Arthur let his eyes drift shut slowly. The torture had been...bad, he thought. He wasn't exactly sure, everything was still a bit muddled and the ever present pain in his head was making it difficult to hold onto any of the events of the past few days. All Arthur could remember was snatches of conversation, glimpses of his knights, of Merlin, of leather masked birdmen standing over him.

He'd thought he was getting a bit better. The last time he remembered Merlin asking him questions, he thought that he'd gotten them right. But the last few hours….

Arthur wasn't sure exactly what had happened when the two men had taken him away. They were torturing him, he knew that, but he still wasn't sure why and he couldn't clearly remember any of the questions they'd asked. The questions hadn't seemed to make much sense, and every time Arthur tried to speak, to ask them what they wanted and why, he couldn't find his voice. Eventually, he thought, that had made the men angry. That's when the pain had really started.

Arthur shivered involuntarily, turning his head into...whatever he was laying on. Merlin, his scattered memory informed him.

That was right. That was Merlin's hand on his shoulder, and that was Merlin's voice asking if he was okay.

Merlin sounded upset, Arthur thought. More upset than usual, maybe even more upset than being stuck in a mysterious prison cell warranted.

Arthur dragged his heavy eyelids up. As much as he wanted to never open his eyes again, Merlin sounded upset, and Arthur had to address that.

"Wha's wrong?" Arthur managed, his words sounding badly slurred even to his own ears.

For some reason, that seemed to make Merlin more upset. Maybe it was just Arthur's blurry vision, but he could have sworn he saw tears in Merlin's eyes. And that simply could not be borne. Through an enormous strength of will, he forced himself to pull himself together. Even though breathing hurt, even though thinking hurt, it was time to be there for Merlin. He needed to be a prince again.

"Tell me what's-" He broke off sharply as pain spiked through his head, and he had to swallow down a surge of nausea. "Tell me what's going on."

Merlin shook his head, still looking worn out and teary. "You need to rest, sire. You-"

Arthur groaned slightly. Merlin was right, he was exhausted and in a world of pain. But he didn't know what was happening, he didn't even understand why he'd been tortured, and couldn't have that. He couldn't lead his men this way. He couldn't do anything.

Merlin swallowed hard. His hand convulsively tightened on Arthur's good shoulder, like he was trying to protect the Prince from what he had to say. Arthur considered asking him to spit it out, but he found he didn't really have the strength.

"We were captured by some sort of...religious cult," Merlin said. "They're looking for Prince Arthur, to...to sacrifice him."

This was a lot for Arthur to process. His head was throbbing, and trying to think through the implications of what Merlin was saying was agony. He had to take a long few breaths, trying not to pass out or be sick again. Merlin's hand fluttered around Arthur's hand and face, his face anxious and rather uncomfortably close to Arthur's. Arthur knew that he wanted to help, but he also knew that he had no idea how.

"But I...I told 'em who I was," Arthur mumbled, the hazy memory of their first night in this place somehow drifting forward. "When...I didn' even know what they were asking. But...I told 'em I was Arthur."

Merlin grimaced. "I know. That was, uh, part of a...well, not a plan, exactly. But all of the knights said that they were Arthur. I did too. So even though you did say that you were Arthur, they...didn't believe you. They still have no idea what they're looking for."
Arthur's eyes narrowed, even the dim light of the cell too bright now for his aching head. This was...bad. They had no idea he was Arthur, so that wasn't why they were torturing him. And that meant they were probably torturing the rest of his knights too.

And there was something else about this whole thing that was bothering him, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"But...why do they wanna kill me?" he finally managed.

"I have no idea."

Arthur turned his face into Merlin's leg, in too much pain to even be embarrassed.

"Why...why haven' they killed all of us yet?"

"I...I don't know that either."

"Think they will soon?" Arthur managed. He needed to make a plan, but his head was still throbbing with every thought. If he just had time to think….

"I don't know," Merlin whispered.

"My knights," Arthur mumbled. He couldn't quite articulate what he wanted to say, but he knew that his men were getting hurt for him, and that wasn't something he could bear. He had to fix this, he needed to find a plan, he needed to get all of them out of here.

Arthur closed his eyes, trying to gather his thoughts. Merlin's hand was still on his shoulder, squeezing it gently, and it felt good and safe and before Arthur knew it he was drifting off to sleep.

Merlin shot awake, looking frantically around. The pitted stone walls of the cell stared back at him, just as they had for the past few days. Arthur was still curled half in Merlin's lap, face drawn with pain even in sleep.

Sleep. Damn it, Merlin hadn't meant to fall asleep. He was supposed to be waking Arthur up to check his memory every hour. He wasn't supposed to fall asleep himself, not when Arthur needed him.

"Arthur," Merlin said softly, this time making sure to touch Arthur's good shoulder. "You need to wake up."

Arthur moaned, curling up tighter. Of course, that was entirely typical behavior for him, concussion or otherwise. Arthur had never exactly been a morning person. Merlin shook him gently, and Arthur opened his eyes right as the cell door opened.

Merlin pulled Arthur instinctively closer. Why were they coming back? Were they suspicious because Arthur hadn't said anything during the last session? Were they going to hurt him more? Arthur was already so badly injured, and Merlin wasn't sure he would be able to help him if he was tortured any more.

The same two men from before reached Merlin. One of them took hold of Arthur, pulling him roughly away from Merlin.

"No," Merlin gasped, and then the other man took Merlin by his arm and pulled him roughly to his feet.

"Come on," he said, dragging Merlin away from Arthur and across the cell. The other man let go of Arthur and followed.

They were leaving Arthur there. Merlin had a split second of relief until he realized that that meant they were torturing him, and of course he didn't want Arthur to suffer any more but that didn't mean he was looking forward to what was coming. But there was nothing he could do now aside from refuse to talk, even though he knew that would lead to Arthur and the others getting tortured more later on.

One man grabbed each of Merlin's shoulders and yanked him forward so hard he stumbled. He tried to regain his footing, but they marched him forward so fast he ended up finding himself half-dragged along the ground.

"Hey," Merlin said, trying to mimic the indignant tone of voice he had heard from Arthur when the Prince's bathwater was cold, or his breakfast was late, or his shirt was ripped. "I'm the crown prince of Camelot! You can't treat me this way! I refuse to be-"

Merlin let himself trail off. His voice was a weak, nervous-sounding croak. He wasn't fooling anyone. He was no crown prince of Camelot.

The two men led him down a long, dim hallway. He passed a few other doors, but he couldn't tell if they led to the cells where the knights were being kept or not. He thought it was likely that they did. He wondered where they could possibly be being held, and how the cult could have hidden a structure big enough to hold twenty knights in separate cells from the rest of the kingdom. Then he decided that that really didn't matter. Clearly, they had done it. Merlin figured they were most likely being kept underground.

They turned a corner, and then one of the men dropped Merlin's arm, shoved him roughly sideways, and pushed past him to unlock a door. Merlin was then yanked inside a small circular stone room, which contained an ominous-looking table.

Merlin swallowed hard. He wasn't exactly sure whether the real Arthur had ever been tortured prior to this. The subject had never come up, although Merlin knew that Arthur got into trouble often enough that it seemed fairly likely. Merlin himself, however, had certainly never been tortured. Even just looking at the table that he was presumably about to be strapped down on made him feel lightheaded and sick. His heart fluttered painfully in his chest, and he had to clench his hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

But he could do this. He could do this because he had no choice. If he didn't, Arthur was going to die.

The second man led Merlin to the table.

"Lie down," he said.

"I-"

"Lie down," he said, more forcefully. Merlin wasn't exactly sure what would happen if he refused again, but he didn't want to find out. He got onto the table. The man pushed him down, and the first man hurried over, pulling Merlin's wrists out roughly and strapping them down to the table. Merlin wriggled, but not with any real hopes of escape. Sure enough, the thick leather bands held firm.

The two men did the same to his ankles, and Merlin winced as the straps cut into his skin. He couldn't move an inch, and that sensation was uncomfortable enough even without the knowledge that he was about to be tortured.

The shorter man walked up to Merlin's face, bending down so his eyes were level with Merlin's. He reached into his pocket, produced something, and held it up. It glinted, catching what little light there was in the cell and reflecting it back into Merlin's eyes. It was a knife. Of course it was. Merlin stared back at him, trying to seem as though this were a situation he found himself embroiled in quite frequently.

"Who is Arthur?" the man asked, calmly and clearly. The other, taller, man stood behind him, apparently thoroughly enjoying the proceedings.

Merlin stared at the knife positioned near his right eye and just barely managed to turn his gulp into a slightly strained swallow. "I am," he answered, wishing his voice had come out less of a squeak and more of a proud declaration.

The man with the knife shook his head in disappointment. Without saying a word, he lowered his blade and Merlin felt the knife enter his shoulder. He yelped, unable to help himself. All the times he'd been hurt in the past, he was in the middle of a battle. He could rely on adrenaline to keep him from feeling the pain, and he knew that if he stopped fighting, he'd die. With that conviction, he knew that going on was his only option.

This was different. The injury wasn't unexpected, it wasn't going to be masked by the powerful surge of adrenaline that sometimes hit before Merlin felt any pain. No, in this case he had time to think about what was coming, imagine how it would feel, unable even to move to get away. And nothing was coming to mask the pain. That was there to stay.

The smaller man dragged the knife diagonally down his shoulder, and Merlin had to bite his lip to keep from whimpering.

"Tell us which one of you is Arthur," the man said. "We can make this very unpleasant for you, and for all of your friends. We are infinitely patient."

The knife sliced across the thin skin across his collarbone. It felt shockingly hot, almost like a burn, and Merlin sucked in a sharp, pained breath. He felt blood trickling down his shoulder, and the feeling of that was almost as horrible as the feeling of pain. Part of Merlin knew that he wasn't bleeding nearly enough to be in any danger, but that didn't keep the sensation of blood slowly crawling down his bare shoulder from feeling impossibly foreign and wrong. His arm automatically tensed, moving instinctively to wipe the blood away, but his wrist immediately hit the leather band and that just made him feel panicky and trapped.

"If we can find out who Arthur is, only one of you has to die," the man said. "Just him. We don't need the rest of you, and you will not be harmed. We'll let you go, and ensure you get safely back to Camelot. You can spare all of your friends this pain."

"I'm…." Merlin's voice was shaking - he paused and just let himself breathe for a moment, trying not to reveal how scared he was but sure he was failing. "I'm Arthur. If you're looking to kill Arthur...you have to kill me."

The man shook his head, furious, and the cold blade of the knife bit into the skin just along Merlin's ribs, opening a shallow cut that still somehow managed to take Merlin's breath away.

Merlin tried not to pay too much attention to what was happening after that. He let his mind wander as much as he could as he felt the edge of the knife tease the vulnerable area beneath his jawbone and the front of his neck. He thought about helping Gaius prepare medicine while the man opened a cut down his arm. He thought about his nice warm bed while the knife danced over his stomach.

And then, when the pain got to be too great, he just thought about Arthur. He thought about Arthur fighting, and dragging himself out of bed every morning rain or shine to train. He thought about the serious look Arthur got on his face when he was making an important decision. He thought about how good of a king he would make, how lucky Camelot would be to have him.

He thought about the way Arthur laughed when Merlin said something particularly funny. The way he smiled when Merlin said something wise. Merlin wasn't going to lose that, he simply couldn't. So when everything else was gone, there was enough left. Merlin kept repeating the same thing, over and over, I'm Arthur, I'm Arthur, I'm Arthur. That was the way to keep his prince safe, and he would do whatever it took.

Arthur paced around the small confines of the cell, left hand just barely grazing the wall as he walked. Each step sent a jolt of agony through his head, shoulder, and ribs (come to think of it, through just about everywhere else too), but he couldn't just sit idly by while Merlin was off somewhere being tortured.

It was bad enough that his knights were being harmed. When one of his men fell in battle, Arthur still felt the loss keenly. And this wasn't in battle, his men were getting tortured in a strange place because some freaks in bird masks wanted to sacrifice Prince Arthur to whatever God they worshipped, and he wasn't doing anything to stop it.

And now, it was worse still, because it was Merlin. Merlin wasn't a knight. He hadn't vowed to protect Camelot and all its citizens. He hadn't promised to give his life for his king. He barely even knew how to hold a sword. He wasn't a fighter, he was just Arthur's horribly stubborn, foolishly brave, endlessly loyal servant - Arthur's friend - and there was absolutely no reason he should ever have been placed in this position.

Arthur closed his eyes against the sudden increase in pain from his head and rubbed at his temples with his only functioning hand. He needed to put a stop to this. When...if they brought Merlin back, Arthur would tell them the truth and pray that they believed him.

When they did bring Merlin back, Arthur instantly forgot about everything else.

The two men were dragging Merlin between them, his head hanging down. Arthur could see blood slowly dripping from his arms and his chest.

Arthur pulled his hand off the wall and hobbled towards Merlin, who the men let drop in a heap on the floor. The cell door clanged shut as Arthur half-knelt, half-fell beside his friend.

"Merlin," Arthur breathed, bending over him. He couldn't quite get his eyes to focus right, and any movement from his right arm sent waves of nausea through him, but he was going to do as much as he possibly could.

Arthur shook Merlin's shoulder slightly, and, receiving no response, turned him over. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he pulled him closer.

Merlin's eyes flickered, and he moaned softly.

"I know, I'm sorry," Arthur said miserably. He waited for Merlin to call him names, or accuse him of being a typical dumb, overly rough knight, but Merlin just whimpered quietly and closed his eyes again.

Arthur had never wanted to be insulted quite so badly.

"I'm going to look at your wounds," Arthur informed Merlin. "You're going to be just fine."

As it turned out, Arthur had more trouble than he'd expected looking at Merlin's wounds. His vision was still alarmingly blurry, focusing on one spot for more than a few seconds was next to impossible, and there was just too much blood everywhere for Arthur to be able to see what was wrong.

"I'm really sorry about this," Arthur said softly, and began probing the injuries he could see with his left hand. He tried to be as gentle as possible, but he wasn't sure how well it was working.

Merlin's eyes fluttered open once again, then narrowed to glare at Arthur. "That...hurts," he mumbled.

Arthur tried to come up with a snappy response, but he was too worried and sick and exhausted and he couldn't think of anything. "Yeah," he finally said, gently as he could manage. "Yeah, I'm sure it does. It's because-"

And then, before he could do anything else, before he could even finish his sentence, the cell door banged open again. Arthur flinched automatically. They had just finished with Merlin, surely they wouldn't be taking Arthur already? But the men barely spared Arthur a glance, and instead went straight for Merlin.

"No," Arthur said, but his voice lacked the power it usually had. "Wait, you...you just brought him back…."

The men ignored him, and started to haul Merlin up again, into the same uncomfortable half-drag half-carry they'd used to bring him out of the cell before. Merlin made a small groaning sound, and struggled weakly for a second before going limp.

"Hey," Arthur said, a little more forcefully this time. "Don't take him again, I-"

"We're moving him to a new cell," the man finally said. "He needed to stay here when you were badly hurt. You're not anymore."

Arthur blinked. He hadn't exactly connected that they'd allowed him and Merlin to remain together only because Arthur had so clearly needed a caretaker. It had never even crossed his mind that once he started to recover, Merlin could be taken away.

Merlin groaned again, one hand reaching weakly for Arthur. Arthur didn't think he'd ever wished to be injured before, but now he was finding himself getting close. If only he hadn't been pacing, or talking so loudly, maybe the men wouldn't have noticed that he was no longer as weak as he'd been before.

"He needs help now," Arthur protested, gesturing at Merlin. "He's clearly in pain, he's losing too much blood…." He knew it was essentially useless at this point, there was nothing he could say or do to convince the men to leave Merlin with him. But his servant just looked so scared and in pain, and Arthur didn't want them to take him, he-

The men dragged Merlin forward a few more steps, and Merlin gasped, presumably as the motion dragged at his wounds. Arthur made one last desperate lunge for him, and then he was too far out of reach. They tugged Merlin into the hallway, nearly driving him into the ground, and then the cell door was banging closed behind them. Arthur was left kneeling uselessly on the ground, hands still slick with blood, and Merlin was gone.