Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, his property, his friends or his enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.
Merlin's mouth stays open for longer that he would have liked. The answer in his head seems to have lost its way between his brain and his tongue. He can feel the attention of every man in the room weighing heavily upon him, from Cenred to Rience, from the nobility of Escetia's court to his own prince, Arthur. Everyone is waiting, some more patiently than others, some with bated breath, others with amusement loitering behind each breath.
"Well," Cenred finally prompts, clearly bored of this game he obviously believes Merlin is playing. "What's it to be, boy?" The king steps to Arthur and rests the hilt of his sword under the prince's chin, forcing his head back. "Your answer, or your prince?"
Merlin can feel the waves of resentment sliding off Arthur as Cenred forces his head back further than should really be possible. He's aware of Arthur swallowing, with difficulty, and tries to block out the little hiss of pain as teeth clatter uncomfortably together. He can't let this go on, he thinks.
"Leave him alone," he hisses. "I'll tell you what you want to know," and he waits for Cenred to turn his attention back to him. He tries to ignore the way Arthur's head drops forward altogether too quickly when he's released. He tries to ignore the stifled huff of air that escapes the prince's mouth. He tries to ignore the glare winging its way from Arthur to himself.
Cenred is standing before the warlock almost before Merlin realises. He can feel the king's hot breath against his face, feels the anticipation seeping from Cenred's every pore, senses the tension in the room mounting to almost farcical levels. He knows Arthur is still surrounded, helpless to fight for himself and he knows he can't delay any longer.
"The thing is," he starts, twisting his fingers in the hem of his tunic. "The thing is," and he casts a glance at Arthur, pausing for a breath that he truly doesn't need. He bites his lower lip and turns back to Cenred, raising hopeful, hopeless eyes to the king. "The guards didn't lock them after they took Arthur away?"
"The guards?" Cenred's answer is tinged with disbelieving laughter. "I can believe some of my guards may have made that simple mistake but I do believe they would be paying for it with their lives about now." He looks around the room, seeks out Rience's eyes and nods once, so subtly Merlin reckons no-one but he and Rience have noticed it. Merlin's heart sinks as the older man breaks into a slow, cold smile.
"My Lord," he begins, softly. "If I may?" and his hand slides beneath his robes where Merlin has no doubt there lies a multitude of instruments of which he would much prefer to remain ignorant.
Cenred claps a hand on Merlin's shoulder so suddenly and so forcefully the sorcerer jumps, a little exaggerated perhaps but then he has a performance to keep up. It would never do for the king to suspect he's not quite so scared or gormless as he's making out.
"Are you really telling me the truth?" Cenred asks quietly, eyes boring into Merlin's with such a fire that Merlin wonders if the king has his own magical secret.
He nods, rapidly. "Oh, yes," he states. "It was definitely the guards. You should punish them."
"I will," Cenred reassures him with faux camaraderie. "I thank you for bringing their slovenly ways to my attention." He pauses, his gaze drifting upwards and it's all Merlin can do not to follow his sightline. "Unfortunately," he drawls, "I don't quite believe you. Do you care to change your story?"
Merlin risks a sideways glance at Arthur who is still glaring at his manservant, but now there's something else in his eyes. It's that look he gives Merlin when he's done something remarkably stupid, or remarkably sensible. Merlin hasn't quite worked out the difference between the two yet – Arthur can be incredibly subtle when he wants.
The prince raises his eyebrows when he notices Merlin looking at him and Merlin knows there's a question in that expression that he can't really answer. He knows Arthur, for one, has not believed his explanation although he thinks the prince is willing to go with it for now.
Cenred, on the other hand, isn't so easy to pacify.
"You've made your choice then, boy," he concludes. "I really hope Arthur is up to this."
Not for the first time, Merlin wonders if he's made a terrible mistake. Maybe this is the time to reveal himself, to show Arthur just how devoted he is to his prince. Maybe it won't end the way he's envisaged it so many times in his dreams. There's an outside chance Arthur might understand. There's always the possibility Uther might be persuaded to listen to his son.
But his musings are cut short by Rience pulling his hand from beneath his cloak with a flourish Merlin is sure he's been practising for years in anticipation of a moment such as this. Merlin is convinced everyone in the throne room has seen the glint of metal in the nobleman's hand.
The warlock's blood runs cold as he watches Cenred's right hand man motion to the guards who seem to be in on the plan. As Arthur's arms are gripped tightly by Escetia's finely trained soldiers, Merlin finds his eyes locked on Arthur's.
"No!" he bursts out, unable to bear being the cause of more pain to Arthur. He lunges forward, throwing his arms out in a vain effort to help Arthur. All he gets for his trouble is a pair of guards of his own, mirroring the prince's own position.
It seems he is the only one who is prepared to put an end to this spectacle. As Arthur struggles in a seemingly iron grip, as only Arthur could, kicking out at his captors, throwing his head back, trying to butt the man behind him, Rience looks triumphantly to Merlin and opens his hand revealing his weapon of choice.
At first glance, Merlin thinks Rience holding a child's toy but the intricate design is too elaborate to be a child's rattle and he realises with a badly suppressed shiver that what at first seemed harmless is in fact a sprinkler of some description.
Merlin's heard of the various methods of torture used throughout the kingdom. He can't be where he is and work for who he works for without coming into contact with the less salubrious side of castle life. Torture exists everywhere but he never thought he'd see it firsthand. He's accepted he may end his life at the stake if things go badly wrong for him but he's never considered how he would react if Arthur were on the receiving end of such treatment.
But it seems they are all about to find out how strong Camelot breeds its citizens. Arthur's physical strength is about to be tested and Merlin hopes he can be mentally strong enough for the prince.
Because nobody is listening to him anymore. It doesn't seem to matter anymore how often or how loudly he protests. The cogs have been set in motion and Rience is an unstoppable machine. Cenred has taken a backseat, literally as he settles comfortably on his throne, watching with rapt attention more suited to a child's first encounter with snow.
The doors of the throne room clashing open distract Merlin for only an instant, long enough to register the arrival of two weary looking servants carrying a cauldron, the contents of which are steaming and hissing and spitting. It doesn't take a genius to work out that this is going to hurt.
Looking across at Arthur, Merlin knows with certainty that Arthur has figured it out too. The prince has renewed his struggles and there's a different look on his face now. Merlin can see fear in his eyes although Arthur is doing his absolute best to hide it from everyone. He once told Merlin that fear could be his worst enemy and now Merlin understands why.
Rience holds his free hand out and accepts a ladle from one of the servants, who have now placed the cauldron on the stone floor. Merlin watches, transfixed, as the man scoops up a ladleful of molten metal, grinning as he lets it pour back down to splash harmlessly into the pool below. Merlin can feel the heat from where he is.
Cenred's aide plants himself directly in front of Arthur who stills instantly.
"My Lord," the man mocks the Crown Prince of Camelot, bowing deeply. "If I may have your arm, Sire," and he waits for the guards to pull Arthur's left arm away from his body and offer it out to Rience.
Merlin shakes his head rapidly in denial. "No," he gasps. "You can't do this. You can't do this!" but nobody is listening to him.
"You will pay for this," Arthur states calmly, as though he already knows his fate. Maybe, Merlin thinks, maybe he's got a plan and this isn't actually going to happen after all.
"I believe it is you who will pay, sire," Rience disagrees. "You will pay for your servant's disloyalty." He leans forward and drops his voice, taunting Arthur. "How does it feel to know your servant cares so little for you? To know he would rather see you into the next world than tell the truth? If I were you I would look closely at my companions."
He straightens up again and Merlin can see that his words have had their desired effect. Arthur looks unsettled and it's nothing to do with the molten silver or the impending pain he's preparing himself for. No, Merlin knows Rience has sown a seed of doubt in his prince's mind and that is something that he can't allow.
"That's not true, Arthur," the warlock shouts, desperate to snap Arthur's attention back to the here and now. "You know it's not true."
"Then what is true?" Cenred asks, and Merlin wonders if that's a genuine curiosity in his voice.
Merlin is torn. He's not entirely sure what question the king is actually posing. His loyalty to Arthur is second to none and he doesn't care who knows it.
"I would never betray Arthur," he spits at the king who merely nods slowly before directing his next words in Rience's direction.
"Wrong answer," he says with finality.
Merlin is so busy staring at the king, trying to work out what his question really was that Arthur's scream takes him completely by surprise but he knows instantly that it's a sound he will never forget. Spinning round he sees Arthur being held upright by his guards, molten silver dripping from Rience's sprinkler on to the prince's arm, burning through the thin fabric of his tunic and searing into his skin, melding fabric and flesh together.
Merlin can't imagine what Arthur is feeling but as more liquid metal falls from Rience's instrument of torture the prince's screams fade into an incoherent mumble. The smell of burning flesh turns Merlin's stomach.
"Stop it," he pleads. "Please, stop this. I'll tell you what you want to know just stop this. Please."
Rience lifts the sprinkler away from Arthur and Merlin tries not to notice how the drips fall upon the stone floor and bubble, scalding the ground and trickling into the cracks between the flagstones.
"I'm disappointed," Cenred admits. "Rience has only just got started. I expected more from Camelot's people but then maybe I had Uther right all along. A coward leading cowards. What could I have really expected?"
"Merlin," Arthur groans, lifting his head from where it's fallen. "Don't say a thing. Do you hear me?"
Merlin bites his lip, studying the injured knight beside him. He's stunned by Arthur's lucidity although really, what did he think Arthur was going to do? Fall and weep like a girl?
"Arthur…" he begins.
"I mean it, Merlin," Arthur mumbles. "Do what you do best and say nothing."
Somewhere deep inside Merlin is cheered that Arthur still has his cutting sense of humour. It means Arthur, his Arthur, is still in there, still functioning, still fighting.
"I'm sorry, Arthur," Merlin whispers, ignoring the audience they have.
"Enough!" Cenred snaps. "This is all very touching but I'm not getting the answers I want and I'm losing patience." He leans forward on his throne, baring his teeth. "And you really don't want me to lose my patience," he warns ominously.