The sun beat down on them relentlessly until they could feel the heat of its ray on there bones, seeping away at the will to move. But someone had to when stomachs set to rumbling, so naturally that was Merlin who muttered a few indecipherable words over the food declaring it edible. Arthur was not so convinced and insisted on a proper fire to roast the rabbits over.
Occupied with cooking Arthur's lunch he never saw the bandit come up from the shrubbery and club him over the head, all he saw was Arthur's wide eyes look and useless shouting of his name before a curtain of black closed over his vision.
"Merlin!" Arthur shouted, flinging himself to his feet grabbing at his sword carelessly laid across his lap. The idiot had gone down without so much as a whimper after that club wielding hulk bashed him over the head.
Gods, the man looked like a mountain. How did I not see him? Oh, right. He'd been busy not staring at the back of Merlin.
One bandit, distant cousin to a large troll or not, he could have easily dispatched and later poked fun at Merlin for being entirely useless. So much for him being a powerful sorcerer, eh?
But it was not just one hulking bandit with possible troll relations, but eight. No matter how experienced the warrior eight to one was never good odds. If Merlin would've woken and made a tree fall down on them the trip might have been salvaged then and there.
But he didn't, he just lay there limp and pale and Arthur wasn't worried, really, he wasn't.
However he might have imagined dying, and the thought had crossed his mind a time or two, by the hand of some nameless' bandits - no matter how largely built - seemed rather depressing, so he planned on not dying today.
Besides, who'd look after Merlin then? No one else was queuing up for the job that's for sure.
Falling back into old habits Arthur tucked into a roll and came up with the dagger he carried around in his boot; one bandit going down with a gurgling death knell blood gushing from his pierced eye. The clash of swords to follow was fast and brutal, three more men lay dead at his feet before it was over.
He hacked, slashed, and parried dancing around there wide swings and shoddy footwork hope swelling in his chest. There where only four now. He could do four, no problem.
"Put down the sword little prince, and we wont harm you" one of the bandits said, a scar bisected the left side of his face leaving him with an eternal frown.
Arthur laughed darkly, "And what makes you think I will do that?"
"Do not, and Daub here shall slit your dark haired companions throat" scar face said and sure enough one of them had Merlin, the blade at his throat glinted mockingly at Arthur beneath the midday sun.
"What a waste that would be to" scar face said with a hawkish grin that set Arthur's teeth on edge. Because of this, the thin line of blood tracing his menservants neck, he hesitated and it cost him. The four men converged on him en masse and he had no choice but to throw down his sword in defeat, or watch Merlin die for his injured pride.
Of the two only one was acceptable.
"How very noble of you to throw down arms for a companion" scar face taunted, "I'm sure he wont thank you for it."
Arthur scowled, every princely bone in his body demanding answers.
"A prince would never be so willing to die for no more than a serving boy" scar face said clamping something thin and metallic around Merlin's bared throat.
Arthur forced himself into stillness when Merlin's body bucked wildly before going completely limp in a matter of seconds, but it took everything in him to do so.
"You've known many princes them, have you?" Arthur snarled forcing his eyes away from Merlin and that strange devise on his neck. It looked unnatural against the paleness of his throat.
"I seek the Prince of Camelot, and I know that no prince would rightfully throw down arms for a servant, which can mean only one thing" scar face said, his fingers carding through Merlin's hair as he spoke.
"I'm listening" Arthur prompted wishing to break every one of the mans fingers. He had no right touching his manservant in that way - it was most unseemly.
"You must be the loyal body guard I heard so much about, and this" he said tugging on Merlin's damp hair, "must be the prince."
Arthur knew not weather to laugh or to cry that he had been mistaken for Merlin, or was it Merlin who had been mistaken for him? The very idea of Merlin as a prince was so, well, laughable that he couldn't help a bit of amusement.
"Merlin is no more a prince than I am a pauper" Arthur declared after his laughter subsides enough for words, "and clearly you need to get out from that cave you've been hiding in these past years."
Scar faces' skin purpled turning the scar a livid white as he clotted him across the face with the back of his hand. Arthur spat blood but was otherwise unconcerned.
"Well lets hear it then shall we, what do you want? Money?" he asked swiping off the blood with his thumb. It would be good if all these mountain men wanted was gold, that was easy enough to negotiate.
"Yes, money, for now" scar face said shoving Merlin at the big fellow called Daub who chortled hefting him over his broad shoulders with a slap to the backside that would surely have sent Merlin into a fit had he been awake. Thus, for once, Arthur was glad he was not. The men noticed him to much as it was.
The men bound his hands with rope tying on a separate length by which to pull him along behind but otherwise left Arthur alone to survey his surroundings with a critical eye - and if he fumbled a step here or displaced a rock there with awkward stumbling more befitting of Merlin than he, who was to know? He was making certain that when the chance for escape arose he could find his way back again.
Arthur, being a good negotiator and not wishing to loose to much of Camelot's wealth, haggled relentlessly with the bandits, using a blend of facts and half-truths about what a king would or would not pay - even for his own son. Within the hour he had halved the sum down from there original exorbitant price, they settled for Merlin's weight in gold, and an extra pound for himself.
With the matter settled a messenger was sent to the king straight away complete with their demands and Merlin's bloodied neckerchief. No doubt that would baffle his father, and worry Gaius, enough that he would pay the ransom for both son and servant.
Arthur stared at the flickering fire that was ten yards to far away to feel, studiously not thinking about how these men had torn Merlin's shirt - the way he blushed from those ridiculous ears to the flat planes of his stomach - and dragged a blade from chest to hip.
Or how they bled the wound and scraped the worn red neckerchief over it until it was soaked with fresh blood. Mostly, he cant stop thinking about the stark terror in Merlin's face when Daub licked the residue off with his tongue.
Early on he had decided it would be best if the men holding them hostage continued to think Merlin the prince. Clearly they were expecting money for both, and this way he would be in less danger. Merlin, of course, not him. He could manage himself just fine.
Merlin balked, and argued a lot, exactly as Arthur knew he would but see the prince knew his biggest weakness and he exploited it shamelessly. He was safer as 'the princes body guard' than 'the crown prince of Camelot who it seemed everyone and there mother wanted dead.'
Being a body guard, was only a step higher than commoner to these men which made him invisible or with some work someone they could relate to. Merlin agreed in the end, also exactly as Arthur knew he would.
The extent to which he knew Merlin could be at times alarming.
Arthur of course did not point out, and Merlin had yet to grasp on his own, was that Uther might welch on paying for a servant, confusing circumstances or
not, and if it were to come to that his chances where far better than Merlin's. Sorcery not withstanding, Merlin was utterly useless.
The one thing the prince had not included in his scheming was the depravity of man. Having grown accustomed to men or honor and principles, he sometimes forgot there existed those who had none.
The sun was attempting to rid all of Albion of her two-legged inhabitants with this infernal heat, that was the only explanation for this day being even hotter than the day before last.
His tunic was ruined, there would be no salvaging this one after this excursion, and what a fun one it was to - he was hot and sweaty and he suspected beginning to smell rather rank and Merlin was surely no better hauled over Daubs massive shoulder when he wasn't being totted behind scar faces' horse like some war prize.
Right now Daubs muscled bulk all but blotted out his view of Merlin as the man licked a bloody stripe running from Merlin's ribs down to just meters below his beeches. The others hooted and hollered uproariously egging him on.
If Arthur had possessed a sword, or even be able to steal one, he would surely have killed the man, as it stood if looks could slay he would have been a blackened scorch mark on the dirt.
Daub groaned crudely as he pressed there bodies close, his swarthy skin looking dark and menacing against the paleness of Merlin who turned his face away, resolutely silent. Daub rubbed himself until Arthur could see the hard line of his manhood beneath his ratty breeches; he forced Merlin's legs apart with a knee and pressed closer as though he was trying to sink into his bones.
"Its to hot for fucking" he grumbled pulling away from Merlin with a hangdog expression, Merlin who flattened himself against the tree as far from the other man as possible, "even for fucking princes."
Relief poured through Arthur settling like a heavy weight on his chest, for a moment he couldn't breathe. In that moment he could have dropped to his knees and thanked whatever God had seen fit to curse Camelot with this drought but he settled for a whispered 'thank you' aimed towards the heavens at large, and edged closer to Merlin who was steadfastly staring at the ground.
Merlin had become much quieter since he'd learned that he couldn't just make a tree fall, or a branch knock the men over the head and be done with it. He was completely cut off from his magic. It was eating away at him, too, like they had taken a limb.
Where had his obnoxious loud mouthed servant gone off to? He rather missed him, seeing as how he could use a little cheer about now.
What Daub had done was unforgivable of that where was no question, but there was no point letting Merlin dwell on it, that way led to madness and other unpleasantness and right now it was his job to keep Merlin focused, and sane.
"Merlin" he hissed nudging the man with the heel of his boot. No response, not good. "Merlin!" he tried again, louder and closer.
"For someone with such unfortunate ears your hearings shoddy" Arthur taunted pitching his voice to the tone that had been dubbed as particularly pratish one evening over a shared mug of the Inns finest ale. Merlin drew a sharp breath and glared, "You are a complete prat, sire" was all he said, but he still wasn't quite looking at him, and that wouldn't due.
"Yes, I know you've told me" Arthur grunted, "many times."
'Well?" Merlin prodded nudging him back with his shoulder, "what is it then?" Arthur does a mental victory dance, because he's looking at him - all right he's glaring at him, but still that's hardly new and is far better still than him talking to his knees.
"What's what?" he asks.
Merlin chortles, "And you call me the idiot."
Arthur sputters, "You cant talk to me like that!" and he's forgetting, yes he can, because they are captives and Merlin is a prince, and out here Arthur is the servant . Bloody hell.
"Have you managed to loosen the ropes, even a little?" Arthur asks abruptly noticing that he has a small amount to slack in his, but not enough to be useful at any rate. "Not really" Merlin said wiggling them for good measure, "not for lack of trying though."
"I suspected as much anyhow" he sighed and Merlin is looked at him now and there's so much faith bottled up in that look that he feels all the worse; and makes his words harsh.
"Usually this is the part where you use your magic on the sly and tree branches start falling with suspicious accuracy on our enemies" he snaps unable to stand looking at Merlin who was still naïve enough to think everything would be alright.
His little tirade had no effect but the thinning of Merlins grin as he ducked his head in apology, oh for Gods sake!
He was being a prat, he was a prat and that had already been established this was where Merlin was supposed to glare or snipe back at him, not…look away like he'd just torn off the wings of a butterfly and laughed.
"Its not your fault, you know it, and I know it, we just have to focus on escaping." Merlin bobbed his head enthusiastically, "Right, focus, I can do that."
Arthur was torn between laughing and despairing. Merlin made it all seem so simple, maybe it was but either way he was glad of Merlins solid presence at his side, it was selfish but there it was.
Arthur learned over the course of the next few hours that cooking and cleaning and fetching was tiring work, and in this case rather humiliating. Get my waterskin boy, pile the wood higher, shake out my bedroll, skin the rabbits blondie! They said as though he were a dog to be ordered about.
By the Gods! He wasn't this bad, was he?
It was a new experience for Arthur being on the other side of the commands, would it kill them to fetch there own damn water? He bit his tongue and fetched the waterskin - if he tripped spilling half its contents down scar faces tunic, well, accidends happen - and maybe Daub's bedroll got a bit of poison oak mixed in but what was one to do, these things happened. Mostly he did as ordered and kept quiet about it, even though it rankled something aweful.
He kept thinking, for Merlin, to keep from shouting 'I am the Prince of Camelot and you cannot talk to me like that!' besides how trite did that sound? And Merlin, he had no such problem laughing heartily from between his fingers, Arthur bore it good naturedly all the while planning his revenge; it would be epic.
Occupying himself with thoughts of muddy shoes that dirtied halls and absurdly stained armor rolled through ivies and caked with mud and a closet full of dull edged swords in need of sharpening the evening passed almost pleasantly.
Arthur allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security so when scar face stood abruptly and dragged Merlin to his tent by his hair, he was shocked.
There was no warning, no sign, and Arthur had allowed himself to forget that one hawkish leer by the river bank. He would not forget the sounds he heard that night. There was shouting, cursing, and stilted, rambling pleading as Merlin fought scar face with everything he had. It wouldn't be enough Arthur knew, and despaired.
Arthur had failed him.
Arthur desperately wishes he to had magic or a sword, a sword would be good. Maybe then he could've stopped this but he has neither. There's a few panicked pleads that he would've missed hadn't he been listening so hard, followed by a single bit-off cry that freezes his blood.
The last he heard before one of the men holding him down knocks him atop the head was Merlin, calling his name.