I know that there was a wait for this. Sorry! I may have gotten a little carried away with the whump here, so be warned. It might be a little graphic. I also noticed that I never said in the previous chapter that the bandits removed Merlin's jacket and top. Just assume that they did :P
Just a small plug, if you could vote in my poll (it's on my profile) that would be really nice :)
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Merlin couldn't breathe. A deep rooted panic was taking control as his natural fear of pain became apparent. Over the roaring in his ears he could just make out the jeers of the bandits and the terrified shouts of Arthur. The warlock knew that he should probably be surprised by the prince's show of affection for the servant, but at this stage his mind was too preoccupied.
When the whip came down, it was a second before Merlin could truly comprehend what had happened. He felt himself jerk forwards, and then everything was on fire. It felt as though his entire torso had been cleaved in two, agony blazing through his entire body, until he was left whimpering and trembling, hanging limply from his bonds. The warlock had known pain. When he had been poisoned, he had known the feeling of his body slowly succumbing to darkness. When Sigan had tried to take Camelot, he had felt what it would be like to have his entire soul crushed out of existence. But now, all previous hurts felt like mere scratches, paling in comparison to the gut wrenching pain that flowed from his back.
The agony was so all consuming that he was thoroughly unprepared for the second strike. He hadn't known that the pain could get any greater, but it did. He was completely overwhelmed, and a very small part of him recognised that if it got any worse, destiny be damned, he couldn't do this. If his mind was forced to deal with anything else then he would burst.
Merlin could feel himself sobbing, though he had never consciously chosen to do so, but he could hear nothing. There was a ringing in his ears, and his eye sight was riddled with black spots, to the point that he could see almost nothing. His thoughts were too disjointed for him to make anything out. The only thing he knew was pain.
Another strike. He writhed madly against his bindings, aware that the movement was only causing more pain, but he had to get away. Another strike. More flames, taking hold, until he knew that the only thing left would be a burned out shell of a man. There was warmth seeping down his back, unconnected with the pain. A part of him recognised it as his own blood.
Deep within his core his magic was forcing its way to the surface, determined to help. He had pushed it down again; if it came to his aid, then Arthur would see. But he was too far gone now, too lost in the realms of agony, that he could do nothing to hinder the magic's progress. It blossomed, but it was undirected, and so it swirled helplessly within his chest.
There was another blow. More screams of agony clawed their way out of his throat, raw and angry. His body contorted as the heavily abused muscles of his back spasmed out of his control. His magic snapped; it couldn't bear this. For the second time in the space of a day, the magic clouded his senses, and he knew no more.
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Arthur wasn't quite sure he could name all the emotions surging through him as he watched Ragley prepare to flog Merlin. Rage was definitely one. Guilt another. Fear, though it was unexpected. He was genuinely terrified of what was about to happen to the boy who could be called nothing other than a friend.
"Please!" He was shouting, the pleading becoming easier as his terror peaked. "You don't have to do this! He's done nothing to you! Please!" He knew that his words were useless; he could see a gleam in Ragley's eyes that could only be found in the most demented criminals. Not only did the bandit think that this was right and justified, but he was going to enjoy it.
Arthur's eyes followed the whip as it was brought down hard against Merlin, and he cried out at the same time as the warlock. He could see the gash the leather had cleaved upon his servant's back, and the blood that flowed from it sickened him. Merlin had managed to cut off his cry of pain, but his chest heaved in dry sobs, his arms twisting in the ropes that held him.
As the prince of Camelot, Arthur had, of course, seen men being flogged before. That didn't mean that he enjoyed it. He was fairly confident that when he was king, he would only ever resort to it for the lowest of the low, and certainly not for loyal servants whose only crime was maybe being a little late in the mornings. Merlin might have faults, but didn't everyone? He didn't deserve this.
Oblivious to Arthur's cries for mercy, Ragley didn't let up, he just kept striking until Merlin's back was a mess of gashes and bruises that the prince couldn't bear to look at. Even some of the bandits that had congregated to watch had now stopped their cheering and were looking at their prisoners with something akin to sympathy.
It wasn't until, after thirteen strokes, that Merlin's body couldn't take it anymore. The screams died in his throat and he went limp in the ropes.
'Oh god. Don't let him be dead. He needs to live,' Arthur's mind panicked. Fear gripped him once more, setting all his bones alight with a cold fire. His eyes were fixed on the side of Merlin's face that he could see, but he could detect no movement.
One of the bandits, ushered forwards by Ragley moved to the captive's side, searching for a pulse among the clammy skin of the boy's neck. The entire campsite held their breath, waiting for the verdict. A pregnant pause.
"He's alive!" Came the surprised, though not necessarily unhappy shout. The relief that flooded Arthur was so strong that it was almost painful. He wasn't a fool; he knew that even if Merlin was alive he wasn't out of the woods yet, literally. They were being held against their will, by bandits who seemed to enjoy torturing innocent servants, and both of them were wounded. Even if another opportunity presented itself to them now, there was no way that the warlock could make a break for it.
'But he's alive,' his mind crowed in delight. He supposed that one day he would cease to be surprised to realise how much the idiotic servant had gotten under his skin, but it wasn't today. 'When did I start caring about a servant?'
His thoughts however were interrupted by Ragley's voice.
"Take him down. Put them both in the spare tent, with three guards outside at all times." For a second no one moved, but several bandits threw sideways glances at Arthur, clearly contemplating untying an angry and well trained prince. "Now!" Ragley screamed at them, his face flushing in anger.
As the men moved towards Merlin, Arthur tensed, watching their actions closely. The men that were freeing Arthur from the post watched him closely for any sign of aggressiveness, but the prince's attentions were focussed entirely on his servant. He wasn't going anywhere, and so neither was Arthur. The only thing that was keeping the warlock alive was his use as a pawn in the battle for dominance between Ragley and the prince.
His arms were seized and he was hauled to his feet, and he had to crush a moan of pain at his shoulder was jolted. The pain was still very present, though his entire arm was gradually becoming numb, which Arthur was fairly sure, wasn't a good sign. In a slightly sick way, Merlin's torment was a distraction from the prince's own pain, and he found that he was coping better than he previously had been.
The warlock was still out for the count when they slashed the ropes holding him up, and he dropped into the arms of one of the bandits. The man struggled to find a way of transporting the limp form, and settled eventually for hauling him over his shoulder roughly. The movement didn't cause Merlin to even stir slightly. Arthur's worry was growing rapidly again.
'Surely he should have woken by now?' Whilst the prince was thankful for anything that spared the warlock pain, this couldn't be healthy.
The tent that they were dragged to was small and out of the way, but Arthur, being a military man could see why it was chosen. The back of the tent faced a sheer rock wall, and on the left of the tent there was a large oak tree. The right of the tent was shielded by a conveniently placed cart. That left the only way in or out being the flap at the front, and therefore escape was going to be almost impossible. Clearly, Ragley was smarter than he looked.
Inside it was dim, but there was enough light to make out the shape of a sleeping mat to one side and a single, low stool. Apart from that, the tent was empty.
"Water and food will be brought." One of the bandits spat out, then as soon as his companions were out of earshot, his face softened slightly. "I'll see if I can get some bandages and a poultice for your friend." Arthur looked at him in surprise. "Not all of us believe in Ragley's tyrannical actions," he said in response to the prince's questioning gaze. Then, without another word, he followed his companions out of the tent, leaving the two captives alone.
Kneeling down, Arthur got his first good look at his friend's injuries.
"My god Merlin, what have they done to you?" He muttered to himself, placing a hand very gently on the unbroken skin of the boy's shoulder. He didn't stir.
It was going to be a long night, Arthur realised as the sunlight that fell on the tent turned deep amber, before fading into shadows.
'But we'll make it through.' He wasn't sure if it was a statement or a prayer.
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There we have it. I hope you liked the chapter, and that you forgive me for not updating. As I said before, I may have been a little bit carried away with the whump, but I hope you don't mind. Most people seem to quite like it, no matter how disturbing that may be :) Only joking.
Anyways, have a good few days, until I see you again. And if you do have some spare time, I'd love it if you could vote in the poll :)