Merlin thought about a week went by, but it was hard to tell. He thought he got meals twice a day, and he'd gotten twelve so far. It may have been less often though. Sometimes he thought they forgot him.

The only reason Merlin knew Arthur was still alive was he was still being tortured. If they had figured out who Arthur was, if one of the knights had snapped, they would have already killed him. This whole mad game would be over, and the Prince would be dead.

There was always a bright side, Merlin supposed. But torture wasn't supposed to be a bright side. How had he ended up here, in this cell, feeling almost relieved every time the door opened and the torturers came back?

For Arthur. Merlin was here for Arthur, and that made everything else bearable. He was bloody and bruised and starving and more frightened than he'd ever been in his entire life, and he'd go through it all again if it meant protecting Arthur. Arthur would do the same for him.

Merlin heard the cell door open again, and this time he didn't even bother to look up. He was too drained, and the end result would be the same anyway. He was going to be dragged off somewhere else, the bird masked men were going to hit him or burn him or cut him or any of a million other unpleasant things they could think of and they were going to demand that he reveal Prince Arthur and he was going to refuse. And that same cycle was going to repeat ad nauseum until Merlin managed to force his exhausted brain into gear and figure out a way out of here. Maybe he never would.

The men dragged him to his feet, and Merlin let them. Fighting them wasn't going to do any good, Merlin could barely fight anyone off at the best of times. He certainly couldn't after a week and a half of near constant torture.

The two men brought Merlin to another room, the familiar stone table positioned in the center. Or maybe it wasn't familiar, maybe there were rooms and rooms full of identical stone tables stained rusty red with old blood.

The men strapped Merlin down to the familiar-or-maybe-not stone table and Merlin wondered idly why they'd bothered to move him at all. They could have tortured him just as well in his cell, he thought. Was it protocol? Was it supposed to unsettle him more? Did they just like stone tables?

Merlin didn't suppose it really mattered.

One of the men stood over him and said something that Merlin didn't really bother to listen to. He knew what he was saying, something about Arthur and sacrifice and the promise of pain and the other, alternate promise that all of this could stop.

Merlin didn't answer. He just laid there on the cold stone, staring up into the shadows of the ceiling. He didn't say anything when the men started shouting, and he didn't say anything when they pried open his mouth and made him swallow a vile-tasting liquid.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Merlin realized that this was confusing. The torturer's usually used knives, or sometimes just their fists. He'd never been forced to drink anything before. And while whatever they'd forced into him had certainly tasted disgusting, it hadn't burned or anything going down, and he didn't feel any different. What were they playing at? What was going to happen to him?

He lay trembling on the table for what felt like hours but couldn't really have been more than a minute or two. The men just kept staring down at him with their blank faces and beady eyes, like they were waiting for something. He didn't think anything had happened yet, but his heart was pounding hard and fast in his chest and suddenly he was worried that maybe that was the effect of whatever they had given him, maybe it was going to make his heart beat so hard it beat right out of his chest, and they would only stop it if he finally admitted he wasn't Arthur….

Merlin realized he was sweating. When had it gotten so hot in here? Was it usually this hot in the room where they tortured him? He thought there was a chance that it was, but he really wasn't sure. He couldn't remember. And now he wasn't sure why he couldn't remember. There was something wrong with him. They had...they had….

The world seemed all swimmy and swirly now. The masked faces of the men seemed to be melting in front of him. He felt...terrible, like he had swallowed sand, like his brain had inflated and was pushing up behind his eyes. He felt like he wasn't attached to his body anymore. He felt very scared.

"Tell us who Arthur is," one of the masked men commanded. "Which one is he? What does he look like?"

Merlin just lay on the table, hyperventilating, hands tensing convulsively against the leather straps that held him, sure he was about to either fall apart or die. He felt like someone was sitting on his chest, and his lungs were frantically trying to expand against some invisible pressure. It hurt to even attempt to form thoughts.

"Tell us who Arthur is."

An image of Arthur floated unbidden to the front of his mind. Blond hair, blue eyes, broad shoulders, crooked smile. Merlin's vision was blurring so badly he felt sick, but he was still sure that he would be able to pick Arthur out of a line up. But he couldn't do that, there...there hadn't been a reason he couldn't….

"Tell us."

Even if Merlin had wanted to respond, he couldn't. His brain didn't seem connected to his mouth anymore. He tried one more time to speak, and then his vision blurred into nothingness and he knew no more.

It had been about a week, Arthur thought. He wasn't sure, of course. It was impossible to tell. But it felt like a week had gone by. The swelling on his eye had disappeared into mottled bruising, his ribs felt less tender, his vision wasn't fuzzy unless he moved his head too quickly. Old bruises faded, new ones appeared. The torturers appeared every so often, and every time Arthur wondered if he should tell them that he was Prince Arthur, if that would save his men or doom them. Would they just kill all of them once they knew he was the Prince? Would he be damning them along with himself? Or was that just the rationalization of a coward who didn't want to die?

Arthur didn't tell them. And with every passing day that he didn't admit his own identity, he lost a little more respect for himself. Even if his captors had brought him food, he wasn't sure that he would have been able to stomach it.

He missed Merlin. He worried about Merlin. He was worrying about Merlin more than all the rest of his men, which might have been unfair, but the last time he'd seen him, there'd been so much blood...and anything could happen in a week. Was Merlin even still alive?

Arthur curled into himself on the hard stone floor and tried not to think about his cramping stomach, or the various aches and pains constantly making themselves known, or about the variety of things that could happen in a week. He was still there when the door banged open an uncertain interval later.

Arthur forced himself upright slowly. As much as he wanted to lie down and never move again, he was still a prince of Camelot and he was not going to let them see him break.

There was someone lying in a heap on the floor. Arthur stared dumbly for a moment, taking in the pale skin covered in cuts and bruises, the skinny frame (now overly thin from lack of food), the unkempt shock of dark hair...Merlin. Merlin was lying in a heap on the floor.

Arthur moved as quickly as he could, which wasn't very quickly at the moment. A horrible feeling of deja vu sat deep in his gut, reminding him of the last time he'd seen Merlin.

"Hey," Arthur said softly, touching Merlin's cheek. "Hey, come on. Wake up."

Merlin didn't respond. He was trembling slightly, eyes moving behind tightly closed lids. Now that Arthur was touching him, he could feel Merlin vibrating beneath his hand.

"Come on," Arthur said, increasingly hopeless. Merlin didn't respond.

"What did you do to him?" Arthur hissed at the men, pulling Merlin closer to him, half into his lap. Merlin twitched slightly and moaned, a horrible thin sound that tore Arthur in two.

The men were silent, and Arthur looked up at them, trying to find the words he would need to destroy them for doing...whatever they had done to Merlin. For hurting him. For maybe...for maybe….

But then Arthur realized that the two men who had brought Merlin to him were...uncertain. Arthur had never seen any of the masked men look anything but calm and collected before, so this was a surprise. But Arthur could tell from the slope of their shoulders, the nervous twist of their hands, that they weren't sure what to do now. That they felt they had made a mistake.

"What's wrong with him?" Arthur repeated. Merlin still hadn't opened his eyes, or even made the slightest movement to acknowledge that he knew Arthur was there. If it weren't for the faint, constant tremors running through his body, Arthur would have thought he was dead. "Why is he like this?"

"We...we gave him too much," one of the men finally said.

Even though he didn't know exactly what the man meant, Arthur felt his heart drop into his stomach. "Too much what?"

The man didn't answer, just shook his head slightly. "We...he's not supposed to die. We want you to help him. Keep him alive. Do whatever you can."

This was...a surprise, to say the least. Arthur didn't know what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. Why would they want Arthur to try to keep Merlin alive? And what did they think Arthur would be able to do?

"What?" Arthur finally asked dumbly. His head still hurt. It was all he could think of.

"We don't want him to die. We only want to know who Prince Arthur is," the man said.

"What...what do you think I can do?" Arthur asked, hiking Merlin's limp body up slightly, drawing him protectively against his chest.

This question seemed to confuse the man even more. "You're...well, you're his…."

Before he could finish the sentence, the other man was shaking his head slightly, pulling him from the cell. Apparently he'd been too friendly with Arthur, and the time for that was over. Arthur couldn't even begin to puzzle out what the man had been about to say, but he supposed it didn't really matter. All that mattered was the fact that Merlin was shaking like a leaf, and barely seemed to be breathing. The men clearly thought there was something that Arthur could do. And even though he wasn't sure what, he...he had to try.

Arthur carefully lowered Merlin onto the floor, trying to arrange his limbs as naturally as possible. He didn't think Merlin would notice the gesture now, but if...when Merlin woke up, he wouldn't be so stiff and sore. Then Arthur laid the back of his hand on Merlin's forehead to test for fever. There was, in fact, a fever.

"We have to get that down," Arthur murmured. He didn't know if Merlin could hear him. Maybe he could, and he just couldn't respond. If that was the case, Arthur was going to try to talk to him as much as possible. He didn't want Merlin to be frightened. He wanted Merlin to know he was safe.

Arthur looked around the room and spotted a small pitcher of water that the men seemed to have left, maybe when they'd brought Merlin, maybe earlier. Arthur wasn't sure he'd have noticed. Everything was beginning to blur together.

Either way, he needed the water now. Arthur placed a reassuring hand on Merlin's forehead, wincing at the heat coming off his skin.

"I'll be right back," he promised. "I'm just getting you some water."

Merlin moaned slightly, and as Arthur took his hand away, Merlin's head rolled ever so slightly to follow him. Arthur chose to believe that wasn't a coincidence.

When he came back with the pitcher, Merlin was trembling harder.

"Hey. it's okay," Arthur said softly, pulling Merlin closer again, hoping that the feeling of a familiar voice and presence would prove calming. Merlin just kept trembling.

"I suppose I should be insulting you, if I really want it to make you feel at home," Arthur said wryly. "Very well."

Arthur tore off part of his already-ragged shirt and dipped it in the water pitcher, then transferred it to Merlin's brow. Merlin made a small sort of sound, one that Arthur hoped meant contentment.

"You're an idiot," Arthur told Merlin, pushing Merlin's hair back from the wet cloth so it didn't stick in his eyes. "You should have told them who I was. You wouldn't be in this situation."

It might have been Arthur's imagination, but Merlin seemed to frown. Arthur sighed.

"I know. You wouldn't do that. You really are thick." Arthur wiped the water away as it trickled down into Merlin's eyes and settled down for a long wait.

It had been a day and a half. Arthur had been unable to sleep for more than minutes at a time. Merlin had gotten dramatically worse as the first few hours wore on, his breathing becoming more erratic and his temperature rising. He still hadn't come around, and he didn't seem to know Arthur was there. Arthur was beginning to lose hope.

He'd spent the hours doing everything he could think of, bathing Merlin's brow, trying (unsuccessfully) to get Merlin to drink water, talking to Merlin, shouting at Merlin, shouting at/for the birdmen, holding Merlin close and begging him to wake up, and nothing was working. Merlin just kept getting hotter. His body was radiating heat like a furnace, enough that Arthur wasn't cold at all for the first time he'd been brought to the cell.

Arthur didn't know what to do. Merlin was dying in front of him, and apparently no one could help him.

But that couldn't be true, could it? The men must have an antidote, they had to. This must be a trick. They had poisoned Merlin, and they were using him to get to Arthur. All he had to do was tell them his name, admit to being the Prince, and they would spare Merlin. They had to.

Arthur didn't want to leave Merlin, not even for a second, but he didn't feel like he had a choice. Maybe Merlin wasn't actually dying, but he certainly seemed to be. And even though the masked men were the ones who had hurt him initially, without their help Arthur wasn't sure how Merlin was going to survive. Arthur gave his servant one last pat on the shoulder, and tried to arrange his arms so it looked a bit more like he was resting comfortably. Then he forced himself stiffly to his feet and went to the cell door.

As far as Arthur knew, there was only one way to end this. He didn't particularly want to die, but that was far, far better than letting any of his men die in his place, especially Merlin. The only thing he could think of that would guarantee that Merlin would be ok was to tell the masked men who Arthur was. Then they could sacrifice him, finally, and let everyone else go. Hopefully saving Merlin along the way. It wasn't a good plan, but at this point, it was the best plan Arthur could think of. He didn't want to die, but this was the only way he could accomplish his most important goal, which was to keep Merlin from harm.

Arthur's heart was pounding. He wondered how quick it would be, once they knew who he was. Would they let him say goodbye to Merlin? Would he have to languish for days in a cell, hungry and scared? Or the second he opened his mouth, would he be killed on the spot?

"Hey," he yelled softly. He'd spent the past thirty-six hours talking to Merlin, but that had barely gotten above a whisper, and his voice was still sore from disuse. "Hey, is anyone out there?"

It took about three minutes, and many, many variations on the same shouted phrase, for anyone to come. Arthur supposed that made sense, there were so many knights he wasn't sure they were even all being kept on the same hallway. There couldn't be too many guards. The masks made it difficult to be sure, but Arthur thought there were only maybe ten men who dealt with the prisoners directly, and many of them were most likely busy torturing.

But finally, a masked man cracked the door. It was stupid of him to open at Arthur's request, really, and if the stakes hadn't been so high Arthur probably would have gone for an escape attempt. But there was certainly no way that he could leave Merlin.

"I...I need you to help my friend," Arthur said quietly. He couldn't really get a good look at the masked man, the crack in the door was too small. He had no idea if they would be sympathetic. He thought it likely they wouldn't be. He swallowed hard. "I'll...I'll tell you who Arthur is."

"We can't help him," the masked man said bluntly. "We already would have."

"Please," Arthur begged. "Please, I'm Arthur, I don't care what you do to me, just save him."

The masked man made a scoffing sound and began to close the door. Arthur stuck a hand out, stopping him.

"Wait, I'm Arthur, really!"

The masked man shook his head. "That's what I'd say too, if I were you. Won't do you - or him - any good. Not now."

And with that, the door swung heavily closed. Arthur gaped at it, unable to believe what was happening. He'd finally told the men what they wanted to know, and not only had they not helped Merlin, they hadn't even believed him.

Arthur knelt down heavily on the floor, not sure whether he'd sat or fallen. He didn't know what more he could do. Merlin was in bad shape and Arthur couldn't do a single thing to help. Whether Merlin lived or died, all he could do was wait.