Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, his property, his friends or his enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.
Cenred's throne rooms seems suddenly much colder and Merlin suppresses a shiver, not wanting any little thing to give him away. He doesn't think the temperature has dropped but the king's words to Arthur are chilling and Merlin feels them reverberate through his very bones.
Arthur seems uncowed by Cenred's threats and Merlin knows the next few moments will determine the rest of the day and possibly – probably – the rest of their lives. Arthur can seem unpredictable to outsiders but to his manservant his every move is preceded by a look, a stance, an attitude, that Merlin has learnt to recognise over the years he's been with the prince.
The stance into which his prince is now shifting, oh so subtly, gives Merlin cause for concern. This, he thinks, could go one of three ways. Arthur might succumb gracefully and give Cenred whatever answer he's looking for, or Arthur might give Cenred a story so full of falsehoods it would make Uther proud, or he might let loose a diatribe full of hatred and disgust in Cenred's face.
Merlin's not a betting man but right now he reckons he could make a fortune by wagering his mother's lodgings on Arthur taking the latter course of action. Consequently he's really not surprised when Arthur jerks his head away from Cenred, inadvertently butting the guard behind him in the thigh, and hisses a reply which consists of threats and colourful invective, a tirade of abuse which would make many a knight blush. Even through his sense of foreboding Merlin finds it in himself to be quite impressed with the prince's vocabulary. He wonders if Uther knows his son can be quite so eloquent.
The resulting blow to Arthur's face really isn't any surprise and Merlin wonders if the prince was expecting worse when his only reaction is to shake his head and laugh, a hollow, bitter sound in the quiet of the throne room.
He watches, worried, as Rience steps forward and whispers in Cenred's ear. It's at times like this he wishes he had supernatural hearing. He make a mental note to ask Gaius about sound enhancing spells when they return to Camelot. Cenred seems to pause for thought, hand raised for another blow, eyes locked on Arthur's face. Then he turns to his right-hand man and, although Merlin can't see him, he can feel the atmosphere in the room turn a complete circle. Cenred's hand drops as he nods slowly.
"Rience, my friend," he starts, calmly, "I believe you may have the answer." He steps away from Arthur and slowly, deliberately, turns his back on the prince. The king's steps echo around the hall, the noise of his footfall somehow ominous in itself and Merlin wonders if he's practised a menacing walk in his spare time. The absurdity of the thought almost makes him laugh and he only just catches the chortle in his throat before it escapes.
He watches warily as Cenred reaches his throne and turns, letting his cloak swirl dramatically out behind him. He sits regally and folds his hands behind his head in a gesture totally at odds with the seriousness of the situation. He looks as though he's settling in for a show and Merlin thinks Arthur might just be headlining the bill.
Cenred nods once at Rience who steps up to the young knight and grasps him by his shirt front. The fabric pulls tight and rips slightly with the force used to raise Arthur from his knees to his feet. Merlin tenses, waiting to make his move, frantically searching his mind for any move he can make. He doesn't know Rience, he's never even heard of him and from all appearances, Arthur doesn't know him either.
Rience's voice, when he finally speaks to his prisoner, is taunting, leering almost. He sneers as he talks, Merlin notices, and it changes his tone.
"How noble are you, Sire?" he asks Arthur.
"More than you could ever hope to be," is the prince's immediate reply and Merlin bites his lip, willing Arthur to be more diplomatic with his replies.
Rience doesn't seem to take offence though. "And how would you know of my nobility?" he enquires, a cold smile crossing his face while his fingers tighten in Arthur's shirt. "What do you know of me, Pendragon?"
Arthur lifts his head and Merlin wishes again that he could see his master's face. In his head he can see the sneer he can almost guarantee is matching the coldness in his adversary's face.
"I know everything I want to know," he hisses. "Everything I need to know."
"Then you know I am feared through Escetia. You know greater men than you have crumbled and wept at my feet. You know I can break you as easily as a blade of grass." He unwinds his fingers and smoothes the creases on Arthur's clothing, a parody of parental affection that makes both Arthur and Merlin shudder. "I can break you with one word."
"Then you clearly know very little of me," Arthur replies, his voice steady and firm. Merlin relaxes slightly in his hiding place.
Rience laughs loudly and turns to face his king. "Did you hear that, my Lord?" he asks Cenred. "Our guest has doubts about me. Shall I help him understand, Sire?"
Merlin turns his attention to Cenred. He has leant forward in his throne and seems captivated by the story playing out before him. He is resting his chin in his hand and his head is tilted slightly to one side. Merlin could smite him in one heartbeat, could smite the entire company but he won't. Arthur's ignorance is still too important to the warlock and, despite appearances, Merlin doesn't think the situation is so dire that magic is warranted. Not yet.
Cenred keeps silent but nods to his compatriot. Rience bows to the throne and then looks to the guards by the door. "Fetch Drudwyn," he commands.
Merlin wracks his brain, tries to place the name but just draws a blank. The look on Cenred's face fills him with fear. The king is smiling, a slight, only just there, sort of smile and in his eyes, Merlin can see anticipation. Rience is circling Arthur now, a similar look of anticipation on his face and he's nodding to himself. Merlin wonders about stopping time again but he doesn't think that would work twice and he wouldn't know what to do with his borrowed time anyway.
So time continues on its merry way although Merlin could swear it's slowed down of its own accord. Arthur remains standing, posture steady and strong. Cenred watches his prisoner like a hawk, although what he's looking for is anyone's guess. And Rience continues his solitary march round the knight, occasionally stopping to scrutinise an imagined speck of dust on his cloak.
When the doors finally swing open, Merlin isn't really expecting what he sees. Drudwyn is a small, balding man who has long since said goodbye to his youth. In some ways he reminds the sorcerer of Gaius, the way he moves into the king's presence, the way he bows deferentially but with the air of a man who really has no need to do so but is simply maintaining the old ways.
"Have you done what I asked?" Rience enquires of the old man who merely nods, not taking his eyes off Cenred.
"Then I believe there is no point delaying any further. The King has shown great patience up to now but there is a limit to his forbearance." He steps to one side and gestures to Arthur with a theatrical sweep of his arm. "The prince is all yours."
Drudwyn turns to Arthur and looks up at him. There is at least a head's height difference and in any other circumstances it would be comical. But as he holds lifts his arm and rests his hand on Arthur's forehead, Merlin's stomach turns to ice and what little food is in his gut makes an impressive effort to escape.
From where he is standing, Merlin has a clear line of sight on the old man. He has to blink a couple of times to confirm what he's seeing. The old man's eyes are changing, from blue to brown to gold to black. As Arthur falls to his knees, arms flailing out to the side, Merlin knows with a startling clarity that he is not the only person in Escetia with magic.
Before he knows what he's doing, Merlin finds his own arm raised, aimed at the newcomer who is threatening Arthur. He feels the magic tingling down his arm, flowing through his veins into his fingertips. He can almost taste victory as his hand splays open, the invisible force rent from his palm knocking Drudwyn's hand away from Arthur's head.
But before chaos can take hold, the old man is back in position, chanting an inaudible mantra. Cenred and Rience look momentarily confused but seem content to let the court's wizard take the lead.
Merlin shakes his head, frustrated, and raises his hand to repeat his performance. He no longer cares about hiding either himself or his magic. Prince Arthur's safety is his only concern. Awkward questions can be answered later, much later. He puts his all into the bolt of magic he feels building in his core but just as he is about to release it, the doors to throne room burst open and a knight of the court of Escetia flings himself in, throwing himself to knees at Cenred's feet.
"My Lord," he gasps, breathless. "The prisoner. The other one. He's gone!"