[Ok. Take 2. First four chapters reposted because ffnet hates me.]

[I had to delete this story after chapter 4 because ffnet was listing it as "not found" and "unavailable for reading" for no reason that I could fathom. Hopefully this time it works and everyone can see it, read it and I hope enjoy it, and I can continue posting new chapters. It does mean I am out of sync with the dates though, which is annoying because I had planned it all nicely to fill November. Oh well. Does mean you might get two per day sometimes...]

A/N - Helloo! I have just completed Whumptober! Woo! This is the first time I have ever successfully completed a writing challenge! And I had so much fun doing it! I really hope you all have as much fun reading it!

I know I am a bit late to the posting party but it is still October today so technically, technically, it is ok. Well I say it is anyway! I shall continue to publish one fic a day all through November (Whumpvember if you will) rather than piling them all up in one go right now. Please feel free to comment - good or bad, I just like feedback - and hopefully you'll like all the whumpy goodness I have to give.

Big thanks to the wonderful whumptober2020 on Tumblr for creating the list of prompts and to NiFeTiSe, my lovely sis, for encouraging me to do the challenge.

On with the show...

No. 1 – Waking up restrained / Shackled / Hanging

The pain woke Lancelot, radiating through his body. He kept his eyes shut, cataloguing the pain and injuries over his body as his fuzzy mind desperately tried to recall what had happened.

The first thing he registered was that he was restrained. Heavy iron shackles, too tight around his wrists, were holding his arms above his head, wrenching his shoulders up and back painfully. He was sitting on the cold ground, leaning against what felt like a wagon wheel, it was digging into his side just below his ribs.

His face ached and his head pounded, his heartbeat sending more pain throbbing through his skull. He shivered violently, groaning as frosty cold seeped into skin, cramping his muscles as he tried to adjust the position of his arms.

Opening his eyes, he was met with the view of a campsite. He counted eight bandits moving around a fire pit, packing up bedrolls and pans, laughing as they did so. All of them had a sword hanging from their belts, along with a small hand-axe and a dagger.

Lancelot looked down at his own waist. His sword and dagger were, of course, gone. As was his belt, chainmail, gambeson and cloak. No wonder he was cold, it was the middle of winter and he only had his undershirt and breeches. His shirt was ripped across the chest, the edges of the fabric red with blood.

Tipping his head backwards he found he was right about the wagon wheel. He was shackled to the side of a large wagon covered with canvas. He turned to his left and his heart dropped to his stomach.

Merlin was chained beside him.

He didn't look in any better condition than Lancelot. He was unconscious, a large bruise blooming across his pale face. He was hanging limply from the shackles that circled his wrists. They looked far too tight, the rusty iron digging into Merlin's skin, crusted blood trailing down his forearms.

With effort, Lancelot shifted his leg, knocking his knee against Merlin's. It took a few attempts before Merlin groaned, his head lifting slightly as he winced and gasped against the pain.

"Merlin, are you alright?" Lancelot murmured, his voice raspy where his throat was so dry.

Merlin groaned again, looking across at the bandits and closing his eyes again in defeat. His eyebrows drew down and he grimaced.

"Damn."

Seconds later Merlin's eyes flew open, flaring gold as he muttered words Lancelot didn't understand. Nothing happened.

"No," Merlin ground out between gritted teeth. His eyes blazed again. Lancelot stared transfixed as the blue was overtaken by bright shimmering gold, but the burning colour stuttered and faded before Merlin had even finished saying the spell. Lancelot glanced back towards the bandits; they didn't seem to have noticed their captives were awake.

Merlin tried the spell again, but still nothing happened and his magic seemed to ebb away. He collapsed back against the side of the wagon, panting.

"I can't do anything. My magic is being stopped."

"Stopped?" Lancelot asked, worry edging into his mind.

"They must know…" Merlin's gaze began darting around the camp in panic, over the bandits, the tree line, up to the shackles holding his arms aloft. "The shackles. They're magic proof."

Suddenly it came back to Lancelot. He and Merlin had been riding through the woods – Merlin had been collecting herbs for Gaius and Lancelot had offered to escort him – when several men had ambushed them. Lancelot had pulled his sword, but eight against one weren't odds even he felt confident beating. Merlin had employed his own way of fighting. Lancelot had seen him do it before; branches falling from trees, sword hilts burning, stones flying through the air unaided…

Someone had noticed.

Someone knew Merlin was a sorcerer. Someone with the capability to render him powerless.

For the first time since waking up and finding himself injured and restrained, Lancelot felt terrified.

A/N - Let me know your thoughts and please join me tomorrow for more! (If you want to... I hope you do!)