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"Merlin? Come on, Merlin, look at me?"
Merlin simply shook his head with a groan at Arthur's words, keeping his eyes shut and his head resting awkwardly on his knees. It was killing his neck, but it helped him to hide away from the world, pretend that he was somewhere else rather than here. Unfortunately, in the past he had always tried to pretend that he was off having an adventure with the future king of Camelot. Yet this time, that was precisely what was happening, and it wasn't nearly as good as his dreams.
Three days he had been chained to the pole. Three days of being forced to watch Arthur eat – as much as the prince tried to resist, he was at a severe disadvantage compared to the bandits, not only with being chained to a pole, but the fact that he was still a child in their eyes. Arthur had struggled, he had demanded that Merlin be given some as well, yet the bandits had just laughed, barely even sparing a glance over to the starving slave. He had been given water – a meagre amount – once a day and he could feel that Jarta was using his magic to make sure that no true harm came to him. His master could monitor his condition, and when Merlin no longer had the strength to survive, he would be released. But first, he had to get to that point of desperation.
If he was honest, Merlin would have said that he was already there. His head was pounding, throbbing mercilessly behind his eyes and causing any sort of light or movement to intensify the pain even more. His stomach had stopped growling in protest at him, but was instead clenching uncomfortably. The young warlock wasn't completely sure whether he would be able to stomach food even if he was given any right now.
"Merlin. Look at me." Having spent so long in slavery now, Merlin had become somewhat used to following orders when they were delivered in a certain tone of voice. It appeared that it didn't matter whether it was bandits or princes giving that order as his head slowly lifted. Arthur was pale, but seemed otherwise unhurt from his ordeal, even if his eyes were still burning with the indignation of being held hostage. Merlin wondered how long that would last for – he had fought for months against being a slave before realising that there was nothing he could do about it. The sooner Arthur accepted his situation, the better. Yet somehow, he got the feeling that Arthur was never going to accept his place as a prisoner. He might appear to, but the warlock just knew no matter how long the prince was here for, as soon as Arthur got the chance to escape, that was precisely what he would do. Merlin almost envied him, wishing that he had the will power to keep fighting for that long.
"What?" Merlin rasped, his throat burning in the effort to talk. Arthur seemed to grimace in sympathy. He offered some sort of half shrug, something that only caused the chains binding him to rattle loudly and Merlin to wince again. Every sound made was almost like a knife going through his head and Merlin wasn't sure how much more of it he could actually take.
"Just needed to check you were still alive."
"Oh don't worry, we won't let him die." As Arthur immediately sat up straighter, his head lifting and glaring defiantly as Jarta walked into view, Merlin once again shrunk in on himself. Maybe if he was as small as possible, they would just forget that he existed? But no, he knew that wouldn't work either, not when there was no way of getting food if they didn't remember him. He whimpered slightly as someone came closer to him before realising it had to be Jarta. The man was the only one who could pass through the shield. Merlin found that he was biting his lips, trying to hold back tears as Jarta grasped his chin – albeit in a gentler manner than normal – and rolled the warlock's head around to face him.
"Have you had enough, Merlin? You know that you can't lie to me." Merlin knew that – it was why he had only got away with not saying anything about Arthur simply because the man hadn't directly asked. If he had, then Merlin would have had no choice but to tell the truth. The binding of the magic bound more than that, and Jarta was aware of what was going on in Merlin's mind to a certain degree. The boy didn't answer, just gave the smallest nod of his head. Jarta didn't respond either, but moved away. Merlin felt the accumulation of magic behind his eyes before a soft breeze washed over him, informing the warlock that the shield had been taken down. Merlin didn't look up, he didn't even move as someone else stepped closer and began to unchain him.
It was only when that same person grabbed him under his upper arm and hauled him to his feet that Merlin seemed truly aware of what was going on. He wobbled violently and would have fallen if it wasn't for the support of the person. They didn't seem too happy at his lack of co-ordination, but before anything could be said, someone else cut in.
"Let me." It just showed how much Jarta valued Petra, if not actually feel for her, as he didn't protest as his other slave cut through the bandits. She wrapped one slender arm around Merlin's waist, taking his weight and sending the thief on his way with a shrewd look. She then proceeded to gently take hold of Merlin's wrist – apologising when he flinched at the contact with the sores the manacles had left – and drew it over her shoulder.
"Are you all just going to stand there and watch?"
"Back to work." Jarta ordered, sending his men on their way after it was apparent that Petra wasn't happy. He looked at the pair of them for a long moment, his two slaves, his two belongings and simply shrugged.
"Take him back to the tent, clean him up. I want him back at work by tomorrow morning." If Merlin had been thinking straight, he would have been amazed at the time frame he had just been given. Jarta was normally relentless, but Merlin didn't realise that the bandit had been monitoring his condition closer than the warlock realised. Merlin wouldn't be able to be back at work any sooner, not unless the leader wanted to lose his most prized advantage over anyone and anything. Petra slowly started walking Merlin away from the holding area, taking it one step at a time as he struggled to hold his own weight, but the warlock's head twisted around.
Peering over Petra's shoulder, he locked eyes with Arthur. The prince tried to smile at him encouragingly, clearly trying to tell him to go and to keep himself out of trouble this time. But his eyes were showing the dismay at realising that he was going to be left here on his own now. With no Merlin to focus on, the prince would instead be subjecting to thinking about his own situation and just how helpless that seemed to be right now. Petra caught Merlin's gaze, also looking towards Arthur and sighing softly.
"It took me long enough to persuade him to unshackle you, Merlin. I can't help him, none of us can." She seemed to smile apologetically at Arthur, and to Merlin's surprise, he smiled back. Arthur was a prince; he knew that something like this was always a danger. It was one thing having an acquaintance in the camp; it was another thing entirely having a friend. Merlin had shown what would happen if anyone tried to provide aid and Arthur wouldn't have anyone hurt on his behalf. As the thought flickered through Arthur's head, his gaze suddenly turned sharp.
"Merlin?" Waiting until the weaving boy's eyes had finally settled on him properly, Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Stay out of this. Don't do anything that would get you hurt."
"You're not my master." Merlin muttered, suddenly seeming to sag against Petra even more. She took that as her signal to get him moving once again and proceeded to carry out the slow task of getting Merlin to put one foot in front. They had almost reached the edge of the area when Arthur's whispered response carried on the gentle breeze.
"No, but I'm your friend."
Merlin froze, clearly wanting to go back to Arthur, but Petra's grip tightened. She gave him no choice but to continue forward. This time, Merlin was almost struggling against her, wanting to do something to help Arthur. He had revealed that he had magic, in the worst possible way. He had shown how far he had fallen since they had last met, done things that he was so ashamed of that he didn't think that he would ever get over it. But yet, even after all of that, Arthur was still prepared to turn around and say that the warlock was his friend. As Petra steered him away from the area, Merlin found that his gaze was on the floor. Part of it was because he didn't want to look at the smirking faces of the bandits, but it was also because he was thinking. If it was the last thing that he did, he had to get Arthur out of here.
"Come along, Merlin." Petra could clearly sense his hesitation and knew if Merlin was given the chance, he would have gone back to Arthur, regardless of the consequences. Her grip around his waist tightened as she steered him into the tent, yet her touch was gentle as she guided him to his usual corner. Merlin could only sit there, his mind racing, his head throbbing and his eyes almost dropping in exhaustion as she fussed about in the far corner. He couldn't even bring himself to react when Petra knelt down next to him and softly began wiping a rag dipped in warm water over his arms. Sucking in a sharp breath as it brushed over the sensitive skin where the shackles had been cutting in, Merlin jerked himself back to reality.
"What happens now?" He whispered, his voice still not sounding any clearer than before. He knew that he had overstepped the mark with Jarta, the fact that the bandit had been prepared to leave him there for three days was proof enough of that. The weaker Merlin was physically, the weaker his magic was, Jarta knew this. It just meant that he had been truly trying to drive a message home.
"Shh, Merlin."
"Tell me." It would have sounded like a demand if it wasn't for the fact that his voice cracked half way and instead, it came out as more like a sob. Petra sighed, putting down the rag and pulling over a bowl of stew.
"Sit back." Merlin did as he was told and allowed her to spoon some into his mouth, finding that it actually wasn't making him feel any better. In fact, it was almost making him feel worse as his stomach tried to rebel against the treatment it had been through, but Petra ignored his pushing hand. Instead, she continued to steadily feed him before answering, and after a while, Merlin found that he was beginning to settle.
"They are sending the ransom note to Uther in an hour."
"They haven't done it yet?" Merlin almost forgot to mimic Petra's actions and whisper, and it was only the girl's sharp look that meant he didn't quite shout what was going through his mind. He would have thought that they had done that the moment Arthur had been restrained or risk the prince escaping.
"By leaving it, we could be anywhere, not just a matter of hours from where their camp was." Petra explained softly, seeming to realise that if she gave Merlin the information that he wanted, he would be less likely to get himself in trouble. The warlock nodded, but then quickly stopped as he realised that just sent waves of pain through his head rather than anything productive.
"But what happens to me?" He whispered. It wasn't anything to do with needing to keep his voice down or anything like that which made Merlin speak quietly. It was because he was sounding his age – just like any other thirteen year old terrified and exhausted. He was tired of living in fear, but as Petra smiled and just stroked back his hair gently, Merlin knew that he wouldn't get an answer. If she did know what Jarta had planned, she wasn't going to tell him.
"You should get some sleep. I'll find something to help your wrists." Merlin didn't respond, but instead just rolled away from her. He knew that he was being rude, that Petra was properly the only reason why Jarta had let him go at all, but his mind was firmly stuck on the chained up prince. Arthur had tried to help him, he had been prepared to put aside everything he knew, believed and had been taught in order to make sure that someone who he considered to be a friend was safe. It may have failed, but Merlin couldn't let it go. Not only with trying to stop the bandit from killing him in the first place and subsequently leading to Arthur's capture, but the way he had continued to try to get the men to give Merlin something to eat.
Feeling a soft rug being draped over him, Merlin smiled sleepily. It may have been the middle of the afternoon, but he had barely slept for days now due to his uncomfortable position and lack of food. He was vaguely aware of Petra humming something, her hand brushing through his hair, but Merlin suddenly sat up.
"Tell me! You'll tell me if anything happens, won't you? Please, say you'll wake me up!" There was such a sense of urgency in his voice as his words all but blurted out, Petra had no choice but to agree. She promised that she would be gently pushing him back down into a laying position, her hand resuming its previous action whilst she continued to hum.
Merlin slowly drifted off to sleep, hoping to be able to recover from what had just happened and therefore be of some use to the prince. Arthur had tried to save him, at the cost of his own freedom. Merlin might have already lost his freedom, but that didn't mean that he wasn't going to at least attempt to return the favour, no matter what it ended up costing him. Yet even as his eyes closed and his breathing evened out, a fiery determination erupted in the pit of Merlin's stomach, sending a flood of warmth through him as he fell asleep.
He was going to get Arthur out, no matter what.
MMM
Merlin didn't realise how deeply he must have been asleep until there was a voice calling his name and a hand shaking his shoulder. It took him more than one attempt to open his eyes, but when he finally got them peeled open, it was to find Petra standing over him with a concerned look on her face.
"Wha' is't?" Merlin slurred, struggling to sit up. His body didn't want to co-ordinate with his mind, however, and he ended up just slumped.
"It's the prince, they're bringing him here." Almost immediately, alertness came flooding back to Merlin and he leapt to his feet.
"What?"
"They've just sent out the message to the king, and apparently they want to tell Arthur what is going on. They are planning something, I'm sure. Just stay quiet, child, you don't want to draw attention to yourself."
"But-," Merlin didn't like to be told to just stay quiet. So many of the bandits treated him like he was invisible even if they did expect him to continue running around after them regardless of how he was treated. So when someone that he was allowed to disobey tried to tell him what to do, Merlin found that he immediately bristled. Petra –more than used to the child ignoring her – leant over and grasped his wrist lightly.
"Merlin, if you draw attention to yourself, do you know what they will do? They'll make you use your magic against Arthur."
"No!"
"Then stay quiet." Realising that he wouldn't be the one to suffer – at least, not physically – should he misbehave, Merlin bit his lip and nodded. He was just in time, for no sooner had Petra let go of his wrist did the tent flap swing back. Jarta walked in confidently, his lip twisting into a sneer when he saw that Merlin was awake.
"About to try and more heroics, my little pet?" Merlin had to clench his jaw in order to stop him from saying what was truly on his mind, but he lowered his head and kept back in the corner. Jarta snorted and rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything. The sound of a commotion outside of the tent caused Merlin to immediately look that way, and Jarta smiled again.
"Try anything, Merlin, and your last three days are going to seem like a breeze, do you understand?" Merlin didn't answer, too busy swallowing hard as Dantor stepped into the tent, an unpleasant look on his face. He drew back the flap, fastening it to one side to keep it out of the way, and Merlin found that he automatically took a small step forward, wondering if he would be able to see what was happening.
The sharp crack of a riding whip being flicked over the table violently made him jump and draw his eyes back to his master.
"I said, do you understand?" Jarta growled. Immediately, Merlin could feel his magic beginning to build and the way his knees were beginning to buckle. He knew that if he didn't answer, he would be forced to kneel.
"Yes, Master." He muttered, barely even audible over the ever-closer sounds, but it was enough for Jarta. He had other things on his mind than slaves who had yet to learn their place, no matter how long they had been a captive for.
Three bandits came through the flap first, two of them holding drawn swords and annoyed expressions on their faces. Another three followed in straight afterwards, and the prince was dragged in with them. It was taking all three of them to hold on to Arthur, two gripping his arms tightly despite the fact that his hands had been tied behind his back. The third was holding onto a rope that had been looped around Arthur's neck. For a split second, Merlin had a flashback to when he had first laid eyes on the royal, crouched in a bush. Arthur had had a rope around his neck then as well, but rather than the terrified look in his eyes, this time, he had anger practically blazing out of him. He was struggling with everything he had to get away from them, and even though they had at least ten years and several hundred pounds on him size wise, Merlin could see at a glance they had to fight to keep hold of him.
Jarta cracked the whip again and everyone in the tent fell silent, apart from the small grunts coming from Arthur as he fought to get himself free.
"You wanted to know what we planned to do with you, Sire?" Jarta began almost conversationally. Arthur stopped struggling, but his head lifted and he stared down at his captor coolly. He didn't answer verbally, but unlike when Merlin had tried that, Jarta seemed content to let it go.
"Your father is camped two hours away. We have just sent a message to him informing him of what has happened to his son. He has an hour to respond." Merlin frowned even as Arthur's face clouded over.
"But you said they were two hours away! That's impossible! He'll pay. He has to." Merlin wasn't sure how many people heard the final part, for Arthur's voice had dropped and he had a split second of sounding insecure. The warlock bit his lip, almost making to take a step forward, but it was as if Jarta knew what he was going to do and shot him a warning look. Sighing, Merlin stayed where he was.
"That's a shame then. Sounds like he won't meet his deadline."
"Of course he won't! You've made it impossible to do so!" The men holding Arthur were forced to redouble their efforts in order to keep him still. Eventually, one kicked at the fifteen year old's knees and they pushed down on his shoulders at the same time. Arthur had no choice but to drop to the floor, and the man holding the end of the rope around the prince's neck wound it around his hand a few times. Arthur had to stay still or risk being choked, yet defiance poured from his eyes.
"Why give him a deadline that you have no intention of letting him meet?" Arthur's head was still lifted with pride despite the fact that he was on his knees. He was not easily intimidated, that was for sure.
"I have my reasons." Jarta responded silkily, watching Arthur closely. Sure enough, the prince growled, lunging forward only to be pulled up short by the rope around his neck. Arthur fell still once more, but Jarta had got the reaction he wanted. Merlin could tell that he was almost dying to tell Arthur the real reason behind why they had made sure that Uther couldn't meet the terms of the ransom demand.
"You must have known that you were riding into bandit infested territory when you took this way through the woods?" Jarta took a step closer to Arthur, and Merlin found that he was doing the same thing. He didn't like the way his magic was almost sparking in warning. Something was about to happen, or at least be revealed, and somehow, Merlin knew that it was not going to bode well for the captured prince.
"Maybe the deadline wasn't just for your father? What if it was for whoever else we sent the message to as well? And maybe, just maybe, we've sent messengers in every direction. Eight of them in total, including the one for the king. Seven groups of bandits – as you like to call us – all with the same message. One hour, highest price… whoever gets their deal in first gets their very own prince."
Merlin knew that he couldn't blame it on the dim light this time. There could be no denying that Arthur visibly paled, almost seeming to shrink back as Jarta took another step towards him. The leader leant forward, a mocking smile in place as he traced Arthur's chin with the handle of the whip, the movement both gentle and threatening at the same time.
"You know what that will mean for you, don't you?"
"You'll never get away with this." Arthur spat, pulling backwards from the touch. Jarta simply grinned, eyebrows raising as he glanced over at Merlin.
"I knew someone else who once said that. But just like him, you will learn to accept your place, boy." Jarta nodded and the two men holding Arthur's arms hauled him to his feet. The one holding the rope let go, drawing a dagger. Arthur completely froze, but the man simply cut a clean line through the prince's shirt before they tore it off.
"Over the table."
"No!" Merlin wasn't quite sure how he realised, but somehow, he knew what was about to happen. Warning looks be damned, the warlock lunged forward.
"Be quiet and still, Merlin." The boy had just enough time to take one more step before he too was thrown to his knees. He couldn't open his mouth or move a muscle as his magic wrapped around him, but Jarta had made sure that the warlock was facing the table. The men were hauling Arthur up over it, two pushing on him whilst the third tugged on the rope.
Merlin could only watch as they cut the bindings around Arthur's wrists, yanking his arms out in front of him and secured him to the table. It didn't matter how much Arthur bucked and cursed, he wasn't getting up again. Merlin may not have been able to move, but it just meant that a lone tear slipped down his cheek as Jarta dragged the whip teasingly up Arthur's back.
"And you know the good thing about this whole little deal? Us thieves and murderers, we don't really care what condition our prize comes in, as long as he is alive." Arthur seemed to tremble slightly even as his head stayed facing pointedly ahead, refusing to show his fear. But his silence seemed to infuriate Jarta even further and without further ado, he drew back the whip and brought it slashing down across Arthur's back.
From the angle that he was at, Merlin could see a bright red line immediately flare into life, and he was certain that he wasn't imaging the small beads of blood following the line. Jarta grinned in satisfaction and caused the whip to come crashing down again. Arthur let out a small grunt, but it was lost in the sound of someone screaming.
Jarta blinked, jumping in surprise.
"I said silence!" He bellowed, forcing Merlin's magic to bind the warlock even tighter. Never before had Merlin been able to overcome an order on his own and even as the leader tried to regain control, Merlin looked up, overriding yet another part of the order. His eyes were blazing gold, a colour far more pure than how they changed when Jarta used him.
Ever since the first time they had met, Merlin had felt something with Arthur. At first, he had thought it was friendship, but ever since his mother had told him how he had instinctively healed Arthur from his fever, Merlin knew that it was more than that. For some reason, he had always thought of the word destiny whenever he brought those feelings to life, and in a way he couldn't explain, he just knew he was meant to protect the royal. Why else had it been him and not his mother who had found the young prince hidden all those years ago? He almost felt like that was the purpose of his magic, meaning that it didn't appreciate the reason for its existence being compromised as Arthur was hurt.
The whip suddenly glowed a bright orange as it erupted in a fiery heat and Jarta let go with a hiss of pain and anger.
"Take him down!" He ordered, realising that he had no control over Merlin's magic right now. The spell was still in place, but somehow, the threat to Arthur had been enough for Merlin to overcome it. Dantor ducked out of the tent as Merlin's eyes continued to glow, before returning almost immediately, something clasped in his hand.
Merlin wasn't truly aware of what was going on around him until suddenly, a wave of piercing pain broke through the magic. It spiralled out of his control once again as the collar clipped into place and he simply dropped to the floor, writhing slightly as his power was suppressed. Panting weakly, he could only lay there, tears slipping from his eyes as he tried to do something to stop the fiery feeling from flooding his body.
"Jarta, let him go!" Petra cried, running forward and dropping to her knees. Her hands sought of the clasp in the metal, but Dantor grabbed hold of her hair and pulled her back again.
"Leave him alone!" Arthur yelled, struggling against the ties holding him down. At a signal from Jarta, one of the men stuffed a rag into Arthur's mouth, gagging him. The leader himself walked slowly over, crouching down next to Merlin. He placed a hand on the warlock's cheek and turned his head up to face the master, frowning.
"What do you feel, Merlin?"
"B-b-burns… Off, p-please, g-get it o-off…" Nodding to yet another man, Jarta simply held Merlin still as they proceeded to pour something down the child's throat. Merlin didn't even resist the sedative, but allowed it to pull him into the welcoming darkness. He wasn't aware of the deathly silence in the tent as they all waited for Jarta to react.
"Tie him back up." The man ordered, moving back to the centre of the tent and drawing his knife. In one flick, he cut through the binding's holding down Arthur's left wrist. The others immediately hastened to free the prince from the table and dragged him back outside, leaving Jarta lost in thought.
Nothing should have broken his hold over Merlin. The boy had been in his possession for six months. In that time, he had beaten, starved, hurt and worked to the bone. For any other thirteen year old, that would have been enough to make them snap. Yet there seemed to be a hidden reserve of strength to the skinny warlock now sleeping almost at his feet. Something ran deeper than simple fear, something that connected him to Arthur.
Even as he decided to re-do the spell in order to make sure that everything was still holding as it should be, Jarta summoned one of the most learned men in the camp. Even as the old man lowered himself into the chair, not sparing Merlin a glance, Jarta demanded that he told him all that he knew about the rumoured Once and Future King and the warlock by his side.
As Merlin shook in his sleep, Jarta couldn't help but wonder whether he had just stumbled across the prophesised Emrys and the Future King he would help to greatness.