"This is never going to work." Merlin sighed at Arthur's insightful comment.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, but it's not like we have much of a choice. Unless of course you want to remain at the mercy of these brutes?" As the warlock spoke, his eyes ghosted over the figures still crowding around the warmth of the fire. As his eyes took in the flames he shivered, more from exhilaration than cold.

"Shut up, Merlin," was the Prince's witty response. "Are you sure you want to do this? If we don't make it..."

"They'll make me pay for it, I know. We've been through this Arthur." In truth, the warlock was terrified out of his mind whenever he thought about whatever punishment their captors could dream up should his plan fail. It was so much easier to believe that they'd make it out.

The plan itself was relatively simple. Well, the parts that he'd explained to Arthur were. Get out of the bindings, wait until there was an opening, run for it. Try and find weapons along the way. Looking at the size of the bandits, Merlin didn't doubt that he and his master could outrun them and at no stage had he seen horses. The warlock's true plan involved a little more cunning and a lot more magic but explaining all that to the son of a king with a severe hatred of sorcerers might have been difficult.

"I don't like it. It's never going to work!" Arthur tried to shift so that he could look at his servant but the pain that the movement caused had him collapsing back to the earth. Merlin felt the tug on his own bindings and heard the muffled curse that flew from Arthur's mouth.

"Are you going to be able to run if we get out of here?"

"I'll be fine as soon as we make it back to Camelot. If this half brained plan is going to get us home, then we'll have to make it work, won't we?" Arthur's voice was tight with pain but it carried within it his strength and determination. Merlin caught the meaning: 'Even if I can't make it, I'll run myself into the ground trying.'

"Alright then. Time to get out of here." As he spoke, he began to saw the ropes that bound him with a jagged stone from the earthen floor. It was slow work, made harder by the fact that every time he moved, Arthur had to suppress a gasp of pain and every now and then a bandit would glance over to check on them.

"Hurry up Merlin," Arthur order, the words a whisper of air.

"I'm doing my best. This isn't exactly easy you know," he responded, just as quietly. With a quick glance around to make sure that no bandits were watching too closely, Merlin felt his eyes flare gold as the magic spread through him. The rope gave. It took a lot of his will power not to crow with delight.

"Brilliant. Now all we have to do is get out of the camp without being seen. I wish that was as easy as it sounded," Arthur deadpanned.

"We can't give up now. If they see the ropes are cut they'll know we tried to escape." Merlin hissed back. The Prince's pessimism was starting to bring him down.

"Try being the active word in that sentence." The warlock made no response, but instead began to focus his attention on the bandits. Over the last hour or so he had been weaving spells around the clearing, muttering words in the ancient language quietly enough that Arthur couldn't hear. Several of the bandits had dropped off in to a magical slumber, whilst others had become enthralled in whatever they were doing, so much so that anything else faded to insignificance.

Merlin had no idea how well the spells would work, nor how long they would last; he had simply strung words together until he produced a spell that sounded as though it might have the desired effect. The outcome however was unpredictable.

"Are you ready?" He muttered to the prince, his wiry muscles bunching in anticipation.

"On the count of three. Stick to the plan and no matter what happens, keep running." Both of them shifted uneasily into a semi crouch. "Three, two," Merlin took a deep breath. "One!" In an instant they were both up and moving as fast as they could, in opposite directions, doing their best to take a path that kept them out of sight.

The warlock had barely made it ten paces when one of the bandit's cried out, alerting the camp. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the men standing, glancing around in confusion as more bandits piled out of their tents, grabbing weapons as they went. Merlin briefly considered ducking into a tent to hide, before deciding that they would only find him and then he would be in serious trouble. Forcing more energy into his legs, he raced across the ground, darting around tables and tents, his lungs burning more with every step.

He had ascertained beforehand that several of his ribs had been broken when he was kicked but he had decided against mentioning it to the prince. There was nothing that he could have done other than worry and try and discourage their escape plan. But now, every breath fanned the flames consuming his chest, crushing out the breath in his lungs and sending his thoughts into scattered patterns. Lights blinked and faded in his vision, the whole world tilting and going grey for a time.

'Just keep going. Ignore the pain.' He whispered to his own mind. The warlock had no idea where Arthur was now, if he was still safe or not. The prince was a more hardened warrior than Merlin and was much faster and fitter but he had an arrow wound and blood lost to contend with. Not being able to see the prince was sending the warlock into an acute state of panic but he forced himself past it.

He was beyond the edges of the camp now, the trees looming up around him, casting deep shadows. The pounding of blood in his ears prevented him from listening for following footsteps and he doubted that his ribs could stand him twisting around to see if any of the bandits were on his tail, so he just bent his head down and forced the ground to fly beneath him.

Silently, he thanked whoever had taught Arthur his geography when he was younger. Had Merlin been alone, he would have had no idea what direction to head in and would probably never make it home again. Though he knew that surrounding area of Ealdor like the back of his hand, his knowledge of Camelot's land was sketchy at best. Arthur, however, had been able to work out almost exactly where they were being held by the types of tree and the bird calls he could hear. He'd never admit it, even under torture, but Merlin was impressed.

It wasn't until his legs began to tremble with the effort that Merlin realised he couldn't go much further - he needed to find somewhere he could hide and regain his breath. The only problem was that this area of the forest was very open and hiding places were rare.

Suddenly, several things happened at once. His footsteps faltered and Merlin had to struggle to remain on his feet, his knees almost buckling under exhaustion. He heard, past the rush of blood in his ears, a bow sting loose an arrow with a snap and half a second later, pain raced up his leg, bringing him to the ground. As soon as he was down, a weight fell on top of him, pressing painfully on his ribs to the point his vision whited out entirely. Through the agony, he was aware of shouting and movement around him.

A small part of his mind tried to tell him that he was in danger and he needed to get away but the pain was taking over, setting all his nerves alight. Instinctively, his magic flared within him, protective and strong. His thoughts were too scattered to command it and the magic itself has no thought, so it did the only thing it could to help him: it forced him out of consciousness.

Blissful peace.