Merlin had felt pain before. He was feeling physical pain from the man's (who the warlock learned was named Lamir) torture sessions. He was feeling emotional pain from his knowledge of Arthur never being able to love him as a man. If he had to choose, the latter hurt the worst. Breaking his ribs felt like fire was set upon his chest; but his broken heart felt like hell itself.

Days passed. He wasn't sure how many, but he had different guards each time. Everyday Lamir would come up with a new way to make the warlock feel pain. The first time had been with a knife, the second with his fists. The third was the worst, and Merlin did not want to think about it. Today it seemed, was whips. The warlock was chained against the wall, magic restraints never leaving his skin, and his shirt ripped off.

The first stroke he had not expected so quickly. Pain seared across his back in one slash. The next hurt just as much, but then worse. He tried his best not to cry out; that would probably only encourage him. He lost track of his lashing around fifteen. After that, he just felt pain. It consumed him. By thirty, unconsciousness was taking him.

When Merlin didn't feel another whip stroke, he vaguely wondered if it was over. His mind was foggy with pain. In the background he heard struggling, but not to near. He could hear Lamir walk out of the cell. He could hear more struggling. He heard a shout from a familiar voice. The chains were taken off. Someone held him close. All he could focus on was that the wounds on his back were being aggravated, making the pain worse. As the darkness took him, he heard on thing whispered in his ear.

"Merlin."

Finding the castle was no problem. Getting in was. After throwing suggestions up and disliking them, they decided to just walk up and hope for the best.

"He you!" called the guard as the approached the door. He was a young man, no older than eighteen. He held no weapon. Arthur simply just knocked him out with the butt of his sword, before moving on. They walked in. No guards.

"I recognize this place," said Arthur. "It belonged to a noble that practiced magic. My father tore through it and left the lord's with no money."

Gwaine did not ask what happened to the lord.

Merlin was most likely going to be the dungeons. If this castle was anything like Camelot's (other than it being much smaller), they could find their way to the dungeons. They took the way as they would at home, and yes, found the prison. This place was crawling with a dozen or so guards. There was a strange whistling, then a crack, like a whip against skin in the background. Arthur would take six men and Gwaine would take the other six. They set to action.

None of the men were well trained, and most of them were no older than the boy they saw outside. In the end, there was unconscious adolescents everywhere. They moved down the rows of cells, until Gwaine cried out.

A man had Merlin chained to the wall. The warlock's back was bleeding. The man had a whip in his hands. Arthur charged. He grabbed the man by the throat, choking him for what he did. For hurting Merlin. His Merlin.

Wide eyed, the man fought, but he was blue in the face and soon lay unconscious. Arthur kicked his limp form. He went over to Gwaine as the knight unchained Merlin. Arthur took the warlock in his arms and cradled him his lap as he they went to the floor. Merlin's eyes were opened just a crack, but they slid shut.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered in his ear. "I'm sorry." The king felt it was his fault.

With some coaxing, Arthur got up, carrying Merlin. Gwaine led the way out, shooting glances back at his two friends. Outside, they saw night was approaching fast. The two men argued briefly. Arthur wanted head straight back to Camelot, but Gwaine won by saying they wouldn't be able to see. They set up camp well away from the castle, with Arthur never putting Merlin down. Gwaine started a fire while Arthur got out medical supplies.

The king had no idea how to treat lash wounds, but he started by wiping the blood off with some rags. He next spread a poultice over the area, which made the warlock moaned in his sleep. Arthur tried to bandage Merlin back, but found he needed Gwaine to lift the warlock as he wound it around. After that, he noticed Merlin's other injuries. A wrist bent at the wrong angle. Blue spider-wedded bruises across his chest and stomach. Probably some broken ribs. Cuts all over his arms, legs, and face. Also, Arthur noticed a metal bracelet around Merlin's good wrist. The skin it was touching was red, irritated, and oozing blood. It had writing in the Old Religion on it. Arthur trying pulling it off but it stuck.

"Gwaine, do you know anything about magic restraints?" Arthur asked, half-heartedly.

"Ummmm…..Not really. Why?" The knight came over, then saw the bracelet. "Oh."

They tried everything, pulling it off, using water to lubricate it, wedging it off, but nothing worked (Gwaine suggested peeing on it, for lubrication, because it worked when he needed to get out of some chains one time, but Arthur disgustedly told him no.)

"Maybe it needs to be cut off," suggested the knight. Arthur nodded and took a knife. He stuck it between Merlin's skin and the metal, prying in between. Surprisingly, it worked and they were able to slip it off. As soon as it left the warlock's skin, his eyes flashed open, gold, and he sat up.

Arthur grabbed him back. They all felt a power wash as Merlin's magic was set free.

"Hurts," muttered the warlock against Arthur's chest. The king had put him in a position in which the whip wounds would not be disturbed.

"I know," Arthur whispered. He ran a hand through Merlin's hair. "I know. Once we get to Camelot, you'll be fine."

Gwaine decided to leave the two alone for a while. He could hear the king mutter things to the servant cradled against his chest. Merlin's eyes would occasionally open, glazed with pain, and Arthur would slowly tell him to sleep.

Gwaine kept first watch that night.