A Prince's best friend
Chapter 6: In which the prince in shining armour rescues his princess, err, servant

The forest had darkened and it was difficult to discern what lay within the shadows in front of him.

He found a speck of light just a few hundred meters from the city gates: close enough to run back to Camelot within a couple of minutes if he had to, but too far away to be seen or heard by the guards. Guards which were probably a bit unfocused, as he'd managed to sneak past them with such ease. (He'd have to work on the city security, definitely.)

It wasn't his first concern though. Merlin was in danger: he had to get to him quick. The ransom note he and Gwen had found directed him to a small clearing nearby a stream. He took a moment to survey the situation before stepping into the clearing. The captors had gathered around a torch – three men, as far as he could see - and were muttering quietly amongst themselves. Their clothes were dark and dirty, faces covered and he couldn't see any drawn weapons. But they were probably armed. No arrows or crossbows – good, had they had long-range weapons it would have been more dangerous to escape if he got his hands on Merlin and was forced to run. Arthur was a good fighter though, and knew he could kill the three men if he had to.

The tallest of the three was holding (or…cradling?) Merlin the cat with both hands.

Arthur stepped into the torchlight. He had one hand ready on the hilt of his sword.

"I am here. Now, release my servant and I'll spare your lives. Refuse and I'll simply kill you."

The three men glanced at each other. Then the one to the left spoke. "We want a ransom first." The voice was low, mysterious, and unnatural: it sounded like the speaker was terribly much trying to hide their real voice.

Well, obviously. Arthur did not plan on giving them power, riches or secrets concerning Camelot security. If that's what they wanted, he'd attack. He probably needed a plan, but adrenaline and fear was pumping in his veins, fear for Merlin's life, he found it difficult to think straight, his gaze constantly drawn to the black furry bundle in the tall man's hands.

"What do you want?"

"We've…watched you. We know your innermost secrets…"

That did sound quite foreboding. Arthur reacted as he would, nearly growling at them: "You've been spying on me? Who are you?"

"Who we are isn't significant. Now, we'll give you back your servant on a condition."

"What condition would that be?"

"As said, we know some of your secrets. Namely the one which concerns your heart. Confess to us who is closest to your heart now and kiss them within three days, or we'll do it for you."

This was both disturbing and a little ridiculous. Arthur had expected demands of riches or something, not- How could they know about who his…his heart belonged to? How long had they watched him? And by claiming that if he didn't fulfil this demand they'd 'do it for him', they practically threatened to…to force themselves on M—the person he…fancied! He couldn't let that happen. If these people knew about said person, they could…they could… No, he couldn't let that happen. But how could they come so close to him, to Camelot?

Ugh, he was too tired for this stuff right now.

"Give me one good reason why I should tell you."

"Your servant." The man to the left continued to act speaker, the tall one raising his hands making the point clear as day. "Confess and we'll give you the servant without fuss."

Arthur's chest contracted in worry. "If I tell you, you will let him go and then leave Camelot. But answer me first – why is it important to you to know this…secret, and have me fulfil this deal?" (If the men had such an idea already, he didn't know if it could be properly labeled a 'secret', could it ? … What was making this scene so strangely…. familiar, anyway?)

"It's not as important to us as it's important to you, sire, and your future."

It sounded like they knew…Like they already knew what he was going to say. Have to say. Right, he could lie…Would the men see through it? What would happen to Merlin if those thugs realized he lied; was lying safe? Was it better to give in, tell the truth, laying his pride aside for just one moment? Besides they threatened to…to...He couldn't let that happen! If they'd watched him long enough to know this, then, then they knew about … him … and maybe could sneak into the city and…If he didn't kiss said person within three days.

"If I do tell, you must swear not to spread my words."

"Sire – would we really be so stupid?" the man said, smugly, there could be a little smirk and raised eyebrow beneath the rags covering up the face: "Ending up at the execution block accused for kidnapping is not a goal we'd fancy. So, if you please…" He made a gesture with his right hand. "Tell whom your heart belongs to."

Arthur gritted his teeth. So they weren't simple foolish stupid men. They were foolish, rather intelligent (though it was questionable…Who'd kidnap a prince's servant and demand words, not money? Demand to know who he loved? All right – they were stupid) men, at least intelligent enough to think ahead of themselves and this situation. This complicated things. Lying would be dangerous. If he drew his sword right now (his hands itched to do so) it would definitely put Merlin in danger, given the position he was in: and that's all that mattered, Merlin's security. Arthur was so worried; it was hard to think of anything else but the tiny slumped body in front of him.

"Very well."

A pause. One of the men shifted weight from both to one foot. "Go on," the speaker urged.

"My heart belongs to…"

Oh this was ridiculous! Here he was, armed, before three men in a forest who'd done a quick job of kidnapping his servant, and wasting his time on words. Why did they want to know who he loved? And why would he answer them truthfully? He could just say anything, and they'd let Merlin go. In theory this whole scenario was easy to get out of. The men hadn't drawn any weapons whatsoever. So either they were sly or stupid.

"…no one."

"That's a lie."

"How can you know? Give me my servant!"

"A prince ought to be truthful to his people."

'His people?' So they were from Camelot!

"There are rumours that someone by the name Merlin is important to you. We wanted to test of this was true. Spit it out now, sire."

"Fine. My heart belongs to… to Merlin." There, he said it. The three men were just foolish thugs … what did it matter what he said to them? "Now give me the servant."

The speaker looked smug, even with his face mostly covered. He looked like he wanted to applause or do some silly victory dance.

"Put him down and back away."

The men complied, the tall one settling the cat on a bed of leaves and joined his fellows, four steps back. Arthur stepped forward cautiously, never letting them leave his line of sight. They didn't run, didn't move, suddenly like they were unsure. (Maybe they weren't used kidnappers.) A huge, warm relief rippled through his body as he finally could pick up Merlin, holding the cat close to his chest. He still hadn't woken up.

"Remember sire, three days."

Arthur was like thunder when he turned back to them sword raised.

()()()

Gwaine was a pretty good actor though he was a bit tipsy.

Or not.

It pretty much broke when he said 'Three days' and Gareth, who had drunk less, realized what the prince must be thinking, that he though they were implied they were going to force themselves on his servant. Thus, when the prince turned onto them with sword raised, Gareth was the first one to react, understanding what was going on.

Arthur proceeded to beat the crap out of them.

"A bad idea," Bors gasped. He didn't want to attack the prince for real, hurt him. After all it was never their goal. They hadn't thought the prince would attack: he had confessed his feelings, after all, agreed to the deal and been given Merlin.

Oh.

Now, when he'd been given Merlin (and gently laid him on the ground by the base of a tree, out of their range) he would proceed to capture or kill the captors, so hot was his rage. The anger was strong enough to turn them into bloody pulps. It was fortunate they had donned armour and chainmail beneath the dark clothing.

"We gotta run," Gareth shouted. "Gwa—I mean, run for it!"

When they did, they split up into three different directions. The prince, for some reason, didn't follow.

()()()

Merlin was still unresponsive, limp in his arms when he reached the courtyard. Not panicking, only a little, well, maybe panicking (he was thinking about the poisoned chalice again, about the idiot following him into the labyrinth, and every other known instance where Merlin had gotten himself into danger for Arthur's sake) the prince shook the cat in his arms, but it didn't wake up, only made a displeased little sound. He had already examined him, relieved when finding no blood and no injuries. That blood on the neckerchief hadn't been Merlin's…for which Arthur was very, very glad. If the servant had been injured he would have pulverized those thugs, not letting them escape.

At least they had suffered quite heavy damage. A lot of bruising. They had donned chainmail underneath the dirty dark rags, he'd felt the impact of metal through his sword. So they had prepared themselves for a fight. Surprising thing was they hadn't fought back much at all. Sure, they defended themselves, but they never attacked him. Never attempted to inflict a wound.

But what did it matter now? He was tired, sore, hungry - cradling the cat to his chest, he made his way to his chambers, slipping past the guards as quietly as possible, knowing their routine. He didn't want questions or raised eyebrows right now.

When arriving to his chambers, he gently laid an unconscious Merlin among the blankets, making sure he was comfortable before jerking off his chainmail and tunic, not caring about washing off or changing out of his breeches.

He fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, one arm curled around Merlin: with him, Merlin would be safe.

()()()

It was somewhere between midnight and morning as Bors came stumbling through the door, exhausted and aching. Annette, his wife, rose quietly from bed, eyes fixed on the disheveled man, hands on hips.

"Hnn, h'llo darling… sorry 'bout m'apperance" He waved a hand around the air, immediately regretting it. His arm. Hurt. No training could compare to this. Arthur had been inches from beating them to death. Now his wife might be about to do the same. "Ouch."

"If you have been to the tavern…"

Uh oh.

"Not tavern…Forest, cat…fightin'... stubborn prince ... Tired…"

He collapsed on the bedding, stomach rumbling. Oh, he was really hungry. What would he give for a piece of meat…or some bread…some stew! Annette was a wonderful cook... But he was too tired to move, his muscles aching and it was the middle of the night and Annette was most probably, with right, quite angry with him and wouldn't make any food for him even if he were on his hands and knees pleading.

"Never helpin' Gwaine … ever… again," he muttered, or at least that was Annette could make out from his string of incoherent babble. The young woman lay down on the other side of the bed, shaking her head at the mention of the knight: though a knight and high of status, he was known for his behavior. What had he gotten into this time?