticed anything about him. Nobody seems in the slightest bit interested in him. All the attention is focussed purely on Arthur and Merlin doesn't like it.
Cenred is still poised outside the cell, fingers playing with the hilt of his sword. As Arthur is brought towards him, he smiles and looks the prince over curiously.
"Why hasn't Uther come running yet?" he ponders, planting himself directly in front of Arthur, invading what little personal space the prince has left.
His question surprises Merlin. Uther may not be openly demonstrative with his affection for his son but when the doors are closed the King's feelings are hard to deny. It's all part of being a servant, Merlin supposes. He blends into the background, all but forgotten by his superiors. He could tell the court a thousand secrets about Arthur and Uther.
Uther not coming for Arthur can only mean one of two things. Either he hasn't got the message yet, or he knows it's a trap. Merlin hopes it's the former because, despite appearances, Arthur gets his hotheadedness from somewhere. Maybe Uther's knights are holding him back, urging him to think things through, to come up with a strategy before ordering his army into Escetia, hell bent on revenge.
If the question surprises Arthur, he doesn't show it. He merely tilts his head to one side and looks Cenred up and down with disdain.
"Missing him, are you?" he sneers. "Feeling neglected? I must remind him to send flowers."
For a moment Merlin wonders if Cenred is going to hit Arthur. He watches the king's jaw muscles tighten, eyes the clenched fist. But the moment is gone so smoothly Merlin begins to doubt the intent was ever there in the first place. Instead the older man takes another step forward, forcing Arthur to take an involuntary step back. Merlin sees the guards reinforcing their grip on the Prince's arms, halting any further retreat.
"I'll be the one sending flowers," Cenred hisses. "To your father's funeral. Not that you'll be there to see them." He stops and shakes his head thoughtfully. "Maybe," he murmurs, lifting a hand to brush away an imaginary stray hair from Arthur's forehead, "maybe your father needs a little encouragement."
Merlin watches Arthur flinch – whether from the veiled threat or the unwelcome touch, he can't tell. But he recognises the steel behind Arthur's gaze and he's glad to see it.
"My father's not stupid," Arthur spits. "He won't just walk into your arms. He'll bring an army. An army of thousands. An army you can't possibly defeat. Do you think Camelot will just roll over and accept this insult? Just how weak and pathetic do you think we are?"
Cenred laughs. "An army of thousands? And where will Uther find these thousands?"
"They'll come," Arthur replies, conviction oozing through every word.
"I think you're in for a big disappointment," Cenred shakes his head. "Who are these people who feel so strongly for Uther that they will come and risk life and limb for him, to come and help him rescue his family when he has destroyed so many? Uther is not as well loved by his people as you think."
Merlin watches as Arthur's face turns a shade paler. "They will come," he reiterates, but Merlin can hear the beginning of doubt edging into his voice. He doesn't think Cenred has picked up on it yet and he thinks that's a good thing.
Cenred simply raises his eyebrows and mutters, "We'll see, boy. We'll see." He steps away from Arthur and looks the prince up and down in a way that makes Merlin feel uncomfortable. He watches the way Cenred's eyes linger a little too long on Arthur's hands, currently clenched into fists, the light from the torches glinting off his ring.
The king suddenly lunges forward and grabs hold of Arthur's wrist, yanking his arm forward, pulling the younger man off balance. If the guards weren't still holding him, Merlin muses, he'd probably be in Cenred's arms right now. As it is, Arthur stumbles and falls to his knees before the king. Merlin winces as the older man prises the fingers on Arthur's hand apart and wrenches off the ring.
"Maybe this will help your father focus," he muses, tossing the ring carelessly in the air.