Wow, so many wonderful reviews for the last chapter! Clearly the whump didn't put people off. I've been threatened in some hilarious ways to update, so here I am. My favourite I must say was the rabid snails threat, so congratulations EvilCabbagezPwn for that! Also, MerlinFan1996, you're awesome. Enough said :)
Sorry that I couldn't reply to all your brilliant reviews, I'm still on holiday, but I'm at a different house now, and there's no internet here. It means that although I can still write on the laptop, I can't update without going to an internet cafe, and when I'm there I don't really have time to reply to all my emails. But I just want to say thank you, you're all amazing, and you really made my day.
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It was during the grey light of dawn that Merlin finally stirred.
Throughout the night, the prince had watched over him, cleaning his wounds with the water that they were given, applying the poultice that was smuggled to them, and then bandaging his torso to keep out infection. Arthur might not be a physician, but he had suffered enough wounds of his own to know roughly what to do. During the process, the prince found himself once again thanking the oblivion that spared the boy pain for the moment.
"Arth..." Merlin mumbled, his tongue seeming far too large for his mouth. Too say that he was disorientated was an understatement. He had no idea where he was, and his last memory was of waking up tied to a post with the prince.
'Arthur!' His thoughts suddenly jolted into consciousness as he realised that he had no idea where the prince was. It had become something of a habit of Merlin's to be aware of Arthur at all times; it made keeping him alive much easier. 'If he's got himself in more trouble, I'll kill him myself.'
"Merlin?" It was the prat himself. His voice was thick, but the warlock couldn't quite work out why. It sounded very much like worry, but that wouldn't make sense; Arthur never worried, about anything other than Camelot at least. 'Is Camelot in danger now too?' He wondered blearily, allowing the pull of consciousness to tug him further into coherency.
"Wha- What happened?" His voice was even hoarser than Arthur's, and when he spoke, it set his throat alight. Swallowing, he winced as his throat blazed. As more of his senses came back online, his awareness of the surrounding area grew. Judging by the uncomfortable way he was breathing, he could guess that he was lying on his front, on rough ground. Frowning to himself, he tried to roll himself over onto his back to alleviate the weight that had fallen on his chest.
It was a mistake. Merlin cried out in pain as he tried to move, the muscles in his back and shoulders screamed in agony. The flames of his throat spread all along his spine, a roaring inferno that threatened to send him back into unconsciousness. The pain scattered his bewildered thoughts, and though he tried to remember why he was in such pain, he came up blank.
"Lie still you idiot!" A voice to his left cried, surprise and worry evident in the tone. Warm hands rested on the tops of his shoulders, the one part of his torso that didn't hurt. The warmth of the hands was comforting, a completely different sensation to the fiery heat of his pain. "You're going to hurt yourself if you move."
Gasping for air, trying to think through the multitude of pains that were suddenly making themselves known, he was able to force out: "It's a little late for that."
"What have I told you about trying to be funny, Merlin?" Came the response.
"I need to roll over," Merlin ground out, hating the idea of trying to move again, but now that the agony of his back was fading slightly into severe pain, he was realising that the aching in his ribs was due to more than just the continued pressure against them. A vague memory swam into his mind of being kicked and the bones snapping. He forced the thought away.
"That is not a good idea. Your back... it's not good." There was a certain amount of guilt in Arthur's voice that Merlin didn't quite understand.
"Onto my side then. I can't breathe," he persisted, all the while trying to piece together why he was in so much pain. After thinking for a moment, the prince relented, and very carefully helped his servant to roll sideways. The shifting left the poor boy whimpering and shivering, screwing his eyes up against the pain. "You- you didn't answer my question," he accused once he could breathe again.
"Which one was that?"
"What's going on? Where are we?"
"You don't remember anything?" Arthur frowned at him, and deep within his eyes, Merlin thought he saw the faintest glimmer of hope.
"I remember running, and..."He faltered slightly. "The arrow." His leg seemed to burn with more intensity than before. "I woke up at the post. Then... nothing." The prince raised his eyebrows in disbelief, but he said nothing for several long minutes. After a while, the servant began to become very uncomfortable under the gaze, but every time he shifted nervously, the pain reared up once more, driving him back to the ground. "What?" He demanded eventually, once he was feeling thoroughly awkward.
"I'm... surprised that you don't remember. I'm glad that you don't." His words just confused Merlin all the more, and it must have shown on his face. "It isn't something that you want to be able to relive," he explained.
"Arthur, please, just tell me what happened." It was quiet for so long that he thought the prince was just going to ignore his request.
"Ragley was angry at us, for trying to get away. He wanted to teach us a lesson, and so he made good on his threat against you." He paused, and for a second, the warlock could see all his emotions fly across his face: Sadness, guilt, anger and a helplessness that terrified the servant. "He had you flogged."
And suddenly Merlin wasn't seeing in the inside of the dim tent anymore, but was sucked into his own memories. He realised why he hadn't been able to remember: he hadn't wanted to. Each moment, each cry of pain burst into his mind in splendid horror.
The prince watched his servant pale with alarm.
"Merlin?" No answer. "Merlin!" The dark haired boy just continued to stare blankly at the canvas of the tent, his face drawn into a mask of terror. Grabbing the warlock's shoulders, Arthur had to fight the urge to try and shake him out of his stupor. "Merlin, listen to me! You're alright. You're going to be ok. Snap out of it!"
It took a moment for the words to penetrate the haze in the warlock's mind, but Merlin reached for the sound, the anchor to safety. The prince saw the far away look in the boy's eyes fade, until he blinked and refocused entirely.
"There you are, you idiot. You're safe." Feeling slightly awkward at the closeness of the moment, Arthur stood and began pacing the small space of the tent, crossing his arms and curling in on himself. He was exhausted, he'd stayed awake all night, and now it was catching up with him. Something was very wrong with his shoulder. He could no longer feel much of the wound, nor anything beyond his elbow, and a bone chilling cold was beginning to seep its way down the side of his ribs.
"What's wrong?" Merlin asked tentatively, watching his master pace back and forth.
"What's wrong? You really have to ask?" There was an underlying anger in his tone, and the warlock wondered vaguely if it was directed at him or not. He hoped that it wasn't. Arthur sounded livid. "It might have something to do with the fact, Merlin, that we are currently being held captive by a psychotic bandit with control issues, no one knows where we are, escaping is going to be next to impossible, and if we so much as think about stepping out of line, you're going to get beaten to hell. Did I miss anything?"
Merlin thought carefully for a moment. "It's not all bad." He said eventually, earning him a glare from Arthur.
'Oh that's right. We don't antagonise angry princes.' He reminded himself.
"What part of this situation is good then?"
"We're not dead," he pointed out. "And Ragley," he could help but spit the name, "doesn't appear to be trying to change that status. Just yet anyhow."
"Not through lack of trying. Have you seen yourself recently?"
"I'm trying quite hard not to look." This was true; the warlock was terrified of what he might see should he try and examine himself. If he moved it felt as though all the flesh of his back had been stripped, and even in his imagination that was an unpleasant image.
With a world weary sigh, the prince dropped down beside Merlin, careful not to move the servant at all. He didn't need any more guilt.
"There's something else. What is it?" Aware that Merlin's all too understanding eyes were on his face, Arthur bullied his features into faux innocence.
"Nothing." He snapped, looking down and away, hiding his eyes.
"Arthur, tell me what's wrong," he commanded, oblivious to the fact that, as a lowly servant, he really had no place in ordering the Crown Prince of Camelot to do something. In this place, titles didn't matter. His order was ignored. "Arthur. Talk to me. Please." From the way that the prince's fingers started to worry the edge of his shirt, the warlock knew that he was getting somewhere. He didn't want to force Arthur to tell him anything though, so he said nothing else, just continued to watch the prince squirm slightly. If it hadn't been such a serious moment, Merlin would have found it amusing.
"This is all my fault," came the eventual answer. As soon as the words were out, the prince jumped to his feet and began to pace again. He was starting to wear down a small track through the centre of the tent. Merlin said nothing, giving himself time to get his words right.
"Listen to me. None of what has happened is your fault. We were captured because we were in the wrong place at the wrong time. No one can be blamed for what happened, other than Ragley. He was the one who gave the order. It was my idea to try and get away, even though you didn't want to. I convinced you to run. It was my actions that caused Ragley's anger, not yours. I know that your nature means that you think everything is about you," he smiled good naturedly, "but in this case it isn't. You cannot blame yourself for this."
Arthur stared at him, surprise written across his face. Once the initial shock of the words wore off, a small smile started playing around his mouth.
"You don't blame me?"
"Of course not!" Merlin was slightly offended that Arthur thought that he was beyond forgiveness. He rolled his eyes at his master. "If I started blaming you for things, then I would have had to quit my job long ago," he remarked, earning a laugh from the prince.
"And if I blamed you for things, then you would have been fired long ago," he retorted playfully.
"What are you talking about? You've fired me several times already. Even when it wasn't my fault. You just missed me when I wasn't there, so you hired me again."
"Yes, for a small amount of time I was forced to cope with a competent servant, it was horrible," he said in a voice thick with sarcasm. "He was on time each morning; he knocked at the door..."
"...He was possessed by an evil sorcerer," Merlin muttered, but the prince heard it anyway.
"That was only one time," he defended, but he knew it was weak. "If you hadn't been such an idiot and told me what was going, none of that would have happened." The warlock bristled.
"I did tell you! And what did you do? Oh yes, you threw me in the dungeons!" Arthur just laughed and let it go. "Sometimes I think you just enjoy arresting me," Merlin accused petulantly.
"Sometimes I do. The stocks are a personal favourite of yours I believe."
"Only when you're being a prat. So most of the time, yes," he grinned.
"Merlin!" He scolded in mock outrage. They both knew that they didn't mean what they were saying; their banter was just a good way to deal with a bad situation. The warlock was particularly thankful for it; it was helping to keep the waves of agony at bay. By remaining completely motionless, the fires were dimming down, but it still ached fiercely.
"Someone is coming," Arthur said after a moment of comfortable silence. Automatically Merlin tried to shift so that he was in a less defenceless position, but the agony knocked him back to the floor, leaving him gasping in pain. The prince was at his side in an instant, soothing the warlock gently.
When Ragley entered the tent, Merlin could breathe again, though the pain still rippled through him.
"So, how are our prisoners doing this morning?" He asked with a false cheeriness, a mocking smile on his face. Neither 'prisoner' said anything, just glared at him. The warlock was slightly impressed that Ragley was unaffected by Arthur's cold stare; he had rage written in every line of his face, and if Merlin had been on the receiving end, he would already be running for dear life.
"Are you not feeling talkative? That's such a pity," his voice dropped lower, a sadistic glee infecting his tone. He went to cross the tent to Merlin, but in two strides, the prince put himself between the two.
"What do you want from us?" Arthur's voice was stone cold.
"I want information. I want money. I want my freedom back," Ragley snarled, his eyes darkening in hatred.
"If its freedom you want, kidnapping the Crown Prince of Camelot is probably not the way to go," Merlin pointed out, then tried to avoid flinching as the bandit glared venomously.
"But there is something else I want. I want Uther Pendragon, King of the mighty Camelot, to suffer. And there is only one thing on this earth that he cares about:" he turned his glare to the prince. "His son." Merlin felt something sink in his chest. He would be willing to bet a year's wages that this was related to the purge. It always was. The warlock wondered just how many people wanted Arthur dead, just so that they could make Uther suffer 'as they had suffered.'
'Honestly, the king isn't making my destiny any easier,' he thought, slightly bitterly.
"You know my father?" Arthur asked in surprise.
"I spoke to him only once. To plead for my wife's life during the purge."
'Ding ding,' Merlin thought silently.
"She had done no harm to anyone. She didn't even have magic herself, but her brother did, and for your precious father, it was enough to condemn her to death. You believe that I am a monster, but your king has killed more innocents than you would believe." For the first time, there were true emotions in Ragley's voice. There was an ancient pain from the death of one he loved, and in spite of everything that the bandit had done, the warlock felt the faint swells of pity forming in his chest.
"You're right." Arthur said eventually, and Merlin's head snapped up to him in surprise. "I don't have to believe you. Why would I trust you over my father?" The warlock settled down again, trying to cope with the lash of hurt that he felt whenever the prince said something against magic. Every time it happened, it seemed that his destiny was just a little further out of reach.
"I don't expect you to trust me boy," Ragley answered simply, with a slight shrug, his voice back to its usual flatness. "I expect you to answer my questions and to know that if you don't, our little friend here-" he jerked his head towards Merlin, "-will be the one who suffers."
"You proved that before. Let him be," Arthur ordered, and then remembered himself. "Please." The more he found himself pleading, the less his pride seemed to get in the way. He had learned his lesson with the flogging, and he vowed to himself that he would do whatever he had to to prevent Merlin from being forced through anything like it again.
Ragley appraised the prince for several moments, taking in his sincerity, and the rage that was hiding behind it.
"I must admit, when I planned this, I did not foresee your attachment to the boy. A prince, friends with a servant," he mocked bitterly. Neither of his captives said anything. What was there to say?
Merlin for his part knew that he would be loyal to Arthur until the day he died, and not just because of some vague destiny, but because he believed in the prince and the Camelot that he would build. He had known for a while that Arthur was his friend, but even now, he doubted that he would ever be a friend of Arthur's. The man was a prince, and he had taken several opportunities to remind the servant that it meant they could never be close.
"You will answer my questions?"
"Why don't you ask them and see?" Arthur suggested dully. There was no way for this situation to end well.
The bandit laughed, his entire body shaking. "Come with me little prince," he commanded, then spun on his heel and marched out the tent. Arthur looked at Merlin, his face torn. He didn't want to leave him defenceless, but not obeying an order would certainly not end well for his servant.
"Go," Merlin told him, sensing the indecision. "I'll be fine."
Without wasting another second, Arthur strode to the door and disappeared from sight. As soon as he was alone, Merlin let out his breath in a gush of air. Someday, his job was going to get him killed.
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This is the longest chapter I've ever written, so I hope that you enjoy it. Over 3000 words! I don't know when I'll be able to update again, hopefully soon.