Sorry the update has taken a while, but manic few days recently. Next chapter is well on the way... and hopfully won't be as long... ;-)
I'lian ignored all of them, his eyes fixed on Galen's still, pale form on the bed.
"Galen?" he asked, his voice a little uncertain.
I'lian did then turn to look at the scene around him. Merlin tried to free himself from Barak's grasp but the man's fist clenched tighter. I'lian didn't notice, instead he pushed past them to go to Galen, kneeling down next to the bed and gently cradling the young man's head.
"Galen? Son?"
Merlin blinked and sent a panicked look at Arthur. He looked just as stunned, glancing at Merlin before looking back to I'lian. There was no resemblance between the dark haired older man and the younger, mousy-blond healer. But that didn't mean anything; the connection appeared to be there. Arthur looked just as uncomfortable with the revelation.
"What happened?" I'lian asked, his voice strained as he smoothed back Galen's hair, and stroked his cheek in an attempt to rouse him. Arthur was about to say something, actually going to try and make it sound less awful than he could of, when Barak said.
"They made an escape attempt, the prince knocked him out."
"I did not!" Arthur snapped. "If nothing else, I lessened the blow so you didn't take his damn head off!"
"What the hell is this?" I'lian asked, carefully moving his fingers into Galen's hair and finding the small square of linen that Merlin had covered the treated wound with.
"I applied a poultice, as far as I can tell, there is no skull fracture, we just need to wait for him to wake up," Merlin said, trying to sound kind as well as practical. His voice wobbling didn't really help, and he looked to Arthur.
"And if we were attempting to escape, why would Merlin then make an effort to treat him?" Arthur argued.
"Guilt," Barak snapped back. "I'lian, I knew they would try something. But even I thought they would have more honour than to attack Galen."
"How dare you?" Arthur snapped at him, jumping to his feet. "I gave my word, and I do not go back on that, and I didn't hurt anyone, your idea of fun did!"
"I'lian," Merlin started, giving Arthur a pointed look. He didn't exactly want to tell Arthur to shut up, but Merlin didn't think that arguing was going to ease this situation. Arthur paused and waited. I'lian didn't look round from Galen. He concentrated on the unconscious youth. Merlin carried on talking.
"Look, erm… I can stay with him and make sure he's all right. It really wasn't anyone's fault…"
I'lian's voice cut coldly across Merlin's, stunning both him and Arthur into shocked silence.
"Barak, take the serving brat outside and flog him."
"What?" Merlin gasped, as Barak took a firmer hold of him. Barak gave a whistle and several more bandits piled into the tent. Arthur's eyes widened.
"This has nothing to do with Merlin, he tried to help."
"You vowed to obey the rules," I'lian said coldly. "Merlin was to pay the price if you didn't."
"Neither of us did anything, except get dragged into your cousin's twisted little games," Arthur retorted. He tensed as I'lian's head whipped round, glaring at him.
"And am I going to believe Uther's son over my own men!"
Arthur blinked in surprise, gazing at I'lian steadily, as if trying to see something that he hadn't noticed before.
"Barak, deal with it," I'lian ordered.
Arthur stepped forward as Barak started to haul Merlin to the opening in the tent. The men stepped aside for him. Merlin stumbled, his chained feet unable to keep up. Barak didn't relent. Arthur watched as the big man who had carried Merlin earlier grabbed his arm to keep him upright to help Barak take him outside. Arthur ran forward, and the rest of the men pounced on him.
"Merlin!" Arthur bellowed. It was a pointless fight, but he did it anyway. He landed a couple of punches before sheer weight of numbers brought him down, four men got him on the ground, pinning him down. Arthur wasn't quite sure what he ended up shouting, but it was abusive, and was roughly cut off as something was shoved into his mouth. Hands were gripping him everywhere as they rolled him over onto his stomach, and grabbed at his arms to haul them behind his back. Arthur kicked and struggled as he felt the ropes tighten around his wrists. They were bound firmly and the material in his mouth was secured. He kept giving muffled protests, but the only thing that was coherent was the growl he gave as he was pulled up onto his knees. The position put him on a level with I'lian and they locked eyes. The hatred tangible between the pair of them.
Arthur gave another deep throated growl of warning. I'lian could back off, he'd given them both enough of a scare. Merlin more than himself no doubt, the prince thought. But there was no understanding in I'lian's eyes, just a coldness that demanded revenge for someone hurting his son. It didn't matter who bore the brunt of it. The fact remained, for Arthur, that it should not have been Merlin.
I'lian stared for a moment longer, before addressing the men, his attention turning back to Galen.
"Take him out of here."
Merlin was in rather an acute state of panic. Not just because of the turn of events, but also because he couldn't see Arthur. He kept trying to glance behind him but the two burly men made it impossible. In the end he had to concentrate on where he was going as he was dragged across the clearing to a large tree, one thick branch protruded out from the trunk about eight feet off the ground. Someone was slinging a rope over it and Merlin's eyes widened, and he dug his heels in, but it was not enough to slow the two men down. He wondered, a little hysterically, if they were going to flog him or hang him.
The two men yanked him to a halt a short distance away from the dangling rope. It gave Merlin a chance to look round and realise Arthur was nowhere to be seen; presumably he was still in the tent. Merlin yelped as his jacket was roughly yanked down his arms and then his shirt was hoisted over his head. He did his best to resist but Barak held Merlin's wrists in one hand and yanked his arms up over his head. Randal pulled the material up. Barak adjusted his grip to draw the garment clear of his arms, and then he dragged Merlin forward, causing him to stumble and crash onto his knees. The bandit's free hand grabbed the swinging rope and pulled it low enough to reach Merlin, and he started to wind it around his wrists, and between them before securing the end tightly, yanking it hard to ensure it was secured. Then he turned to the man holding the other end.
"Hoist him up," Barak ordered.
The man grinned as he pulled on the rope, jerking Merlin's arms up and he had no choice but to go with the pull, struggling to his feet. He couldn't fall again, the man's weight held him as he pulled, getting Merlin onto his feet, stretching his arms up over his head, pulling just enough to force Merlin to stretch, but still allowing him to keep his feet on the ground for balance.
Merlin had a moment to turn and look for Arthur. He was being forced along by four men. Two had his arms, although Merlin could tell he had been bound. One held the front of his shirt, and the other was behind him. Arthur was struggling as hard as he could, but there was no point. They shoved him down on his knees in the clearing and Arthur eyes sought out Merlin. Their gaze didn't meet for very long. Merlin yelped in shock, turning with the force of the blow as Barak brought the whip down on him. It was like fire across his back, hitting him on the shoulder blades. Merlin gasped for breath and clenched his jaw. Barak whacked him again, this time Merlin gave nothing more than a low grunt, managing to brace himself before the blow landed.
But Barak was not about to settle for that, he threw the lash down across Merlin's back again. Merlin yelped, and Arthur did as well. He had seen floggings before, he knew weapons and he almost felt what Merlin was undergoing. The whip had three tails, all made of tightly plaited leather, and knotted at the ends to add weight. It was designed to hurt, to break the skin and Barak wasn't holding back.
Arthur could do nothing, as much as he struggled; even if he broke free he could do nothing. All he could do was watch. The smooth, pale skin of Merlin's back was slowly marred by thick red lines. Blood started to flow in places, trickling down in drops and lines. Merlin could do nothing but scream and twist, and the man holding the rope pulled his arms up higher, leaving Merlin tottering on the balls of his feet, unable to stop himself from swinging under every blow.
Merlin's back slowly started to become one red blur. Then Arthur realised, it wasn't quite like that. His eyes were filling with tears. There was some way that this was his fault. He shouldn't bring Merlin along with him, on patrols, and hunting trips and all the places that Merlin could get hurt. Why the hell did he need his servant with him anyway? Arthur thought angrily. True, it was nothing out of the ordinary. He was the prince and Merlin was his servant, if Arthur wanted him, then Merlin needed to follow.
Despite that, Arthur couldn't dredge up the memory of when he had ordered Merlin to come with him. Hunting trips maybe, but why the patrols. Had Merlin just assumed and Arthur had let him.
All his thoughts were not detracting from the sickening thuds and what were now screams echoing around the clearing. Arthur was chewing on the material in his mouth, trying to push it out with his tongue, and work a way to speak around it, to tell them to stop. He forced himself to blink, not caring if the tears ran down his cheeks. The world came into painful focus as he watched Merlin, and Barak. The bandit's eyes were gleaming, as he drew his arm back, all his force going into the blow as he hit Merlin again, drops of blood flying out under the impact. Arthur sagged down as Merlin screamed and then went into a round of panting whimpers. Despair crawled at the edges of Arthur's being, latching into him, pulling at him. Arthur couldn't stop it, and he couldn't stop watching, and just hoping that Merlin would pass out.
"Enough!" A voice roared unexpectedly.
Barak halted, turning to glare at I'lian. He still held the whip like he was ready to use it. All of Merlin's weight rested on his bound hands as he hung limply from the tree, head down, his whimpers and breaths audible over the quiet of the clearing. Arthur went very still, even trying to control the sounds of his breathing. He did not want to do anything that made it worse for Merlin. It couldn't get much worse, but the beating could continue, they could think of something increasingly brutal to do to him. It didn't help Arthur that he could think of several ideas. He was trained and lectured on techniques of how to do such things. For years he had been told he might have to, if Camelot was at war, if they had enemies.
"Cousin, they…"
"I'm aware of that," I'lian said. "But the point has been made. I say enough!"
Arthur resisted as he was hauled onto his feet. He wanted to stay by Merlin, he wanted to get to Merlin. But there was nothing he could do. The four men around him shoved him in the direction of the plain, shabby tent that he had been housed. He tried to turn to look for Merlin. The only thing that Arthur wanted was Merlin. Poor, unjustly battered Merlin, the one that Arthur had used as a bargaining tool and the whole thing had fallen apart around him. It seemed the only way to keep Merlin safe and it had resulted in this.
They dragged him into the tent and pushed him down onto his knees. A hand grabbed his hair and forced his head down, almost to the floor. Arthur tensed and wriggled, which was the only fight he could put up. He was starting to feel light headed and sick. Again he was painfully reminded, he had not eaten or drunk anything since the evening of the previous day, and he had exerted himself this morning without any sustenance. But Arthur couldn't fail now, he still had to look strong and certainly couldn't look like he was giving in.
He almost did at the next sight. They dragged Merlin into the tent. Or rather one person did. The large man Randal walked in with Merlin over his shoulder. Arthur's muffled whimper was nothing more than him stammering Merlin's name as the man dropped him off his shoulder and dumped him down on the straw bed. Merlin slumped face down, and despite everything, he was still conscious. His limps stirred slightly and he tried to life his head. Arthur clenched down on the material in his mouth to stop his jaw from wobbling.
All but two bandits all backed out of the room. They all treated Arthur like a caged animal. An angry animal. They cleared away from him, got him focussed on Merlin and then his hands and mouth were released at the same time, only the knots were loosened, they didn't touch the materials themselves. Then they left. Arthur had to pull himself clear of the bonds and drag the material from his mouth. It gave his captors enough time to escape and pull the tent flap closed, pinning it down.
There was still strong daylight out, but the material subdued that. Arthur could see clearly but the tent put it into gentle focus. Arthur crawled over and his mind sharpened as he looked at what had been done to his servant.
From shoulders to hips, Merlin's back was bruised, welts marring his skin and bleeding in patches. Arthur watched Merlin stir again, his arms stretching out and feet kicking into the straw.
"Merlin?" Arthur asked gently, putting a hand on his head. He jumped as Merlin flinched and whined.
"It's me, it's Arthur."
The flinching stopped, and Merlin attempted to shuffle closer, whining as his back hurt. Arthur moved to him, kneeling as close as he could.
"Oh Merlin, I'm sorry, I couldn't stop it, I couldn't stop them."
Merlin's reply was mumbled, all Arthur picked up in the sentence was 'sn' and 'alt' interspersed with something unintelligible. Arthur's desperately shattered nerves interpreted that, hopefully, as 'it's not your fault'. It could have been the complete opposite but Merlin was responding to him, clinging on.
Arthur slowly sat down by Merlin's head, putting his hand into Merlin's thick, dark hair and petting him gently. Merlin lifted his head, getting a sense of him and his hand latched onto Arthur's shin. Arthur wriggled even closer, lifting Merlin and turning him to rest on one shoulder, so Merlin could put his head down on Arthur's thigh, and use it as a pillow. Arthur kept his hand in Merlin's hair, it was the only part of him he dared touch, and he would never had performed such a gesture if there was any other option. But there wasn't.
So Arthur ran his fingers through Merlin's hair, and talked gently, trying to soothe, apologising a lot, and feeling something of a sickened relief when Merlin's body relaxed and oblivion took his pain away.