"Put the little brat in there until Cenred deems otherwise."
Merlin froze at the name. Cenred. It sounded familiar, like he knew who that was. In fact, he was pretty sure he was supposed to remember. But he couldn't The servant squeezed his eyes shut as he was propelled forward, met with the slap of cool, slick stones underneath him. Getting up, he wiped the wet muck from his face, taking in his surroundings.
Great, he thought, another cell.
A bale of hay sat in the far right corner, and Merlin could see water leaking like a faucet from the far corner of the ceiling. There were no windows, and Merlin was all too aware of the rattle of the chains hanging from a fixture on the floor. He had to admit, it was different, seeing the chains attatched to the floor and not, say, the wall or ceiling. It meant he didn't have to stand; however, it still wasn't comforting.
It seemed to the young warlock that he always went and got himself into trouble, as he sat himself up with his back against the grimy wall of the cell. Of course, taking care of Arthur had its "perk", what with being chased by one evil sorcerer this week and possibly a crazed, power hungry king the next. He dared himself to chuckle, silencing himself at the daggers thrown his way.
"We didn't give you permission to speak, boy," the leader of the group spit at him, "and you only speak when spoken too. Got it?"
Merlin grinned, knowing he was most likely going to regret the next words out of his mouth, "I guess it's a good thing you're talking to me, then, huh?"
He wasn't at all prepared for the spear that was sent to dig into his side. A slap across the face, perhaps- oh, hell, even the kicking of multiple feet at his legs or face or back. Never before had he encountered a spear in his travels intent on harming him.
It struck him odd that he would think about such things. Here he was in a possibly life or death situation (most likely death, but he gave himself the benefit of the doubt), and he was thinking about all the different weapons his captors could possibly use.
Merlin let himself laugh, receiving another blunt blow. Pain coursed through him in waves, exploding as they reached his skull in a fit of fireworks and nerves. There was a loud clang, and the door to the cell was shut, the leader leaving two guards to stand by the locks.
Great.
Sighing, he drew his knees to his chest, tucking them under his chin. Thankfully, they didn't slap those manacles on that chain to him, but he knew it would happen in due time. It still irked him that he was being rather commonplace about this. But when you're the manservant of the prince in a kingdom that's outlawed magic and slaughtered innocent people, what else was there to expect?
He could only hope he wasn't trussed up like a pig. That, or Arthur and the others actually managed to make it and rescue him before that happened.