Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, his property, his friends or his enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.
There's something wrong with Arthur's hand, Merlin muses. Not injured wrong, but wrong nevertheless. The absence of his ring bothers the warlock more than he'd have thought. It's just a piece of jewellery, Merlin doesn't even know what it's made from or where it came from. But without it the Prince is somehow incomplete. Like Cenred took a part of Arthur with it. In his head, Merlin knows this is nonsense but in his heart he feels an uneasy apprehension.
He shakes his head – an effort to send this sense of foreboding to the winds. "So," he says, breaking the silence that has hung over the two prisoners since Cenred took his leave. "Will your father come?"
Arthur snorts. "Of course not," is the brusque reply. "Oh, he might send a few of his knights. Give Cenred what he wants – a bit of a fight, a bit of resistance but he won't send anyone he values. Which means he won't send anyone who's any good."
Merlin's surprised by the bitterness in Arthur's words. He thinks it would be best to keep his opinion to himself but he can't do it.
"That's not true, Arthur," he blurts out.
"Isn't it?" Arthur raises his eyebrows.
"Of course not! Okay, so Uther may not come himself but he'll send an army. You said so yourself. To Cenred."
"Of course I did, Merlin. How stupid are you? You never ever tell your enemies the truth. Right now he believes Camelot is preparing to bring the wrath of an entire kingdom down upon him. What do you think he's doing at this very moment?" Arthur pauses, takes a breath and glares at Merlin, who simply shrugs. "I can tell you what he's not doing," Arthur continues. "He's not sleeping. He's not eating. He's not even resting. He's preparing for a war that's never going to happen." Arthur leans forward and wags a conspiratorial finger at his cell mate. "And that, Merlin, is why you and I have the advantage. We have food, we have water and we will sleep for the rest of the night. And then tomorrow, we'll go home."
Arthur gives Merlin a cocky smile and lies back, hands tucked behind his head. If Merlin didn't know him better he would think the knight was already asleep. He knows there'll be no getting sense into Arthur's head for the rest of the night although he is curious as to what plan his companion thinks he's come up with. He thinks, with a sinking feeling, that he may have to resort to magic after all. Especially if Arthur is going to launch himself, single handed, at Cenred and his army.
He lies awake for the rest of the night. He watches Arthur slumbering, watches the way the Prince's chest rises and falls gently with each breath, watches the worry lines and creases fade from his master's forehead, watches as a smile turns up the corners of his mouth and wonders what dreams are easing Arthur through the darkness.
He must have nodded off at some point, he realises as the sunlight irritates his eyelids, turning his world to a gentle pink. He rubs his eyes and stretches out his long legs with a soft moan. Then he decides it's time to face what the world, and more importantly, Arthur, intend to throw at him today. Sitting up he looks to the guards outside the cell.
"They seem quiet," he observes to Arthur, studying the languid poses of the burly men assigned to watch the prisoners from Camelot. "What do you think's going on?"
But there's no reply and when Merlin turns to see why Arthur is so reticent to answer, his world crashes through his stomach. Arthur is gone. The place where he was sleeping is stone cold, Arthur has been gone for some time.
Eyes wide with fear, not for himself but for his prince, Merlin spins round on the spot. "Where is he?" he yells to the guards, who feign deafness and continue with whatever game they're playing.
Merlin rattles the bars to the cell, desperate for attention, and tries again. "Where's Prince Arthur?" he demands.
The guards sigh as one and lay down their counters on the small table before them. One of them rises and approaches the dungeon cell. Merlin feels the dread in his gut rising up through his gullet and settling in his throat as the guard matches his pose, hands on the bars either side of the warlock's hands.
"Prince Arthur has a personal audience with the King," he informs Merlin with a malicious glint in his eye. "He'll be some time I would imagine." He laughs and turns to his companion. "Isn't that right, Keridak?"
Keridak joins in the laughter, nodding with what Merlin regards as unseemly glee. "The King was most keen to continue their conversation in private," he agrees, carelessly picking up his counters from the table and turning them over in his hand. "Don't worry though, little one," he taunts, "I'm sure the King will treat him with all due respect."
Merlin knows then that the contempt these men are showing for his prince will be their undoing. They're simple guards, he reasons with himself. They won't be believed if they ever have the gall to tell anyone what happened here today. They'll come up with some tale of false bravado to boost their own egos and save face in front of their king and comrades. Magic, he decides, has its place and this is it.
He turns away from the bars and lets his shoulders drop, allowing the guards to believe he's defeated. He listens for the game to restart before turning silently back to view the two men. They don't think Merlin is a threat and neither of them is even looking in his direction. Big mistake, Merlin muses as his eyes burn amber and the lock on the cell door begins to glow white hot.
After that it's merely a case of revelling in the look of shock from the guards as they turn to find the manservant standing above their game before he knocks their heads together with a power that his slight stature belies. Or at least, that's the story they'll tell when their replacements come to relieve them and find them unconscious at their game.
Cenred's castle is easy to negotiate. Merlin doesn't think the passages are that different to the ones in Camelot and he grudgingly accepts that Arthur may have been right about Cenred being too busy preparing for war to worry about much else in his kingdom. There are ridiculously few guards and those that Merlin does come across are easily distracted with a clatter behind them or a door slamming along the corridor. Years of fading into the background are standing the warlock in good stead and nobody notices just another servant scurrying towards the throne room.
Cenred's throne room is conveniently flanked by two imposing and, Merlin supposes, grandiose columns either side of the doors. There's a guard standing to attention by each pillar and Merlin stops briefly to consider his next step. He could use his magic to render the guards unconscious but the noise of them sliding down the walls to the ground might attract attention. Invisibility would be ideal in this situation but he still needs to get the doors open and doors simply don't open by themselves. He could try to stop time but he's never been very successful with that one.
On balance though, he decides, this is probably his best option. In the past his magic seems to work best under pressure and what could bring more pressure to bear than the Prince in what could turn out to be mortal danger? And he doesn't need to stop time for long, just to give himself enough time to get inside the throne room and hide himself while he works out his next move.
"Andweardnes fordemman" he mutters, holding out an arm in the hope it might help the spell take effect.
For a moment nothing happens and he thinks he's failed. He sighs bitterly and holds out his other arm, ready to try again. Then slowly, so slowly he nearly misses it, a mist takes form around the guards' feet. It swirls and curls in intricate patterns that hold Merlin hypnotised for a moment before it tangles itself round the guards' legs and up their bodies.
Merlin watches, fascinated, as their faces freeze and all around him silence falls heavy and eerie. The castle has descended into an unnatural stillness and Merlin knows this is his chance, possibly his only chance. He doesn't know how long this will last.
He creeps forward until he stands before the doors. There has been no sign from either man by the throne room that he has been noticed so he takes the handles in both hands. The iron is cold beneath his touch and he bites his lower lip as he pulls the handles down and pushes the doors open.
He dare not look yet to see what scene is playing out in the throne room He simply turns to close the doors behind him, wondering idly why he's taking so much care to be quiet about it. Nobody can hear him or see him. He could raise a riot and no-one would know.
Turning back to the room he briefly spies a tableau in the centre of the room – Cenred is standing before his throne and Arthur is on his knees before the King, flanked by a number of guards while Cenred seems to have gathered his most trusted advisors to join them. The throne sits at the end of the hall and Merlin decides it's remarkably similar to Uther's seat of power in Camelot. He easily finds a pillar to conceal himself behind as he detects the sounds of life returning to the castle where he can watch Arthur and plan his next move.
He can't see Arthur's face from where he is but it doesn't take long to realise the Prince's armour has been removed and the chill in the room can only be to Arthur's detriment. As movement arrives back in the great hall Merlin sees Arthur repress a shiver and he wonders how long his master has been on his knees.
Cenred is smiling and Merlin doesn't like the way his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. He knows the king to be a cruel, hard man and he worries about Arthur. He hopes the shiver is purely a result of the cold but then Cenred's voice returns and Merlin doesn't think the temperature is the only contributing factor.
"I've waited long enough for your answer, Sire," the king comments and Merlin wonders what the question was. "Sir Rience grows impatient, Arthur, and I for one would not like to be on the receiving end of his wrath."
One of Cenred's advisors smiles and Merlin thinks he must be Sir Rience. He's a tall man and although he is clothed regally Merlin suspects beneath his cloak there lies a lifetime of tournaments and challenges. His eyes are as cold as Cenred's words as he steps forward to take his place at the king's side.
Arthur shakes his head and raises his chin. Merlin can hardly hear his words when he speaks but the tone is unmistakably Arthur. "I would rather eat my own eyeballs than answer your questions," he spits and Merlin inwardly cheers, heartened that his prince hasn't lost his fighting spirit.
Rience tilts his head to one side. "That could be arranged, sire." He addresses his reply to Cenred but he doesn't take his eyes off the prisoner kneeling before him. "It could be quite entertaining."
Cenred laughs. "Oh Rience, my old friend. What would I do without your jokes? The world would, indeed be a much more sombre place." He steps forward and drops a heavy hand on Arthur's shoulder. "He would do it in a heartbeat, you know," he advises the young prince, faux friendship dripping through his every word. "I however, prefer more traditional methods and the world is an ugly enough place without defacing what little beauty there is."
Merlin's blood runs cold as he watches Cenred reach down to his waist and draw his ceremonial dagger. The hilt is covered is jewels which catch the morning sunlight. He raises it until it is level with Arthur's eyes, turning it round so the man before him understands just how lethal a weapon it is.
"I will give you one more chance," he tells the knight as he runs the point of the blade down the side of Arthur's face, stopping when it reaches the base of his throat, "and then there will be no more games."