Arthur had made good timing with his hunt for the day, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew it was because he didn't have a bumbling servant scaring everything off whenever they got within five leagues of it. Even as he let the thought flicker across, the prince felt a stab of guilt. He shouldn't be pleased that his servant was confined to his chambers with the flu, and yet, it was nice to be able to just be by himself, not have to worry about anyone else.

The camp was made up in no time at all. Despite what he may have lead Merlin to believe, he was more than capable of looking after himself whilst being out on a hunt. It was just amusing to watch the servant try and figure out the subtleties of a camp. A fire was lit, the horse bedded down. Arthur couldn't remember the last time he had felt this relaxed. There seemed to have been a tension in the castle that even hunting hadn't been able to free him from, but now, out here on his own, he had no one to have to perform in front of. Not that he did with Merlin, his gangly servant let him unwind more than anyone. But when the clumsy youth was around, Arthur found he was automatically on guard, not wanting any harm come to the boy.

Maybe that was his undoing? Arthur wasn't sure how he didn't hear anything coming. He had chosen his spot well, his back covered by towering oaks, the dense undergrowth surrounding their roots meaning he knew no one could come at him from that direction. Stretched out, he had the fire directly in front of him – again acting as a shield – and his hand resting on his sword even as he dozed. During the hours he later had to look back on the attack, he knew they must have used magic. There was no way they would have been able to sneak up on him like that otherwise; this was the Crown Prince of Camelot, after all.

The first sign he had that something was wrong was when his horse nickered in concern. The stallion was one of the best Arthur had ever ridden, and he knew the beast had hyper alert senses; it had saved his life on more occasions than he wanted to consider. Hearing the horse shift position, Arthur immediately let his fingers close around his sword, leaping to his feet in one movement. For a moment, he could see nothing.

"Easy, boy." He murmured softly, moving over to the horse and letting his fingers thread through the thick mane, scratching at the horse's neck in the way he knew the animal liked. But it did nothing to calm him down, and Arthur found the hairs on the back of his neck beginning to stand up slightly. He couldn't shake a strange feeling settling over him, almost as if he was being watched. For a moment, he stilled, letting his eyes scan the surrounding area, looking for any advantages an enemy might have from the undergrowth, his hand shifting to a more defensive grip on his sword before he suddenly turned, weapon flying out in front of him.

What he hadn't been expecting was to immediately find himself trading blows with someone directly behind him. If he had turned even a second later, they would have had him before he so much as swung his sword. But whilst his mind couldn't comprehend how they had managed to get so close without him noticing, Arthur still managed to quickly dispatch his attacker. Blowing out a breath in relief, Arthur swallowed slightly nervously as his horse continued to shift in nerves.

Moving back to the centre of the clearing, Arthur tensed, letting his training fill his mind as he waited to see what happened next. For once, he had no idea where they were going to come from, just knew for sure they were there. A small dart flew over his head, causing the prince to duck in surprise, watching wide eyed as it hit the horse. Whatever it contained must have been strong as the animal screamed in surprise, eyes rolling as his hooves flew. Hit with an idea, Arthur darted back to the beast's side. Fumbling with the rope, he had almost pulled it free when he found himself under attack again.

This time, the men came from all directions, continuing to pour into the area even when Arthur was more than surrounded. Men were dropping like flies, their skill no more than that of a mere bandit. For Arthur, they proved to be no challenge at all in terms of skill. What was more pressing was the sheer numbers. Small cuts were appearing on the prince as men got lucky swings in before the fighting man dispatched them.

Eventually, after what felt like hours of fighting, Arthur felt his sword go flying out of his hand. The man who had managed to perform the manoeuvre found himself on the receiving end of the prince's fist and dropped without hesitation. Reaching down, Arthur made to snatch up the man's own weapon. But whilst his right hand closed around the sword, someone grabbed hold of his left.

Before Arthur had time to react, his arm was twisted around, causing him to hiss with pain even as he swung the stolen sword. They disarmed him again – easily this time – and someone grabbed his other arm. He was forced to his knees, although it still took five men to hold him down – two on either arm and someone else pressing down on his shoulders from behind. He could hear his horse neighing shrilly, trying to come to his master's aid. Even as Arthur watched, he reared, breaking the rope the prince had been attempting to loosen and charged at the men.

For a moment, Arthur thought he would be alright. Nothing could come between him and the horse's hooves without meeting a sticky end. But one of the men was quicker. Arthur could only watch, open mouthed and horrified as a sword swung with expert precision, driving between the ribs of the animal. It fell to the floor, screaming. Arthur swallowed back bile, fury making him fight against his attackers once more. It would take time for the animal to die like that.

"No help for his Highness." A voice spat, and Arthur found his eyes torn away from his fallen animal as he was sharply backhanded. Seeing stars with his head reeling, he was barely aware of his arms being pulled behind him before the harsh burn of a rope over his wrists cut through his foggy mind, causing him to immediately start struggling. One of the men holding him smacked him harshly over the back of his head, but they all let go, leaving Arthur kneeling in the middle of his camp site, bound.

But he was far from being defeated. Trying to gain himself so more time – and drown at the anguished sounds coming from his horse – he glared at the man who had spoken.

"You'll never get away with this. The King will have your heads."

"If we don't have his first." Arthur tried not to show any sign of emotion. He was a Knight, he had been trained to withstand the most brutal of scenarios, even more so considering he was the Crown Prince and future monarch. Not to mention he knew things about the city even the Knights didn't know.

"You won't get near." Arthur swore, his voice both threatening and promising at the same time, even if it did earn him a sharp kick in the stomach. With all the breath driven out of him, the prince found himself on his side, watching awkwardly as the men cleared away their dead, all but ignoring their captive. Arthur frowned as he watched them work, especially when one of them was chanting something under his breath and making all evidence of the bandits attack vanish. Magic. He should have known.

The prince didn't have time to think anything through before he was being hauled to his feet by the back of his shirt. Someone gave him a hard shove in his shoulder blades, sending Arthur stumbling forward even as he tried to correct his balance, not an easy task with his hands bound behind his back. The royal was bundled effectively out of the clearing, men surrounding him with weapons drawn as they forced him along. Arthur made it look like he had been subdued, but really, his fingers were twisting at the ropes, feeling it give ever so slightly. All he needed was time.

He certainly got it. The bandits walked long into the night. Arthur easily kept pace, doing nothing to show any weakness, although his wrists and fingers were already beginning to leave crimson smears from where he subtly continued to struggle with the ropes. He finally felt them begin to give, and slowed his pace just a fraction. His guards didn't seem to notice as they simply adjusted their own pace to keep in step with the prince.

As the hours drew on, Arthur kept slowing down. One of the men kept leering at him mockingly, but Arthur merely stared stonily back. If they wanted to think of it as him being weak, that was fine with the future king. What they hadn't seemed to notice was that the rest of the group simply strode past them irritably. Very slowly, Arthur went from being in the centre of his captors, to right at the back, only surrounded by his immediate guard.

Letting the rest draw further ahead, he knew he would have to time this carefully. If he acted too soon, the rest of the men would hear the commotion and come and assist. But if he waited too long, then his guard would get suspicious and be on their guard.

He managed to –somehow- time it to perfection. There was a slight commotion up ahead – bandits never did well in big groups - and Arthur took his chance. He gave one last frantic tug, and the rope loosened enough for him to be able to slide his wrists free. Two of the men fell quickly and swiftly – one to a well placed punch, one to a flying dagger. A third dropped unconscious when Arthur bowled him over, managing to strike his head against a rock, but the fourth was prepared for him. Arthur could see he was about to call out for help, so practically took a running leap and jumped on the man's back, one arm wrapped around his neck and one hand covering the man's mouth.

It felt like an age as the two silently grappled, the rest of the group slowly moving further away. Eventually, the man's grip on Arthur's arm began to slacken, before slipping completely and the two of them ended up on the floor. Breathing hard himself, Arthur waited for long enough to make sure that none of them were about to get up and follow him, and then took off into the trees.

If he had just been escaping from bandits, the young royal would have got away there and then. But the bandits had just been a front, and Arthur had been right in thinking some were using magic. One person had watched the entire struggle between the prince and his guards with a cool, detached manner, his mouth twitching into what could almost be considered a smirk as he watched Arthur run.

"Stop him." The soft voice sounded next to him and Dunran nodded, understanding his instructions. When he had discovered the plan to capture and torture the Crown Prince of Camelot, he had immediately offered his services. If they were now literally relying on him to stop the fleeing prince, he only hoped the reward that came with that would meet his satisfaction.

Hands swirled in front of him, dark words pouring from his tongue as his eyes glowed gold, never blinking as they watched Arthur run. The prince was getting further away now, but it didn't matter to the sorcerer. One final word, and the spell shot from his hands.

Arthur was truly beginning to think he had made it. The sounds of the bandits crashing through the undergrowth – whilst masking any noise he made – was growing quieter as the prince put a considerable amount of distance between him and his captors, adrenaline lending him the strength to keep going. But suddenly, it was as if he had just run into a brick wall, stopping still and gasping as a strange sensation overtook him.

The only way he could describe it was as if thousands of tiny daggers were digging into him, all over. The prince tried to take another step, but his legs buckled underneath him and he hit the floor, groaning as the sensation continued and he felt the blackness of unconsciousness begin to creep up on him. Arthur still managed to crawl a few paces before the magic became too much for him, and he passed out, unaware of cold eyes watching his every move.

When Arthur regained consciousness, he knew he was in big trouble. He was stretched out on the ground, his arms pulled above his head. By the cold sensation he could feel around his wrists, and the fact that he couldn't move, he knew his hands had been chained to some sort of pole. An awkward twist of his head confirmed this, revealing that his legs had been subjected to the same treatment and his ankles had also been chained, leaving him flat out on the floor. There was a rough piece of material wedged between his teeth, and he knew immediately that whilst that was in, any rational thoughts would escape him, he could almost taste whatever the drug was.

"...you know he won't talk." It appeared Arthur had woken up to a debate over what to do with him now.

One man saw that he was awake, and smirked unpleasantly down at him before turning his attention back to his companions.

"I know what I'd do with him."

"What?"

"Pay to have him."

"You'd pay as if he was nothing more than a common whore to extract your revenge?" The second voice sounded incredulous, but Arthur had tensed in horror, and although he would never admit it, fear. Who were these people?

"Yep."

"You know, that might not be such a bad idea." Arthur was breathing heavily through his nose, giving up any attempt to pretend to still be out of it as his legs squirmed, trying to free themselves from the cold shackles keeping him bound. "There is a warlord further north that has a grudge against Uther. He once said something about wanting to get his hands on a Pendragon."

"So turn it into a business. Let everyone know the great Arthur Pendragon," the words were accompanied by a harsh kick into Arthur's stomach that, despite himself, had a groan forced out from behind the gag, "is at our mercy and that there is a small price to pay, but they can seek their revenge."

"You are a twisted man, Dunran."

"You haven't said no." Beginning to panic slightly about the cold and harsh way his captors were discussing his fate, Arthur lashed out, kicking at the post with both feet in order to try and get the post to give. The chains were too strong; his practical mind had told him that. But if he could slide free, maybe he would have a chance?

"Oh no you don't." His struggles seemed to make up the second man's mind, and he reached into a satchel resting on the ground by his feet, pulling a cruel looking poker out of it. Arthur thought his heart was going to burst through his chest. He knew what that was. Something that was not permitted in Camelot, and never had been. A brand. They meant to brand him like a common slave.

His struggles increased tenfold as the man let the poker rest in the fire, but three more men came over, looking mildly curious about the commotion. They seemed to realise what was going on. One drew a dagger and made swift work of cutting away Arthur's shirt, the other two taking his arms and legs and holding him still. Arthur tried to swallow back fear as the man approached, the poker now glowing hot. He glared with defiant eyes, but the man merely smirked, before lowering himself next to Arthur.

One hand cupped the royal's cheek, causing Arthur to turn away, only to be forced back into position.

"This is for all the people your father has hurt." Without any warning, he jolted the poker onto Arthur's shoulder, burning the skin beneath. For a moment, Arthur was able to control himself, but then the wave of pain hit him and he bucked wildly, eyes rolling. Eventually, a scream leaked through, muffled by the gag but loud enough for everyone to hear. As the man finally pulled away, gesturing for his men to let go of the restrained prince, Arthur slumped back onto the ground, body drenched in sweat as he tried to control his breathing. He was ashamed they had already managed to force a scream from him, but it hurt like nothing ever had before.

Dunran wasn't finished though. "Let me add a little incentive." He muttered, before he too crouched next to Arthur. He placed one hand over the burn, ignoring the way Arthur's body reacted violently to his touch, and began chanting under his breath. The prince nearly blacked out again as he felt dark magic being forced into his body, but no sooner as his cling to consciousness snapped, something seemed to surge through his body, dragging him back again.

"He'll never be able to escape the pain again." Dunran muttered, standing up again and smiling over at the man who had branded the prince. He smiled in thanks, eyes flickering between Dunran and the hyperventilating Arthur.

"Go on then, have your prize." Dunran smirked coldly, and Arthur knew his torment was only just beginning.

Muffled cries filled the air that night as Dunran took what he considered to be his prize for the very first time, leaving a broken and bleeding prince chained to the floor as dawn broke. It was a new day...and the beginning of Arthur's hell.

There was a deathly silence as Arthur finished speaking. His voice had completely gone at the end, that being the most he had used it for months. Merlin had tears trickling down his cheeks, Gwaine looked sick and Lancelot pale.

"I'm so sorry, Arthur. I should have been there, I should have found you..." Merlin's ramblings were stopped short by the prince himself.

"I'm glad you weren't. They would have killed you."

"But..."

"Shut up, Merlin." A grin spread across Elyan's face quicker than he could hide it. Another sign of their Arthur. He beckoned to the rest of the Knights, knowing that something was changing in the prince now that he had admitted to what had happened. One by one, they melted away, but Gaius lurked for a little longer.

The prince and his ward were talking softly, both clearly upset. But eventually, sleep stole up upon them. Arthur dropped first, still cradled in Merlin's arms, but the warlock followed suit, missing the knowing smile the physician sent their way.

Merlin hadn't used magic. The burn should have stopped Arthur drifting off to sleep that easily, but it hadn't. Not only was Arthur beginning to regain physical strength, he was healing emotionally as well. Gaius had been right in thinking the burn would nullify itself, and it looked like revealing what had happened that day, all those months ago, was the final step it needed.

Keeping an eye on the two as they both tried to ease their exhaustion, Gaius wondered whether now, Arthur could truly begin to heal.