The only way I can justify the delay for this chapter is that I was ill and felt really *insert swear word of choice here* and really couldn't muster the energy to write. If it helps, had I written this chapter a week ago it would have ended up a death fic. Unless you guys all want a death fic, in which case I'm all too happy to oblige.
Again, wonderful thanks to my beta VHunter07, for her amazing work!
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Arthur rocked himself back and forth in a manner that was most unbefitting a prince. At this stage, he truly didn't care. His unconscious manservant lay by his side, his breaths wheezing in and out of his frail frame with an uneven rhythm.
'This is all my fault. Merlin is dying and this is my fault.' The thoughts continuously rioted through his brain, scattering all other worries, including the impending doom of Camelot. He was too distracted to contemplate when Merlin had become equal to his kingdom in his list of priorities.
For hours now the prince had sat in silence, worrying years off his life. It wasn't like he had much else to do; Arthur had always been a man of action and this state of helplessness was a hand which he'd never before been dealt.
When he heard movement outside their tent he was almost relieved. The feeling evaporated instantly when four bandits forced themselves into the tight space and moved forwards to grab the two of them. The prince's hand automatically grasped for his sword and feeling nothing but air, threw himself at the man closest to him. Arthur might have been Camelot's finest fighter, but he had numbers, fatigue and a wounded shoulder working against him, and it only took a few well placed punches to set him straight. Two bandits secured his arms, and the others grabbed Merlin's limp form, hauling him partially upright and allowing his legs to trail.
Even in the depths of unconsciousness, the movement drew a moan of pain from the injured boy. The prince tried to free himself, but he was held fast. He was panting with outrage and exertion as he was dragged out from under the canvas. Blinking into the sudden light, he took a brief glance around, his trained eyes taking in everything.
It would seem that whatever was happening, all the bandits wished to be a part of it. They had gathered in their masses, and the prince was amazed by the sheer number of them.
'How did they pass undetected through our forests?' He thought before vaguely recalling reports of missing patrols. No survivors tended to mean no news.
"So little prince, it would appear that the time has come." Ragley's voice was obnoxiously gleeful, and Arthur wished he could punch the smug smile right off his face, but the bandit's leader had cleverly placed himself within arm's reach of Merlin.
"You will never succeed," the prince retorted adamantly.
"Of course we will. We have you, and the king would order his own execution to see you live. When it comes to Camelot, the crowned prince is the most valuable bargaining chip one can ever own."
"You do not own me," Arthur hissed furiously. "And you will not kill my father." Ragley's only response was a snort of derision and a nod at one of the men holding him. The beefy man's fist sunk into his stomach, and the prince doubled over as the air rushed out of him.
"Next time, that will be your servant," Ragley warned. The two men guarding him yanked him forwards, but he strained, trying to keep his servant within his line of sight.
They weren't walking for long, no more than ten minutes before stopping again. Arthur and Merlin were cast to the ground, a few bandits hovering around them to keep them from running. Deciding it was better to play the docile captive he made no attempt to fight back moving to his servant's side instead.
Merlin's skin was almost grey, his breathing harsh and erratic, and beneath closed lids his eyes were flickering wildly. The bandages covering his back had been loosened by the movement and most had bled through. Arthur hardly dared to peel back one, terrified of what he might see. Gathering his courage and steeling himself, he forced himself to look and was almost sick on the spot.
The flesh around the wound was a grotesque shade of grey and the blood that still wept from the gashes – 'seriously, how much can someone as small as Merlin bleed?' – mixing with the yellow puss. Even if they got back to Camelot now Arthur was beginning to think that it might be too late. He hated himself for thinking it, but he had to be practical now or they would both end up dead.
'"You must focus on the facts Arthur. You will never be able to rule as king if you let yourself be swayed by emotions or prejudice. No matter how hard it is, you must always face the truth."' They were words that his father had told him when he was very young. Though he rarely stayed true to their mantra he never forgot them. As he had grown older, he had formed his own ideas, and since meeting Merlin, he had realised that following your heart was sometimes the better option.
"Oh, Merlin," he sighed quietly before replacing the bandages, and rolling the servant onto his side so that he could breath easily. The movement seemed to stir him lightly and he frowned.
"Ar...ur," he murmured, his voice barely audible.
"I'm here, Merlin," his voice was steadier than he had expected.
"It hurts," he whimpered, his body starting to tremble. Arthur found himself missing the unconsciousness that spared him the pain.
"I know. But we'll be back in Camelot soon and Gaius can make the pain go away." The false hope in his voice sounded too fake to be convincing but Merlin didn't seem to notice.
"Your shoulder..." his voice trailed off, and Arthur felt himself fill with an emotion he couldn't name. If he was feeling poetic he would call it brotherly love. The idiot was slipping away, and he was still worrying about the prince's health. Selfless fool.
"Bring the prince and his pet," Ragley's voice penetrated Arthur's bubble and once again he was hauled to his feet and dragged forward. Behind him, Merlin shriek of agony with movement sent him spiralling into panic.
"Merlin!" He shouted behind him, but he received no response from the servant.
"Gag him." Ragley grinned manically as Arthur struggled against his captors. A scrap of vile material was forced into his mouth and tightened behind his head; the taste was foul and more worryingly it prevented his best method of warning his father about their schemes.
Glaring at his captors, Arthur had to concede his defeat. He was out numbered and even if he was uninjured and there was no threat against Merlin, he couldn't hope to escape on his own.
"Remember this day, my prince, though I doubt you will regret your father's death."
"Murder!" Arthur tried to correct, but the gag muffled the word so it was barely coherent. It would seem that Ragley heard anyway.
"I prefer to think of it as mercy. The kingdom will rejoice our actions and Camelot will at last be free!"
"You fool." The voice made both men look round in surprise. Merlin couldn't take his own weight, and was resting completely in the arms of his captives, but he was summoning the strength to talk. "Even if your plan works, all you will do is bring war to Camelot. Without a king we will all fall," he injected wisely.
Within the privacy of his own mind the prince wondered at the enigma that was his servant. One minute he would be dishing out the best advice and the next he would be falling over his own feet.
"What would you know of politics?" Ragley scoffed at him.
"Prince's servant," Merlin reminded him. "I spend more time in court than most nobles." This was probably true, Arthur reflected.
"Then my men and I will take control."
"And the knights will never swear allegiance and your kingdom will have fallen within the week. Face it, this plan of yours is only going to cause more suffering. Is that what your wife would want for you?" This was clearly the wrong thing to say, and within a moment, the bandit was in Merlin's face, screaming all the profanities he had ever learned.
"How dare you speak to me of her! You will pay for your audacity you pathetic fool!" Even Arthur was flinching at the pure venom in that tone, whilst the warrior within him reared his head. Ragley's hands clenched into fists and he sent them flying towards the defenceless boy, just as the prince was able to yank himself from the grasps of the men holding him. Throwing himself towards their leader he knocked him to the ground, landing punches before Ragley could work out what was happening.
Hands grabbed his shoulder, pressing agonisingly against his wound and yanking him backwards. His vision was red with rage quavering around the edges.
"You should not have done that," Ragley's voice was low and deadly. Dangerous. In a flash there was a sword in his hand and he was advancing on the servant, who didn't have the energy to break free and run. His consciousness was slipping as it was but he clung on desperately.
'If I am to die here, I want to see the blow that kills me. To know that this is inevitable.' He was too tired to feel any further panic. He had done his best, tried to shield Arthur as best he could, normally taking the blows for him, then having to hide the pain. He didn't mind though; this was the story that destiny had chosen for him and who was he to try and prevent the course of events? Every time he had tried he had only left a battlefield in his wake, though he never had the honour of lying amongst the dead himself. That was the part that killed him: Will, Freya, Balinor, they had all died in his name. And thanks to Uther and his hatred, they would never receive any honour or glory for their actions.
He watched the sword swing towards him, surprised that there was no longer any fear. It was nice though, a peaceful end to a chaotic life.
A final thought drifted into his mind, and it bothered him more that his own ending did:
'What'll happen to Arthur?'
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So, that's quite a horrible ending. Sorry. Also sorry for the horrible update time.
Oh, by the way, this story isn't over, don't worry. I'm not quite done yet... Until next time.