Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, his property, his friends or his enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.
Merlin has never known such uncertainty and he really doesn't know how to deal with it. Arthur is on his feet purely courtesy of the guards holding him upright. His last words to Merlin before fading out completely were to keep quiet, tell the court of Escetia nothing. But Merlin doesn't think Arthur truly understands what Cenred is actually asking. In fact, Merlin doesn't think Arthur is really in a state to understand anything right now.
Cenred, it transpires, was lying about his lack of patience. Turns out, he has a vast supply of it. Certainly enough to move proceedings from his throne room to his dungeons. Although not back to the cells, Merlin notes, protesting all the while. The vast, echoing cavern the warlock now finds himself in could have be drawn straight from a child's storybook of fairy tales. But not the cute, happy ending type of tales. Oh no, more the type parents read to their offspring to encourage good behaviour. The type where the protagonist gets his thumb cut off for sucking it during the day.
The cold stone walls drip with water, chilling the air to a degree or two lower than either Merlin or Arthur is comfortable with. Arthur, Merlin notes, isn't completely unconscious. Whether the temperature has worked to his advantage or not Merlin can't tell, but the prince, eyes barely open, is still capable of muttering the odd curse at his captors. Merlin can't hear the exact words but the look of hatred growing on the guard's face gives him enough reassurance that his master is still alive.
Cenred laughs, the sound bouncing off the walls and various pieces of furniture Merlin prefers not to look at too closely.
"Have you changed your mind yet, boy?" the king demands of Merlin. "I don't know about you," he confides, smiling, "but I think Rience is getting a little tired of waiting." He nods in the direction of his right hand man who stands next to a well used table which Merlin knows is not for eating off.
He thinks hard about what Arthur would want. His prince is still clinging to consciousness but the warlock doesn't know how much awareness is attached to it. It could be the knight is listening to every word, taking it all in, preparing for a last minute attack. Then again, it could be the future King of Camelot has retreated into his own world, found a safe place deep within his head where nobody can hurt him.
Merlin wets his lower lip nervously and looks for a way out of the situation. Any way.
"Oh well," Cenred sighs, seemingly disappointed. "Rience must do what he does then."
"No," Merlin starts but Rience is like a machine. Once he's set in motion, there seems to be no stopping him.
"Maybe Arthur would like to tell us how you came to escape your prison," he muses and waves at a servant who Merlin hasn't noticed before. The servant is barely out of childhood and Merlin can see fear in the boy's eyes as he moves forward with a bucket of ice cold water which he tosses carelessly over the prince.
Arthur gasps, his head shooting up as the water hits his chest and head, splashing over his face and in his hair. His eyes widen with the shock and his head spins round, clearly trying to get his bearings. It only takes a few seconds but in that short time Merlin reckons the strategist in Arthur has taken stock of their situation, the number of enemies, the weapons at their disposal should they get the chance to use them and all their escape routes. Arthur's ability to assess a bad situation is something Merlin has blind faith in.
"Merlin?" Arthur sounds lost and it almost brings Merlin to the brink of despair. He knows Arthur so well, has been through so much with the young prince, thought he'd never hear that tone of voice. In his heart he knows it's temporary but if he can hear it, so can Cenred and his men.
"It's okay, Arthur," he calls out. "You're okay. We're okay."
Arthur grunts in understanding and shakes his head, water droplets flying from his hair, showering his guards. Merlin catches the grimace on his face as the man to his left jerks away from the spray, pulling the prince's injured arm. The warlock's gaze strays down to Arthur's wound but all he can see is flesh and fabric joined together in an ugly display of cruelty. He wishes there was something he could to ease the obvious pain Arthur feels but he thinks that would only make the situation worse. Besides, Arthur's suffered far more for far less.
"Be careful, you buffoon," Arthur hisses, his spirit clearly back on the rise. The guard merely raises a surprised eyebrow, as though he had assumed the prince was no longer capable of coherent thought, let alone speech.
Cenred, too, seems astonished by the statement. He drops his head to one side to study the young man hanging by his arms, face altogether too pale for Merlin's liking. The king turns his attention to Arthur, giving Merlin a clear view of his back. The warlock isn't an expert in body language but it doesn't take a physician to be able to detect the hardening of muscles down Cenred's back and across his shoulders. Tension radiates from the older man and Merlin doesn't want to know what release that tension is going to take.
"Welcome back, sire." Cenred bows deeply, mocking Arthur's position of subservience. "Your servant has a very limited understanding of how to speak to a king. He is very reluctant to answer my questions."
Arthur snorts, a thin sound and Merlin thinks he's done it mostly to cover a grunt of pain. "My servant has a limited understanding of how to speak to anyone," he retorts. "You'll be lucky to get two words of sense out of him."
"Nevertheless," Cenred postulates, "he must be made to see sense. Your tuition of him has been severely lacking in court etiquette." The king smiles. "But don't worry, Arthur. We shall put him right. All he needs is the right incentive."
Merlin feels his blood chill as the king turns to give him a cold, calculating smile. "I'll tell you anything you want to know," he blurts out, unable to stop the words falling from his lips, indifferent to the consequences of any such confession.
"You'll do no such thing, Merlin," Arthur commands, steel edging his words and Merlin realises his prince is about to be disillusioned as to his servant's true nature.
"No, no, Arthur," Cenred laughs. "Let the boy speak. I'm sure he has something of worth to tell us." He steps up to Merlin, so close Merlin can smell the remains of the man's last meal on his breath. "Tell me, boy. How did you escape my cell?"
Merlin looks to Arthur. His prince is having trouble staying upright but the glare he directs at the sorcerer is hard to misinterpret. Merlin thinks deep down the prince is just as curious as the king, probably more so, but his loyalty to Camelot is stronger than any personal curiosity. Arthur would clearly rather go to the pyre than tell Cenred anything about his father's kingdom or any of its citizens. Including Merlin.
Merlin searches his head for a plausible answer. Again. And comes up with nothing.
"I'm sorry, Arthur," he mutters and tries to ignore the look of disappointment on his prince's face. "I'm really sorry."
"Merlin," Arthur growls, his voice strong and deep, and Merlin's impressed. He didn't think Arthur had it in him. Anymore than he thought Arthur had the energy for the sudden display of violence as the prince pulls both his arms together, swinging the guards hanging on to his wrists together, clashing into each other in front of Arthur.
The following moments would be comical in any other circumstances and Merlin takes a minute out to appreciate the humour as the guards seem to knock each other out, falling to the ground in a heap at Arthur's feet. The prince bends forward and grasps a sword from the belt of one of the fallen men, swinging it wildly round in front of him, co-ordination not quite following him but close enough to keep the remaining guards and Cenred at bay.
"Not so sure of yourself now, are you, Cenred?" Arthur pants, the exertion clearly overwhelming his already beleaguered body as he struggles to hold the sword steady. "Let Merlin go and we'll be on our way."
But Cenred's reaction isn't what Arthur was probably hoping for. The king simply steps back and laughs. Rience, who Merlin had almost forgotten about, has manoeuvred his way behind Arthur. Any other time, any other place there is no way the nobleman would be able to do that, Merlin muses as he opens his mouth to shout a warning.
"Arthur!" he cries.
But the warning comes too late. As Arthur raises his eyes to Merlin, already spinning to face the new threat, Rience lifts the hilt of his own sword and brings it down, hard, on the base of Arthur's skull.
The prince stumbles to his knees, eyes rolling back in his head before collapsing completely at Rience's feet on the cold, hard floor.