Sorry this is a few days late, been in bed with the flu all week!

Enjoy!

Merlin had tried tugging and twisting free of the twine for what felt like hours, but had achieved nothing other than giving himself bloody wrists. He was trying to focus on the stinging sensation it was leaving him with so he didn't let his mind think too much about the heavy circle of metal resting around his neck. His stomach was churning and he felt incredibly lightheaded and dizzy, yet the fact he hadn't passed out yet meant that he knew that he wasn't going to. He had heard stories from a young age about collars like these, his mother mainly telling him in order to press home to her young son just how dangerous it was for him to tell people about his gifts. Not only had Merlin broke his promise to her that he would never say a word, he had done it in front of the worst possible people.

At thirteen, Merlin wasn't truly thinking about what it would mean to live with bandits for the rest of his life, or the things they would make him do. When he had stumbled across Harg and Dantor, he had seen a way of no longer having to live in the shadows, to be able to use his magic and…

Merlin stopped that thought, shuddering. He had almost hoped people would be wary of it, of him, that he wouldn't just be the boy that didn't quite fit in. It went against everything he had previously believed in with his magic, determined to do only good with it, but he had been young, upset and desperate.

Not as desperate as he was now, however. Merlin placed the flats of his feet against the floor, pushing up sharply as he tried to make it into a standing position. At least if he could stand, he wouldn't feel so vulnerable. The bandits probably wouldn't notice the difference, but Merlin knew it would make him feel better. But the light-headedness was too much for him, and as soon as he made it into something that could vaguely resemble an upright position, his legs gave way and he went crashing back down to the floor again. Letting out a yelp of pain and surprise, Merlin felt himself hit the floor hard. Whimpering slightly, he pulled his knees into his chest and rested his head on the, trying to hide himself away from the outside world.

"That was a good try, boy." No sooner had Merlin looked down when the voice came out of nowhere and his head shot back up again. He had to twist awkwardly in order to locate the voice, but finally managed to see the leader leaning in the corner of the tent, watching him with an expression that seemed to flicker between amusement and approval.

"Who are you? What do you want from me?" Merlin cried, tugging at his wrists again. Thankfully, the man came forward so that the child wasn't having to strain his head around as far and crouched down in front of the restrained warlock.

"My name is Jarta. And as for what I want from you, well, that's for me to know and you to find out, isn't it? But you will find out soon, just as soon as they have finished preparing the ritual." The man's voice was calm and almost friendly. Merlin might have even been taken in by it, but he knew full well that this was the man who had given the order for him to be collared; this was the man that would ultimately decide his fate. Considering his current position, Merlin wasn't sure whether that would be a good thing or not.

"What ritual?" Merlin tried to keep his voice steady, but even he could hear the way that it was trembling violently. Jarta rested a hand on his shoulder in what Merlin supposed was a comforting manner, but that didn't stop him from trying to pull away. When he did so, however, Jarta's grip tightened and he ran his thumb around the edge of the collar, causing it to spark slightly and for Merlin to flinch back. It was like a warning, not quite bordering on pain, but something that made him aware that Jarta seemed to have some sort of control over the collar.

"For one thing, it will stop you from flinching away from me. I will bind your magic to me, and it will respond to my will. You will be a vessel if you like, the body in which the magic is housed in. But you will have no control over it yourself, it will just respond to me." Merlin stared at him in horror, his eyes going wide before he pulled back as hard as he could, his hands tugging on the bindings.

"No! No, you can't! I don't want that, you can't make me!"

"You gave me your word that you would help me, Merlin." Despite the man's voice being friendly, Merlin could hear the warning note in it. He didn't pay any attention, however, but continued to struggle. Jarta backed away, watching his efforts in amusement.

"Not that, anything but that, please…" Merlin begged, realising quite what he had got himself into. He had no idea the true potential of his magic, yet he had a feeling that he was strong, stronger than most were at his age. He also had a very strong feeling that Jarta would find out just how strong when he took control. Jarta leant forward, cupping Merlin's face almost harshly and forcing the boy to look up at him.

"I am going to use your magic, boy. You owe me for vanishing my gold, and I saw the way you reacted when Dantor threatened your mother. Now, you can either do as I say, or we go to her or demand that she pays."

"We don't have any money." Merlin muttered, tears sticking to his eyelashes as he stared up at the man.

"Then I suggest that you do precisely as I say, don't you? It will all be over soon, you'll see. You'll like it, Merlin, you won't have to worry about losing control or anything like that, I'll look after you, I swear." Merlin could do nothing but let the tears run down his cheeks as he realised what running away had potentially cost him. He had left in order to be free, not to be practically enslaved to someone.

"It's ready." A head stuck around the flap of the tent and Jarta nodded, pulling out a flask.

"What's that?" Merlin muttered, knowing that he wasn't going to like the answer, but also knowing that he couldn't just let it all happen without some hint of defiance.

"Something to free your magic." Jarta pressed the flask against Merlin's lips, but the boy simply glared, keeping them well and truly shut. The bandit sighed, reaching over and pinching his nose until he had no choice but to part them slightly to breathe, and the man tipped some of the contents into his mouth. Merlin continued to glare, before very deliberately spitting it back out again. It earned him a sharp slap across the face, but Merlin didn't care. He may be a child, but that didn't mean they could do whatever they wanted with him, especially when he had made his feelings on the matter quite clear. Jarta growled slightly at his actions, placing the flask on the floor and reaching behind Merlin.

The warlock tried to kick out at the flask, tried to knock it over, but he couldn't reach even as Jarta untied him.

"Dantor!" Merlin struggled violently as Jarta pulled him to his feet, pushing him towards the tent flap even as Dantor appeared.

"The boy isn't taking his medicine." Merlin wasn't sure that he could say precisely what happened. Only that one moment, he was standing of his own accord, and the next, he was pinned against Dantor, the bandit's arms encircling his midriff and making it so that he couldn't use his arms. His head was tipped back on Dantor's shoulder and Jarta's hand was once more pinching his nose. Just like before, Merlin eventually had to open his mouth slightly to breathe, and yet again, Jarta tipped the contents in. But this time, he then clamped his hand over Merlin's mouth, preventing him from breathing until Merlin had no choice but to swallow.

The effect was almost immediate. It was like he didn't have control of his body, going limp in Dantor's hold. He was vaguely aware of shapes and sounds around him, but he wasn't seeing them properly any more. The sounds were muted, almost as if he was hearing them underwater, yet colours had gone the opposite way, more defined than ever. It was like there were dancing lights around the whole place and Merlin wasn't even aware that he was being dragged outside. His body was numb and he felt giddy, happy almost by the magic that he could feel thrumming through his veins in a way that he had never experienced before.

All in all, Merlin felt alive. He felt connected to his magic, as if this was what he had been born to feel like. Every sense was heightened, apart from his hearing and the fear and terror had vanished. He could feel tendrils of magic seeking a way out of the confines of his body, only to be sent spiralling back into him in anger as it ran into the cold metal of the collar. Merlin didn't noticed the way that he was tipped onto a large slab, a bandit taking hold of his shoulders in order to hold him down whilst Jarta climbed on as well. He had his knees pressing into Merlin's sides as he knelt over the boy.

The sound of chanting was making itself known to Merlin's hazy brain, but he couldn't work out what was being said. He didn't notice the way that Jarta brought a knife to his own arm, slicing into the skin and causing a trickle of blood to bubble to the surface, running down. As the chanting increased, Merlin gasped, his hearing becoming to come back properly even as something cold was pressed against his arm. He didn't feel the pain as Jarta made an identical cut on the boy's arm though, the magic was clouding everything.

The bandit pressed the two wounds together, causing their blood to mix as the chanting took on a new note. It increased in volume and speed as Jarta used his free hand to reach up, releasing the clasp on the collar even as he forced their blood to continue to mix.

The feeling of the magic being released was one that Merlin would be able to recall, even years later. His back arched as his eyes were flooded with gold, sparks flying through the air. Colours of light twirled and danced around where their arms were pressed together, working into the cuts and healing them as Jarta too began to chant. Once the cuts were healed, he placed his fingers on Merlin's temples, beginning to draw the magic into him. It spat and crackled angrily, not wanting to be bound to another's will, but Merlin was young and untrained, he had no way of holding onto his own power. He was beginning to come down from the high slightly, gasping as he tried to draw a deep enough breath to stop the magic.

By the time his senses returned to normal and he felt like he could possibly have the slightest bit of control, it was too late. The magic had settled this time, and Jarta had climbed off the altar, smirking. The bandit initially holding Merlin down now pushed him into a sitting position, forced to support the boy in order to stop him from falling. Merlin looked towards Jarta, and suddenly, the overwhelming urge to set the tree at the far side of the camp overcame him. Before he could stop himself, his hand had risen, his pupils glowed and a flame immediately engulfed the tree.

Jarta's chin lifted in satisfaction, and Merlin realised that the thought had come from him, that he had been the one wanting it to happen, and it had. Whimpering slightly, Merlin stared at him, realising that what Jarta had said before was true. Merlin's magic was now chained to the bandit's will, and even as Merlin struggled to grasp onto his power for himself, it slipped out of his grasp and a resounding throb thudded through his head.

"No…"

"It won't all be bad, Merlin. Get used to it, embrace it and don't fight me, and you are going to feel more powerful than you have ever done in your entire life. You will get used to responding to my commands, and if you don't try to resist them or harness the power for yourself, it won't hurt, I promise." Jarta was back in front of him now, an almost fatherly expression on his face as he gazed down at the terrified warlock. Merlin could only shake his head desperately, knowing that he had got himself into this situation and now he had no way out of it again. Jarta smiled and turned to walk away, but Merlin was suddenly hit with a rush of fury. How dare this man steal his magic in the same way that he stole people's gold?

He wrenched himself free of the bandit's hold and lunged at Jarta. Unfortunately, he misjudged quite the drug had done to him and rather than taking down the man the way he had planned, Merlin just landed in a heap on the floor, moaning slightly. He was struggling to stay conscious, but his eyes were fluttering and he couldn't seem to get his eyes to focus on anything properly.

"Give him a rug in the corner of my tent whilst he recovers, I'll need him to hand." Merlin vaguely heard Jarta's voice, but it was as if he was drowning, everything was being taken away from him. The muted sound was back this time, but rather than his vision becoming colourful, it was going dark, slowly ebbing away from him as he lost his grip on consciousness.

He was partly aware of being put over someone's shoulder and carried into – what he presumed – was Jarta's tent. There was a low hum of voices and then he was being placed down on something soft. It was far softer than anything that he was used to, and Merlin found that he automatically seemed to sigh and snuggle into it slightly. There was someone talking above his head, but he couldn't make out the words. Nor, Merlin found, did he particularly care. He couldn't explain how he felt, but simply rolled over and let the darkness claim him. Whether he was asleep or unconscious, no one could be quite sure, but another blanket was draped over the boy and he was left to sleep off the effects of having his magic bent to another's will.

MMM

Merlin slowly watched the water trickling into the pot, knowing that he should be hurrying back but not being able to bring himself to do so. Six months he had been with the bandits for now, and it felt like forever. He had tried to run four times within the first week, but Jarta seemed to know what he was doing. All it had taken was a thought on the man's behalf, and Merlin's magic was bringing him back again, whether he liked it or not. Jarta had found it amusing the first few times, but by the fourth, he had ordered his men to teach the new boy some discipline. Merlin was still convinced that Dantor had broken his rib during that beating, but there was nothing he could do about it. He had stopped running away after that, however.

It almost scared him how used to life out here he had become. He basically acted as a servant for Jarta the majority of the time, fetching and carrying, serving him meals, polishing his boots etc. He couldn't use magic to do it unless the man happened to be thinking about how hungry he was at the time or thoughts along similar wavelengths to the orders he had given Merlin. In a way, Merlin was getting used to playing the game. He knew to push Jarta until the man really wanted the job done, as then he tended to allow Merlin the use of his magic to do it and therefore it made Merlin's life a lot easier. It was a fine line he walked though, knowing he was pushing the most dangerous man in the camp.

But it wasn't just fetching and carrying that Merlin's magic was being used for. The bandits were becoming richer than ever. It took two of them to pose as lost travellers, stop whoever it was that was passing and for Jarta to demand that Merlin relieved them of anything valuable, and the warlock's magic did exactly that. They weren't left with things that they could neither use nor sell, and no one was injured, meaning reports weren't getting back to Camelot. The only drawback with that was that some of the men were getting bored and the group had split, often clashes breaking out between them as they tried to take possession of their ultimate tool, of Merlin. Of course, all Jarta had to do was order that Merlin defended himself and they couldn't get anywhere near him for the magic encircling the boy and keeping him safe.

"You know you shouldn't hesitate too long, don't you?" The soft voice made Merlin jump and he looked up, only to blush slightly. Petra had been claimed by Jarta after an attack on her village, but he treated her well, and she in turn looked out for Merlin, sneaking him extra pieces of food and making sure that he was warm enough as winter fast approached.

Of course, it was no good for the thirteen year old. He was young, and she was very pretty, meaning Merlin felt like he had fallen head over heels in love with her. He grinned up at her, knowing that his cheeks had turned pink. She seemed to be aware of his youthful crushed, but never said anything. Mainly because neither of them were sure how Jarta would react.

"I'll know if he wants me back." Merlin was with a shrug, realising that the water jug was actually full. He pulled it from the stream and settled it on the grass beside him before cupping some water in his hands and washing his face, shivering slightly at the chilly bite of the water. He was in no rush to get back. Jarta was planning something, and after he had caught Merlin eavesdropping, he had forced the boy away, using Merlin's own magic to make sure that he forgot everything he had just heard. Yet Merlin had picked up enough, he knew that they were planning something big. Leaders from other bandit encampments had been with them for a while now, all of them cooped up in Jarta's tent, discussing things. Merlin hated the way that some of them leered at him, yet wasn't sure if he hated more those that just acted as if he didn't exist, despite the fact that he was running himself ragged getting them everything they demanded.

"You play a dangerous game, child." Petra chided lightly, disapproval obvious in her musical tones, and the blush that Merlin hoped the icy water would calm came rushing back into life. He shrugged, trying to make himself look older.

"I don't have a choice." He had been going for something impressive, but his voice came out soft and low as he stared into the stream. More than anything, he missed his mother. She would never know what happened to him, not even know if her only child was alive or not. He had a feeling that she would never give up on him, but what was she expected to think when it had been over six months since he had run away from home and hadn't heard so much as a word from her son. Merlin had once asked Jarta if he could write to her, but the man had simply laughed long and hard and then told him to get on with his chores. Merlin hadn't asked again.

"It won't be forever. You are young, Merlin, and powerful. Jarta might have your magic now, but I don't believe that he will be able to hold you forever." Merlin hadn't noticed Petra come closer until there was an arm draped comfortingly over his shoulder and he automatically leant into her. Sometimes, he was able to just forget his crush and take comfort in the fact that someone was looking out for him.

"He'll never let me go, not without a fight." Merlin muttered, before hitching a smile back on his face. He knew that neither of them were fooled though. Once, Merlin's smile had lit up his whole face and made his eyes shine and gleam. Now, however, it looked nothing more than a grimace, by no means getting as far as his previously expressive eyes.

"You're right, I should be getting back. You never know, I might get to find out what they are planning." Merlin jumped to his feet, picked up the jug and made to run off. It was only Petra's grip on his arm that stopped him from falling over his own feet as he ran off, and he smiled in gratitude. Moving away again, he made his way carefully and slowly into Jarta's tent.

The man glared at him from across the space, but Merlin just dropped his gaze, not giving him an excuse to do anything. The first night the leaders had been here, Jarta had forced Merlin's magic to almost perform for them, and the young teenager didn't think that he had ever been so humiliated in his entire life. Now, however, Merlin just moved silently around the table, filling up any empty goblets and placing the water jug on the side, busying himself.

He thought that it would be the perfect way to keep him in the tent without drawing attention to himself if it wasn't for the fact that Merlin was just as clumsy as he had always been. His elbow caught a stone that Jarta had resting as a paperweight and as he turned, he knocked it to the floor with a very audible thud. Almost immediately, there was a hush around the table, and Merlin could feel the way that they were all looking at him.

"Oh send the boy away, man, this is no place for your slave." Merlin bristled, knowing that he couldn't argue back but hating the way that he was being talked about. If he was honest, he knew that the man was right, that he was nothing more than a slave in their eyes, not able to really do anything with Jarta's permission. That didn't mean he had to like be classed as one, and just as Merlin opened his mouth to respond, his magic shoved him to his knees. Glancing over at Jarta, Merlin swallowed back his retort when he saw the man shaking his head warningly. Despite Jarta's initial treatment, he seemed to have realised that Merlin's magic worked better when the boy wasn't terrified out of his mind, and an almost possessive streak had emerged when the other leaders had realised how they were connected. Merlin knew Jarta was just claiming what was his, but it did offer the young warlock some sort of protection.

"The boy can stay. It's about time he hears his part in this." Merlin felt his heart thudding hard. He knew that they had been planning something big for ages, and in the back of his mind, he knew that he would have a role in it. Jarta put his magic to good use on the best of days, but this gave him the chance to show off in front of all of the others just what he had under his control. Merlin had a feeling that whatever his role was, it was going to involve lots of fancy tricks. Jarta sighed.

"Come here, Merlin." Merlin got warily to his feet and walked slowly over to the man.

"Master?"

"I know you have been listening in, I know that you know that we are planning something. You are right, we are. This something is big, and will have each of us being able to set ourselves up as Lords in whatever city we chose. Of course, you are going to be coming with me, but it means that you get to see the city." Merlin stayed quiet, wondering why Jarta was telling him about the rewards without telling him what the plan was.

"Camelot's patrol heads through this part of the forest annually, both the king and the prince travelling to one of the estates to make one of their fat nobles feel like they are worth something, idiotic scum." If there was one thing that Merlin had learnt over his six months with the bandits, it was that Jarta did not take nicely to nobles. But he wasn't thinking about that now, his mind had zoned in on one word.

Prince.

The Prince of Camelot.

Arthur.

"Well, unfortunately for them, they won't quite make it. We're going to take the prince, and if the king wants his beloved heir back, he will give us whatever we ask for."

"You won't get away with it." Merlin blurted out. His memories of Arthur had slowly changed over the years as he had begun to idolise the boy he still considered to be his best friend. In Merlin's mind, Arthur was undefeatable.

"The security will be tight, yes, but we have you." Merlin backed away, shaking his head. He was not going to let his magic to be used to hurt someone that he had actually met before. It was bad enough when Jarta forced him to attack travellers or even other bandits, but to go against Arthur? No way.

"Merlin, stop." Merlin continued to back away, refusing to listen. Suddenly, the image of his own hands bound behind his back swam into his mind.

"No!" His magic had responded though, and he was back on his knees, bound by a thick rope that had come slithering from the corner of the tent before he had been able to say anything else. He struggled as Jarta moved closer, entwining his fingers into the warlock's hair.

"You will do as you are told. Gentlemen, I think we are done for the day." The rest of the men nodded and strode from the tent, one of them laughing at where Merlin was being held on his knees. Only when the tent was empty did Jarta let go of his hair.

"I would have thought that you had learnt by now, boy, that you do not refuse me."

"It's too dangerous, Master, we'll never get away with it." Merlin implored, wildly changing tact with the hope that he would be able to get through to Jarta. He would not be used like that, not against someone such as the prince of Camelot.

"Go to bed, Merlin, I'm tired of your whining." Merlin lifted his arms awkwardly behind his back, his shoulders screaming as he silently asked Jarta to let him go free again. The bandit shook his head with a laugh though.

"Like I said, I know that you have been eavesdropping." With that, he left, but Merlin crawled over to his rug, lying down even with his hands bound behind him. He knew that there was no point arguing against Jarta with something like this, it would just end up worse for him.

But for the first night in months, Merlin cried himself to sleep, not knowing what the future held. The only bright spark he could think of was that he might get to see Arthur again. But that spark was quickly crushed as the warlock realised that he wouldn't be trying to free Arthur this time, but being responsible for why he was captured in the first place.