22. To the limit and beyond

Leaning against the wall of their dimly lit – as well as disgustingly unfurnished – cell, Antek of Llanfair blew up his cheeks in anger.

"Save your breath, Arthur. I don't believe a word of this resurrection stuff. My father is dead." He laughed briefly but it sounded more hysterically than amused. "He died twice. Your warlock killed him and then our own Head Knight stabbed a knife into his heart. End of story. Finalmente. Basta!"

"But I'm telling you…."

"No!" Antek was shouting now. "I do not wanna hear this! God forgive me, I was hilarious when he died. I tried to love him and obey him as his son, but you, you of all people should know that that was impossible!"

Arthur bit his lip. That much was true. "I do remember what you once did. You were willing to give up your birthright, your inheritance - everything and throw yourself at Camelot's mercy, just to bring me home. I haven't forgotten, even though you've shit on our friendship since then."

"A lot has happened since then" Antek muttered stubbornly, a bit ashamed of his outburst. "I had my own people to consider!" He threw his head back in the unique way he had, that of an angered pony. "Let Anwar of Llanfair rot in peace. I do not want him back to torment anyone and neither do you. God, the state you were in the day he finally released you from his chambers…"

"Antek, he is back to torment us. I'm not making this up, I know how it feels to have him inside my mind, inside my…." Arthur broke off.

Young Llanfair's eyes were very big, uncomprehending, but shining with a childlike curiosity. Brash, outrageous curiosity and yet utterly endearing because it was so perfectly innocent.

It was one of these moments in which the high and mighty Count of Llanfair was so very much Merlin no. 2 that it squeezed Arthur's heart and the Prince knew that, no matter what the impossible, impulsive and more than a bit selfish Count did, he'd always forgive him in the end.

Antek sensed that he'd won an advantage; that he could go on prying into Arthur's soul without being pummelled for it. He trusted his ability to know when he'd bewitched another person; it was an even keener instinct for survival than the Count's admittedly fine swordsmanship. So, naturally Arthur was talking superstitious nonsense, maybe his nerves had suffered from the strain. And why not? Even the Prince of Camelot was only human. But this was a chance in a million to learn what had happened between him and Antek's father, a thing Antek had always wanted to know. And as they hadn't anything better to do…..

Gracefully Llanfair sat down on the straw covered floor; cross-legged, back erect he looked up at the Prince sympathetically. "You never said what my father did to you. I mean, after this so called ritual Badagere told me about…." It was just a pebble thrown into a dark pond but it worked a treat.

Arthur's head snapped towards Antek and he became as white as a sheet. "Badagere told you about the ritual?"

"Yes" Llanfair said. It was a lie but Arthur couldn't know that, could he? Merco had made a few hints about Arthur having delivered himself into Anwar's hands by some hocus-pocus ceremony; that was all the information Antek had. But, being blessed with a lively imagination and unlike Arthur unhampered by any exaggerated sense of propriety, he made the most of what he had. "Badagere told me all about it. Must have been horrible for you….."

Anwar had loved doing horrible things, especially to a Pendragon Prince, so that was a safe bet.

Llanfair's features showed nothing of the satisfaction he felt when he saw Arthur shudder. Not because he liked seeing his friend suffer but because he anticipated some interesting news.

However, Pendragon kept silent and that was not what Antek had intended. So he decided to help Arthur along. "I'm sure it wasn't your fault….. there was nothing you could do….." A sudden memory made Antek suppress a grin. Yes, that must have been it. "After all you thought you were doing it for your father's sake."

The one sentence set an astonishing chain of thoughts in motion inside the Pendragon Prince.

For certain, he didn't want anyone to know what Anwar had done to him. Actually that had been his main motivation for going on this lunatic quest – and without Merlin! – in the first place.

The chronicle of what Anwar had done was still in the Book of Demons, as Arthur knew, and once it was destroyed the warlock would never find out what his Prince had done. Merlin would never know that Arthur Pendragon, Crown Prince of Camelot, one of the best warriors and knights in all Albion, was a spineless coward without pride, without honour or any common decency.

It was equally essential that Uther and Guinivere were kept in the dark. Arthur felt that his very existence depended on it; he'd gladly have died had there been no other way to keep his secret.

But at the same time, being alone with these memories was devastating. The strangling fear of what they would think should it all come out had poisoned his relationship with his father more than anything Uther had done and it had put an unbearable pressure on his marriage and on his friendship with Merlin.

True enough, he had told Arenboarth something about it but that had barely scratched the surface of what the old Llanfair wolf had done.

And now here he was, with Antek-who-already-knew-some-of-it, and who obviously was more than a bit understanding. He was Anwar's son; he knew how his father's mind worked. He was the perfect - in fact the only possible - confessor and once that idea had taken hold of Arthur, his inner barriers melted away like ice in the sun. As if under an inner pressure, he began to talk.

His first halting words catapulted Arthur back in time and space and brought him back to Blackrock's vaults. The taste of Anwar's blood and his own bile from the Di'inshara ritual still in his mouth. Badagere had just left him when Anwar's men came to take him – wherever they wanted; in that moment he didn't care.

It took him a while to realize that he had been dragged to Anwar's chambers. He had been held here before. The old Llanfair wolf found great pleasure in using his royal hostage as his own personal valet from time to time; doubtlessly this was no exception to the rule.

In a way Arthur was grateful for the opportunity to speak to his captor as Anwar hadn't told him anything about Uther's situation earlier. "My Lord?" he said neutrally, waiting for a chance to bring it up.

Anwar was standing by his desk, apparently not very interested in his prisoner's arrival. "Get yourself cleaned up. Over there, behind the screen."

"About my father Sir, please I…." and that was when Arthur felt it for the very first time. Something cold, almost slimy in his throat. A whisper in his mind. "Shut up and do as I say!"

Arthur cleared his throat, tried to focus on the old man by the desk. He had to know that Uther was safe; he had to know now, this instant. "You gave me your word, Count Anwar. My life and freedom in exchange for my father's safe return to Camelot. You promised me."

The pain exploded in Arthur's head, ran down his spine and made his body burn as if on fire. He screamed and fell to his knees, blind and deaf to anything whilst it lasted. He had once thought the torture in the dungeons would kill him but this was worse. Much worse.

After what felt like hours he could finally see and hear again; he was on the floor, curled up into a tight ball, sobbing.

"I said, get yourself cleaned up!"

With an effort Arthur raised his head to look at Llanfair who was still at the other end of the room, frowning, looking at some papers in his hands.

"If I have to repeat myself once more you will regret it!"

This time Arthur was certain that Llanfair hadn't said a word.

"From now on everything between you and me is private, Arthur. Very private. Unless you force me to reveal it to others. To your father for example."

"How…" Arthur didn't get it. The man wasn't even looking in his direction.

"I'm in your head, little dragon. In case you haven't noticed. That's what this ritual was about. I told you. You're mine now, body and soul."

The shock was all the more overwhelming as it crept up on Arthur slowly while the pain in his body gradually abated.

Magic. All this time he'd thought the old Count's actions to be the ravings of a lunatic; just madness without anything behind it. Instead it was a kind of sorcery he'd never seen before. No blinding lights, no walls burst open or broken bones but something moving at will in Arthur's head, like an animal that had made its way inside his skull.

"You still don't catch on? I've to show you some more."

Arthur rose to his feet and walked over to the screen with the washbasin and the set of fresh clothes behind it. He tidied himself up and changed, exactly as he had been told to. Only that it wasn't him who was doing it.

There wasn't one muscle or sinew in his body still under his control. He moved and acted perfectly natural, no one would've seen any difference. And yet he was a mere puppet on a string and Anwar was the puppeteer.

Arthur wanted to protest, to scream or fight. With all his strength he fought for control over his body, over his voice but it was as if his will and mind, his whole being ran against solid walls inside his own brain. He shouted, kicked and threw himself against them but whatever he did, nothing came out.

When he felt Anwar's hand on his arm he couldn't even flinch, although he felt like throwing up any moment. "You see, I no longer need a rag and scarf to gag you" the monster whispered inside his ear. "And it's no big deal at all. I could use your body to any possible end. If I wanted you to kill Uther, you'd do it without hesitation. Or rather, your body would."

"You captured my father and tricked me into this ritual so that you could make me kill him?" At any other time Arthur would've marvelled at how easy it was to speak in his mind. Right now he couldn't have cared less about his new ability.

"No, little dragon. First and foremost this is about getting to know you better. To know you more intimately, so to speak."

And so it began.

Rather harmlessly, at first.

Anwar's presence brushed against Arthur's thoughts, a disgusting, appalling touch, if quite gentle.

Out of the blue a memory came to the Prince's mind. Nothing spectacular, just some pictures and sounds from his last days as the careless, youthful Prince of Camelot he'd once been. Before Uther had sent him to Blackrock.

Suddenly Arthur remembered, without knowing why, an afternoon he had spent with Guinivere in the forest. It was a memory he highly treasured, not so much for what had really happened but for what he associated with it. His most private thoughts about her. Arthur relived it all now, vividly, and it felt as wonderful as if it was actually happening to him again, in this very moment.

Until he finally grasped what this was all about. "Let me see her more clearly" the presence in his mind said eagerly. "She really is pretty. But then, if you didn't think so too you wouldn't date her without your father's knowledge, would you. Now let me see what you really want from her…."

And Anwar did see it. Every little detail of what Arthur thought when he kissed her, what fantasies he had. How her skin felt to his touch and how her body was silhouetted against the sunlight under her skirt and blouse. The Count wrenched it from his captive's mind by force, effortlessly. The prisoner's attempts at resistance were no more to him than a fly's struggle in a spider's web.

Arthur considered himself fortunate that it hadn't been the memory of his first night with Guinivere, the night in which Thomas had been conceived. And yet, when Llanfair finally withdrew the Prince was trembling.

He had never felt that cheap before. Born into a very public life, used to be stared at, watched and judged by all who saw him every hour of the day, the ability to keep his thoughts and emotions hidden was essential for him, like breathing or sleeping. His inner life was sacrosanct; no one had ever had full access. Not his father, not his closest friends, not even Gwen.

Now this place had been ransacked; defiled by the other's presence. The mortal shame manifested itself as a physical discomfort; nausea and pains in Arthur's stomach where all muscles cramped.

There was only one way a knight and warrior could react to this brutal violation. In the first shock of utter humiliation not even the thought of his father's safety could stop the Pendragon Prince.

Anwar didn't move when Arthur came for him, screaming with rage. The Prince's hands closed around his tormentor's throat and for a while the old Count gave the impression that he was defenceless against the physical attack.

Naturally it didn't last long.

After what had lasted hardly two minutes, Llanfair meticulously straightened his clothes whilst looking down on the young man who had been brought to his knees in front of him. "Frustrating, isn't it. Such strong muscles. Such knowledge of the martial arts. You could break my neck single handed. If only your hand would obey you."

Anwar watched slyly as he loosened his control a bit and he wasn't disappointed.

It wasn't a conscious thought or intention, more like a reflex to get as far away from the monster as possible that made Pendragon rush for the door, as if salvation was waiting outside this room.

He didn't go very far before the cold, commanding voice in his head was back to stop him. "Stay where you are!"

Sure enough, the Prince's legs refused to cooperate and he halted.

"What a fascinating life you've led. And mine was so very boring, in comparison. It took me years to master the dark arts. They're quite different from the magic your little sorcerer friend showed you, I reckon."

Arthur closed his eyes briefly when he heard the other man approach from behind. Anwar's hands took both shoulders in what could have been a friendly semi-hug. "Would you mind showing me some more?"

"No" Arthur thought furiously. "No. Not again."

"We could change the subject, you know. No girls and such like. what about…. Camelot's defences. Or Uther's secret connections with other King's subjects? His covert bussiness operations? The identities of his spies at my Court?"

To Arthur it felt like a snake gliding through his thoughts, ready to bite and spread its venom when Llanfair's mental voice chuckled menacingly "As long as you've seen or heard anything of these things, no matter how long ago – even if you've forgotten all about it, it's still somewhere in your head, ready for the taking."

"I won't let you take it. I'll never betray Camelot.!"

"I thought you'd got it by now. There's nothing you can do. You can't fight, can't run, you cannot even scream. And you most definitely can't hide anything from me."

Anwar bent his head until his lips almost touched the younger man's neck. "And the best is yet to come, Arthur. I promise you, in the end you'll do anything I say, anything at all, without me even using my powers. You'll kneel to me, lick my boots, kiss my butt or come to my bed – anything, as long as it keeps me away from your mind."

"You're welcome to try!"

"There's no need for trying, little dragon. In fact I'll show you right now what I can do! There was something about my man Lucius in your memory. He helped you, didn't he. And you've seen his face before ….."

It took Llanfair less than thirty minutes to prove his point and by the time he'd got everything he wanted, Arthur was begging to be left alone.

But Anwar wasn't finished with him yet. The old Count had a great talent for sniffing out the most sensitive spots and he played it out to the full.

It took some more hours before he finally lost interest.

And that was only the first of eights days…

At this point of his narrative, Arthur's voice trailed off.

At first, antek didn't react to that. He had been listening with increasing dread to what Arthur had told him. At first he had wanted to laugh it all away. His father, a sorcerer? A mindreader even? Ridiculous.

However, as the story proceeded it made sense in a weird way.

A cruel game like this was so much more after his father's taste than any crude physical torture. Besides, he knew Arthur. And nobody, especially not a man like the Crown Prince of Camelot, would make up such an outrageus story.

So, as Arthur didn't go on, Antek said the very first thing that came to him. "My father murdered Lucius before your and Merco's eyes based on some information he'd forcibly wrenched from your mind?"

Deeply lost in his emotional recall, Arthur was slightly startled by the sound of Antek's voice. "Yes" he finally acknowledged. "Lucius saved my life many times, he risked his neck to help me as best he could and I betrayed him to your father."

"Sounds to me as if you had no choice!" Antek replied heatedly. It was so very much like Arthur to blame himself where a bit old fashioned and well seasoned hatred would've been a much healthier attitude.

But then, that was the crux of it, wasn't it.

The Prince hadn't told Antek many details about the memories that had been stolen from him, but the young Count could easily deduce that Anwar had made a close study of Arthur's character before planning his amusements.

The old Llanfair wolf would never have taken a bite off a spot that didn't hurt. As Arthur's conscience was easy to prick, it had been the choice piece of meat.

From this insight it was only a short way to some other realizations.

"Did you do it in the end?" Antek asked. "Obey him without being forced?"

Another shudder ran down Arthur's spine. This was the most hurtful point of all. The one sin he knew he'd never receive absolution for; not from his father, not from his wife or friends and most certainly not from himself.

The knowledge of what he'd been capable of doing was always with him and when he looked at his son Thomas, the thought of his little boy feeling degraded for being a disgraced coward's son had been foremost on his mind.

And yet once, just once in his life he had to tell someone the whole truth before it strangled him. "Yes. I did. And to make a long story short, he went all the way and so did I!"

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that on the last evening I spent in his chambers he told me to strip and lay down for him in his bed. I obeyed him because I couldn't endure him watching my thoughts and feelings during the act."

Arthur had sputtered that out so that he couldn't think twice about it, but he regretted it instantaneously. More than anything else during all these months he'd spent as Anwar's prisoner this moment had destroyed his soul and now he had given this knowledge into another's hands. What would, what could a nobleman do but utterly condemn him for what he had done?

The ground reeled under Arthur's feet and he was sick to the bone.

"I'm glad to hear it" Antek said, audibly sighing with relief. "Clever you. I'd done exactly the same!"

The ground became rock solid, the world stopped spinning, the stomach left the throat and fell back into the pit where it belonged. "Excuse me?"

"I said, how very clever of you" Antek repeated good-naturedly. "I mean, we both knew my father; at least I assume after eight days of that nice little game you must've known him by heart."

Much calmed and comforted by this happy ending of a gruesome tale, Antek flashed a smile at his friend. "My father wasn't gay. He just wanted to know how far he could go and once he was sure he had you where he wanted you, he'd leave you in peace. You should've thought of that earlier, but – better late than never, as I always say!"

"Antek, that wasn't what I….."

"Oh for God's sake, Arthur Pendragon, there simply was no other way to bide your time until help could come to you. So for once you couldn't free yourself with your sword and mace, for once you had to wait for other people to come up with something. What the heck? You survived, against impossible odds, why can't you just accept that that is a heroic feat in itself? Not many men would've lived to tell the tale."

Antek of Llanfair didn't know it but he was a unique person. He was the only man who'd ever been stared at by Arthur Pendragon with the princely lower jaw hanging almost to the ground in splendid stupefaction.

Unruffled by the singular event, Antek shrugged. "I'm right, am I not? He didn't touch you after you'd come to his bed willingly?"

"No" Arthur finally managed to say. "He just laughed and said he'd let me go in the morning. Then he left."

"As I said" Antek replied. "Clever you. Did you tell Uther?"

"I've told no one until now and surely not my father." Arthur was by far too confused to weigh his words. The knight in him, the man his father had moulded him into, told him, and punitively so, that nothing had changed. That he still carried the burden of his disgrace and that he would've to do so until the day he died.

But another part of him, the part that wanted to live, love and to be happy, felt hilarious. It felt that the burden had been lifted from his soul for good. Even that he had imagined this burden in the first place.

"Good!" Antek interrupted Arthur's extremely complicated deliberations. "My father was mad, and yours' an idiot. We're both to be pitied. Now, let's make plans how to get out of here."

Only now the young Count remembered what had triggered Arthur's confession and suddenly he didn't feel so very confident anymore. "I guess, after what you've been through you wouldn't mistake my father's presence for any other sorcerer's tricks?" he asked uncomfortably.

It took a bit of air out of the only recently blown up – and thus very thin skinned – balloon that was Arthur's confidence. "Surely not. It may be Alined's body but it's your father we're dealing with."

"And he can still control you? I mean, the way he could when you were in Blackrock?"

Pendragon combed his hair with both hands in frustration. "He can't control my mind like he once could but as to my body, that's another pair of shoes. He snaps his fingers and I can't do anything."

"But what does he want? It's sure not me and presently he doesn't seem very interested in you either."

The thought came to Arthur out of nowhere and yet it made perfect, if perverted, sense. "The power of life and death itself" Anwar/Alined had said. And from the very beginning the monster's resurrection had been closely intertwined with a certain young warlock…

"Merlin" Arthur said. "Anwar wants Merlin and thanks to my stupidity, he's got him."

Antek watched the crestfallen royal sitting down, head hanging low. "Back where you were, aren't you? Arthur Pendragon's conscience must be some cosy little hell to live in" the Count thought and shook his head in disbelief. "It is my fault that we're here. I wanted to be clever. Selling Merlin to the highest bidder, betraying Uther to Cendred. I considered Blackrock, my people and most of all I considered myself. Never once I thought of you until it was too late. And look who's sitting on his arse blaming himself. It sure isn't me."

As sure as eggs were eggs, Arthur would never learn to put himself first in anything.

Which of course meant that Antek would have to do it for him.

The young Count was confident that some escape plan would come to him sooner or later. Perhaps it wouldn't be a nice plan, or even a decent, let alone an honourable one. But that was perfectly fine with Antek, as long as it worked.

When all was said and done, he was still a Llanfair.

And as such he shuffled his bottom to and fro until he found a more comfortable sitting position, leaned his back against the wall and waited for his princely friend to come out of his self-inflicted and, as always, utterly unproductive misery.