"Silence!" Bad Breath commanded, his voice harsh; it would appear that he was the leader of these bandits. Arthur's eyes flickered from Merlin's battered face for a moment to the men surrounding him, then back at his fr- servant.

The warlock in return was searching for any sign that his master was hurt any further than the arrow wound. His probing gaze annoyed the prince slightly; as if Merlin could protect him. The thought was laughable to him.

"You appear to have chosen your companion wisely, my prince." The bandit spat the word with obvious disdain, his face contorting as though the idea of it burned him. "His loyalty to you is impressive." Merlin's face flushed lightly and all of a sudden he seemed unable to meet Arthur's eyes.

"You have me. You have no need for him. Let him go," Arthur commanded, his voice deadly. With that tone he could make the most seasoned knights tremble in their armour, so the bandit's response was unexpected: he laughed, doubling over slightly as he guffawed.

"Still think that you're in control of this situation, little princeling? You cannot order me. You have no power here." To prove a point he walked to Merlin's side, reaching out and grabbing hold of the warlock's hair.

Merlin couldn't withhold the cry of pain that escaped him as his head was yanked back harshly, colliding with the wooden post that he was bound to.

"Stop it!" Arthur's voice rang out, and from the corner of his eye, Merlin saw the prince try to stand. Immediately one of the bandits stamped a heavy boot onto the blonde's back, forcing him back into the dirt. His face was twisted into a combination of fury and worry and hidden deep in the depths of his eyes was pain.

The prince's shoulder was agony, blazing fire just beneath the surface of the skin. Had he burst into flames? He daren't look down to find out. He was doing the best he could to press the pain to the back of his mind but it was difficult. Every time he even tried, all his other aches and pains made themselves known loudly, fighting for dominance. The foot on his back dung into his spine and he knew that it would leave a bruise. Somewhere along the way he had twisted his ankle and every time he moved his foot a spike of pain danced its way up his leg. His skin was littered with small scrapes and bruises, presumably picked up when he was unconscious.

But even all of that paled slightly when facing a beaten Merlin, eyes wide with fear, at the utter mercy of their captors.

"Let him go!"

"Oh, the little prince still hasn't worked out who's in charge. Maybe you need a bit more help?" With that, Bad Breath kicked out at Merlin's ribs viciously, eliciting a snapping sound and another cry of pain from the warlock. Tears pooled in his eyes as roaring agony spread through his chest but he struggled to hold them back, snapping his eyes shut and concentrating on his breathing. The last thing he needed right now was for all the bandits to know how badly it hurt.

"Stop!" Arthur hesitated for a second. "Please." His voice was faint, as deep within him, his natural pride squirmed unhappily. He was begging? That was unacceptable.

'It's Merlin. If I don't, they'll hurt him.' He reasoned with himself.

"Please, don't hurt him." The words tasted foreign in his mouth but he spat them out anyway. He had no choice. The bandit leader looked at him for several moments, before slowly relinquishing his hold on Merlin's locks and taking a calculated step back. The warlock gratefully allowed his head to fall into a more natural position with a soft sigh, sending a quick, grateful smile at his master. He knew his prince well enough to know exactly how much that must have cost him.

"If you follow our commands, then you will both remain unharmed. Try and escape, or refuse to answer our questions, and the boy-" a nod towards Merlin, "-will be the one to suffer." The boy in question gulped at the statement, his pale face draining of even more blood, making the forming bruises even more prominent. "Tie up the prince."

The bandits hurried to obey their command, grasping Arthur's arms and hauling him up. The movement yanked at the arrow wound in his shoulder, crumbling all the walls that he has built against the pain. He cried out, the agony far too intense for him to try and remain silent. The burning sensation returned full force and the prince's vision turned black for almost a minute. When it returned, his hands were being tied to the same post as Merlin's, their backs to each other. Though he could see again, his sight was still fuzzy and unfocussed, the edges of his vision grey. Adrenaline pumped through his system, and his fingers twitched in their new bindings restlessly.

As soon as they had deemed the prince secure, the remaining bandits trickled away silently, back towards the fire and the warmth that it brought. Arthur was aware of Merlin shifting behind him, trying to reposition himself.

"Arthur." The prince was too exhausted and in too much agony to try to respond. "Arthur!" The warlock hissed.

"What?" He snapped in response. His voice was thick with pain and even the one simple word was garbled.

"You need to stay awake Arthur," came the response.

"Why? I'm tired," he mumbled back. His eyelids were drooping, as his fight to stay awake came to an end.

"Arthur! Come on, you can do better than this!" Suddenly an idea occurred to the warlock. Arthur would hate him for it but he couldn't let the prince fall asleep; if he did, it would only make his situation worse. Maneuvering himself once more, Merlin very carefully nudged Arthur's injured arm. Immediately he was jolted back into consciousness, as the pain flared again, strong and fresh and burning.

"Merlin!" His voice was outraged and the warlock could picture the way his face would turn a shade of flustered red and his mouth would contort into an angry grimace.

"Arthur, you need to stay awake! If you fall asleep, you might end up with a fever, or worse!" Something within the prince recognised the truth, but he was too angry to really accept that now.

"How dare you! I could charge you with treason for that," he threatened, his voice harsh. He could feel his manservant flinch at that and a small trickle of guilt filled him before it was burned away under the agony.

"When we get back to Camelot, feel free. Until then, you cannot fall asleep!" Merlin replied, then fell silent, struggling to get past his own pain from his ribs every time that he breathed. There was a long, tense moment when neither of them spoke but then the prince sighed softly, sagging a little to try and make himself more comfortable.

"Alright then, Merlin. I'll do my best." The image of his manservant's bruises rose up again. "Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine." He was unwilling to burden Arthur with his pain. The prince was coping with enough already and he was going to need a clear mind. "I have an idea to get us out of here, but it's going to be difficult." Straight away, Arthur shook his head, then realising that Merlin couldn't see him:

"No way. If it doesn't work, you'll be the one to pay the price. You might be a useless servant, but even you don't deserve whatever twisted punishment these dogs can think up." Though he was never going to admit it, Merlin was a little touched by his master's concern.

"Then we'd best hope that it works. Are you in?"