Chapter Five: When Luck Runs Out

It wasn't long before they came for Merlin again.

Arthur didn't remember falling asleep, but he was jerked awake by approaching footsteps. He gave Merlin, who had fallen asleep on his shoulder, a shove.

"They're coming back."

"Oh," Merlin said, blinking away sleep. "You'd better move. When they open the door, you're going to go flying."

"I am against the wall, just not that one. It'll be fine."

"I really think you should move…You've had enough blows to the head to last you the rest of your reign. "

Arthur was about to retort when the door opened. Immediately he went soaring across the room and crashed face-first into the same wall he'd been pinned to before. He barely managed to not hit his nose by turning his head and bracing himself with his hands, but his cheek still hurt.

"Told you, prat."

"Shut up."

With his cheek pressed to the wall, Arthur could barely see out of the corner of his eye that Trent was shuffling in. Arthur's back felt incredibly exposed, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't leave the wall.

"Come on, toerag," came Trent's voice.

Merlin said nothing. Trent let out a sigh, and then Arthur heard him moving across the room, heard Merlin wince as the chains clanked, heard Merlin's feet skidding across the floor.

The door shut and Arthur fell backwards from the wall. Merlin, of course, was gone.

Arthur kicked the door once half-heartedly, but didn't really expect anything to happen. The door wasn't going to give. He pressed his hand against the wood. Perhaps whatever spell was on the door kept him from kicking it down?

He took his knife back out of his boot and stabbed the door repeatedly. The blade barely even pierced it. Stupid spell.

Although…

He peered hard at where the door met the wall. He'd made a slight gouge in the wood directly next to the hinges. Were the hinges really part of the door? Because if they weren't, maybe the spell wouldn't extend to them. Or perhaps the hinges were a weak spot. Either way, he could pick away at the hinges, see if he could weaken them or carve them out of the door.

His face fixed in a determined grimace, Arthur set to work.

Hours went by, long, numbing hours. Arthur debated attempting to get his armor off, but most of the ties were in the back. He might be able to manage it, but part of him felt better with it on. Like he was ready for battle, better prepared, a more formidable force. He was surprised their captors hadn't taken his armor, but then, it wasn't as if he posed any threat.

Being confined with no one to talk to, not even Merlin with his prattling, was driving him absolutely mad. His thoughts kept drifting back home, to Camelot. He wondered where his knights were, if they had all survived the initial attack and if they were looking for him. He thought of tables bursting with feasts and goblets of wine. He thought of his bed piled with pillows and a nice, hot bath. He thought of Guinevere, and the way she smiled at him, and the smell of her hair, and how much he missed her.

He thought of all the horrible things Gwil was probably doing to Merlin right now, and all the horrible things he'd do to Gwil if he ever got out.

Why Merlin, anyway? There was something Merlin wasn't telling him, something about what Gwil wanted. But what on earth would anyone want from Merlin? Why would anyone go to this much trouble for a servant?

But Merlin wasn't an ordinary servant, was he? He was more than that; he was brave, he was steadfast, he was loyal, he…

He had that something, that something that Arthur had never quite had a name for.

Arthur was not a superstitious man, but secretly he had always had this sort of feeling that things just always went right when Merlin was around, as if the servant's very presence ensured success.

He hadn't even really noticed the overall pattern until Gwaine had commented about it once, when he and Arthur were both looking for Merlin after he'd been hit with a mace and lost in a rockslide. "We'll find him, princess," the knight had said. "Because things always go right when Merlin's around."

"I'd hardly call what happened yesterday 'going right,'" Arthur had snapped back.

"No one else died, did they? And I'm telling you, we'll find him."

"Even if he escaped the bandits, he was wounded. Badly."

Gwaine had shrugged, indifferent to Arthur's thinly veiled concern. "He'll turn up. He always does. It's those ears of his—they bring good luck."

Arthur had scoffed, but then Merlin had turned up, covered head to toe with mud but alive and well, with a tale of escaping the bandits, finding an old woman in a hovel to tend to his wounds, and getting lost in a bog on the way back.

Arthur had thought then that it wasn't Merlin's ears, it was more like…his loyalty. A sort of burning, determined loyalty that gave Merlin the ability to follow his king into battle and emerge without a scratch. Merlin's loyalty was almost a tangible shield, like he—and by extension, Arthur—were always protected just through Merlin's sheer willpower that they be safe.

Arthur remembered the first time Merlin had come with him on patrol. They'd barely known each other then; Merlin had been working for him perhaps a couple weeks. Arthur had told him to have his horse ready to depart by morning for a two-day patrol, but when the prince had arrived at the courtyard, he'd found two horses waiting.

"What's this?" he had demanded.

"Well, I can hardly keep up with you if I haven't got a horse, can I? So I borrowed one of yours." Merlin had said reasonably, adjusting one of the saddles.

"Merlin, you're a servant."

"Yeah, and you'll be needing food on this little patrol, won't you? I packed some lunch. And dinner and breakfast and lunch again and dinner again and breakfast again. And snacks. I know how cranky you get when you haven't eaten. You're going to get fat if you keep this up, you realize that?"

Arthur remembered staring at Merlin incredulously. He hadn't quite yet realized how big an idiot Merlin could be. "As much as I appreciate you finally taking an interest in your duties, you do realize we may encounter bandits?"

"Oh, yeah," Merlin had said, nodding without any concern whatsoever.

"With swords."

Merlin had just kept nodding, raising an eyebrow as if not sure where Arthur was going with that.

"That they'll be trying to kill us with," Arthur had emphasized.

"Yeah, and you'll be exhausted, I bet, so won't it be nice to have someone there to, you know, set up camp, get the fire going, cook dinner, clean up, and all that?"

And it was a rather nice idea, Arthur had been forced to admit. It would be nice after a long day's ride to just rest and eat and not do any work. It would be good for the knights, too. Good for morale. And besides, it wasn't like this particular route was very dangerous. Truthfully, they weren't likely to run into anything more life-threatening than a frightened deer.

So he'd let Merlin come. And then one patrol had turned into two, then three, and then four. On the fifth patrol, they'd been set upon by bandits, and Arthur had fought like a madman trying to find Merlin, terrified that he would be responsible for an innocent man's death because he hadn't wanted to be uncomfortable.

But then the bandits had been defeated, and Merlin had popped his head out from behind a tree, perfectly safe and not even particularly fazed that he'd been witness and survivor to a bloodthirsty bandit attack. He had even looked pleased with himself, as if the fact he was alive wasn't sheer dumb luck.

Arthur had been determined that that was the last time he brought a helpless peasant along on patrol, but when the next time came along, Merlin already had two horses ready. When he realized Arthur was reluctant to let him come, Merlin had outright begged to be allowed to follow, because if he didn't, then Gaius would make him clean the leech tank, and he hated the leech tank, and it made him break out in contagious boils, and as he'd be doing Arthur's laundry afterwards…

So Arthur had let him come again.

More patrols came and went, with Merlin right behind him at every one, until eventually, Arthur didn't even consider not bringing him. Merlin had charmed and connived and made excuses and weaseled his way into following his king so many times that Arthur finally just assumed that wherever he was going, Merlin was going with him, like a second shadow.

Years later, Arthur had asked him once, jokingly, why he kept coming.

"You'd all be dead without me," Merlin had said, before grinning and calling him something vaguely insulting.

Arthur wondered when he had almost started to believe it.

How many times had he lost consciousness, sure he was going to die on the battlefield, when he would wake up to see Merlin's stupid face beaming down at him? How many times had his timing been just right, his enemies just slow enough, for him to win where so many others had failed?

Gwaine called it luck, Arthur called it loyalty, but whatever it was, it had kept him and Merlin alive through things that neither of them should have survived.

Did Gwil somehow know about Merlin's whatever-it-was? Was that what he was after? How would someone even find out about such a thing, much less control it?

Arthur rubbed his temples and sighed, fully aware that none of what he was thinking made sense, but at the same time sure that Merlin's something was involved. But he couldn't ask Merlin about it, because he knew the words would sound stupid if spoken out loud. Say Merlin, is Gwil interrogating you because you're inexplicably lucky?

It sounded stupid, even in his mind.

So Arthur kept picking and picking at the hinges with his knife, and hoped that whatever usually kept Merlin safe was keeping him safe now.

Merlin was not safe.

Or maybe he was. It was hard to tell, really. His thoughts came and went like the wisps of foul-smelling smoke that kept drifting into his lungs from the candles in front of him.

Focus. Escape.

But he was so, so exhausted, drained, and he had a hard time remembering exactly why, nor could he remember how long he'd been sitting here.

"I've done so much for you, Merlin. I've kept you safe. I've accepted you. I am your friend. Wouldn't you like to repay me? Wouldn't you like to prove your loyalty to such a friend?"

He wanted to agree, to say anything so that Gwil would leave him alone to drift into oblivion, but something kept niggling at the back of his brain. Something important, something to do with…Arthur. Arthur was still counting on him, counting on him to stay alive and save him.

"…No," Merlin mumbled.

Gwil shook him by the shoulder, but it felt as if a stranger's shoulder were shaking, not his own. He almost felt like he was floating in a dream, not quite present, and he thought that it would be nice if he just floated away, leaving his sore and burned body behind…

A sharp pain bit into his shoulder as Gwil's nails clenched into it, and the pain brought clarity as Merlin remembered, briefly, where he was.

"What do you mean, the Lady Morgana's here?" Gwil demanded furiously.

The name rang through Merlin's mind like a loud bell, sending a few jolts of panic through his sagging form. If Morgana found him like this…If she found Arthur…

"As in, on her way to this room. Looking for you. About Emrys." Trent said delightedly, tilting his head toward Merlin.

Gwil scooted his chair back so fast the chair flew over. He hurried to the door, hissing at Trent, "Did you tell her about him?"

Trent's voice glistened with disdain. "Of course not, my lord. I can't go against your orders, remember? Even if you still haven't kept up your end of the deal."

Gwil fumed, one hand on the door. "We'll talk about this later. For now, keep him quiet. Don't let her see him. If she knows we've got Emrys already, she'll take him."

Trent grinned, eyes gleaming at Merlin. "Wouldn't want that, would we?"

Seconds had barely passed after Gwil left before Merlin, now fully awake, could hear his voice calling loudly through the slightly ajar door. "Lady Morgana! I wasn't expecting you so soon!"

A female voice responded, though Merlin couldn't quite distinguish the words.

Then he realized Morgana was not the most urgent of his problems. Trent had strode across the room towards him, so close Merlin could smell his stinking sweat.

The mercenary shot his hand out to snatch Merlin's chin, wrenched his head up so far Merlin thought his neck would snap, and squeezed.

"Say a word," Trent breathed. "And I'll break your jaw."

Merlin distantly thought that was a bit redundant, as he wanted Morgana to find him less than Gwil did, but obligingly bit back his scream.

"You don't remember me, do you?" Trent murmured.

Merlin couldn't have responded if he wanted to; he was finding it harder and harder to breathe, especially with the air polluted by that smoke.

"Maybe you remember my brother, then. Slave trader. Name of Jarl."

Merlin's eyes watered as he let out a strangled sort of whimper.

"I was there that day when we had the prince. Didn't know who he was, though. He escaped before we found out. And my brother was killed for letting him."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU DON'T HAVE HIM?" came Morgana's distinctive screech from somewhere outside. "I NEED HIM BY TOMORROW!"

Trent squeezed harder, and Merlin saw spots dance in his vision. "I blamed the prince for my brother's death for a long time. Only read that halfwit's stupid contract because he said he'd help get me my revenge on the royal runt. But you were there too, weren't you, you magic little toerag? And I'm betting it wasn't the prince who started that fire, was it?"

Merlin felt his magic surge, making a desperate bid to free his airway, but it moved too sluggishly, like running through a bog at a thick wall. Its attempt was so weak that the chains didn't even burn him in retaliation.

Trent's free hand drew out a knife. Slowly, almost tenderly, he pressed the blade into Merlin's cheek. The tip was so close to Merlin's eye he could actually see it. Through the haze clouding his mind, the warlock realized that if his head so much as twitched, he'd lose his eye.

"If it weren't for that contract, I could do this faster, with a lot less mess…" Trent murmured, applying the slightest amount of pressure.

Merlin suppressed a shudder, afraid the movement would impale his eye. His heart thudded hard in his chest, like it was trying to fit in as many beats as possible before the end.

"But then, the mess is half the fun, isn't it?" Trent continued, pressing down. Merlin could barely feel the sting over the general din of pain clouding his mind, but he felt warm blood trickle down his cheek.

Gwil chose that moment to walk back in. "What are you doing? Stop!"

Trent withdrew the knife and released his grip immediately. Merlin's head snapped back down with another stab of pain and a gasp.

"No threats. I forbid it. He's not much good to me maimed."

"Apologies, my lord," Trent said with a scowl.

"You'll be punished for that. Now get out."

Trent cast one more hateful glare at Merlin before finally leaving the room.

"Look, Merlin," Gwil said as he seated himself and steepled his fingers. "I know we haven't had the best of times together. But I don't think you understand how much I've done for you. I told Morgana you—that is, you the servant, not Emrys—died without telling me anything, and that I haven't found Emrys yet. I've kept you safe from her—Arthur too, just because I know how much you care about him—"

" 'S not why," Merlin shot back hoarsely, still unable to lift his head. "You need him. Leverage."

Gwil's usual friendly façade dropped into an icy glare. "Listen, Emrys, Lady Morgana is returning tomorrow. If I don't have you under control by then, she'll be back and then if I don't have a warlock to give her, she'll kill us both. That's not a threat from me, Emrys, that's a promise from her. And I doubt Arthur will escape unscathed either. You can stop this. Swear to serve me. Bind your magic—"

"Never."

A vein in Gwil's forehead throbbed. "Fine. We can do it the hard and risky way. I didn't want to do this, but desperate times…" He drew a large bottle from inside his robes and from it poured what looked like tea into a goblet, which he placed on the table in front of Merlin.

"Are you thirsty, Merlin?" Gwil asked, slipping back into his almost friendly voice for a moment before his gaze hardened. "Don't lie."

"Yeah…" Merlin murmured through dry, cracked lips.

"Louder, Merlin. And look at me when I'm talking to you. It's only polite. Are you thirsty?"

Slowly, painfully, Merlin pulled his head up to look at Gwil. "Yes."

Gwil looked at the tea pointedly. "Would you like a drink?"

Merlin blinked at the goblet in front of him for a moment before answering. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because you've poisoned it."

"I'm afraid that's a lie, Merlin."

Merlin's head jerked, eyes wide with panic.

"Calm down, Merlin. I understand. You didn't know it was a lie. I forgive you. Now, would you like a drink?"

"…No."

"That surprises me. We've already agreed it's not poisoned. So, would you like a drink?"

"No."

"Hmm. That seems rather odd, doesn't it? You're terribly thirsty—I might even go so far as to say you're dying of thirst. So why don't you want a drink?"

The corner of Merlin's mouth twitched. "I've got a mental affliction."

Gwil smacked the goblet aside, sending the liquid splattering to the floor, and Merlin flinched. "I said tell the truth."

"I have!" Merlin protested, "Gaius said so. He said he'd look into it. Hasn't found anything yet."

Gwil took a deep breath, then fixed that pleasant smile on his face that made Merlin's guts clench in fear. Gwil picked up the goblet, then refilled it with the brown concoction. "Alright, Merlin. Let's try a different approach. I'd like you to drink this. I'd like you to drink this very much. And you will drink it, because if you don't, I will let Trent hurt Arthur again. Much, much worse than last time."

Merlin stopped breathing for a moment. His jaw clenched as he stared at the goblet, then looked up at Gwil. "Your turn. Tell me the truth. As…" he swallowed. He needed a straight answer. "As a…friend."

Gwil nodded, clearly pleased. "Of course I will, Merlin."

"What is this going to do to me?"

"I'm very glad you asked. I won't lie; I can't be entirely sure what it will do to you. It reacts strangely when mixed with magic, particularly the more powerful that magic is. I do know, however, that it will not be pleasant. It may very well break you. I can only hope you'll be sane enough to follow my orders afterwards. A bit of a desperate measure, perhaps, but then, I'm getting quite desperate." He took the goblet and pressed it against Merlin's lips with malicious glee, and the warlock shuddered as its rancid smell reached his nose. "Drink up."

Merlin didn't dare open his mouth, but jerked his head to the side as far as he could.

Gwil sighed like a parent with an irritating child. "Merlin, drink it, or I'll have Trent bring me Arthur's hand. His sword hand. And just his hand."

Merlin's stomach dropped. Arthur would never be able to recover from a blow like that. Even if he survived from the blood loss, his entire identity hinged on his swordfighting skills. Without his hand, he'd never be able to compete in another tournament, wouldn't be able to defend his people, wouldn't be able to lead his men into battle, wouldn't be able to wield the sword forged in a dragon's breath, would feel utterly helpless. He would be crippled in more ways than one.

Gwil pressed the drink harder against Merlin's lips, and Merlin drank. He gagged, both body and magic rejecting it, but Gwil took a firm hold of his already-bruised jaw to keep him from jerking away.

When Merlin had swallowed down all of it, Gwil let go, and Merlin felt his whole body quivering violently. His head began to pound as the few colors in the room swirled.

"Whassit…doing…"

"I'll make it stop if you just swear to serve me," Gwil promised, eyes gleaming with interest.

His magic was crawling, trying to stab its way out through his skin like a million needles. It felt like he'd swallowed fire, like a pyre was scorching his insides, like he was being cauterized from the inside out. The room stretched like a twisted nightmare, drawing the air from his lungs, and he took in big gulping breaths of the candles' smoke.

"N-no."

"I'm saving you from a threat, Merlin. Isn't that what friends do?"

"N-n-no…No, please…No, make it stop. Make it…"

He opened his mouth and heaved, but no matter how much his body lurched, he couldn't expel anything. He was burning, burning…and Morgana stood in front of him, her once-gentle eyes giving way to a wicked smirk as his insides charred. He was choking, gagging on flames and smoke, and Morgana sauntered towards him, her emerald gown from innocent years ago darkening to black, her skin paling like a corpse, her elegant curls tangling like cobwebs. Her eyes glowed with the light of a thousand suns as she snarled, "That's what you get for betraying me."

He clenched his eyes shut and trembled, guilt biting at him as he remembered the look of panic on Morgana's face as he held her in his arms while she choked on poison. Had she felt like this? "No, no, Morgana, I'm sorry, please, make it stop, it hurts, it hurts, please…"

"Merlin, you need to read this," came a calming, familiar voice.

Still shaking, Merlin opened his eyes. Morgana was gone; Gaius stood in her place with a horribly grave expression on his face. "My boy, I beg you, read the parchment. It will heal you."

Merlin looked down at the parchment in front of him, struggling to read the words through his blurred vision. "Ic i…Ic i borgfaeste min miht drycraeftes oth…" He stopped. The next word was wrong. Lord of the parchment. Binding his magic to the lord of the parchment…Something wasn't right.

Gaius' forehead creased past concern and into anger, as if Merlin was doing something extraordinarily stupid. "You must read, Merlin. It is vital."

"Ic i borgfaeste…" He stopped again. He was forgetting something important.

Or someone. Who was he swearing to? Arthur?…Why did Arthur have a magical parchment? Arthur didn't have a magical parchment; Arthur…hadn't Arthur been in danger?

"Go on, Merlin, read," urged Gaius. "I implore you."

"But…Arthur…" Another wave of pain wiped out all thought as he gasped for air that didn't come. The flames were all around him, pushing to get in, and inside him, pushing to get out and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe…

"G-Gaius, I can't. Help me, I can't…make it stop…"

"You must read it, my boy."

"Can't…please, Gaius…hurts…"

Gaius shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid this isn't working. You are beyond help now."

A/N:

Ic i borgfaeste min miht drycraeftes oth… = I bind by pledge my powerful magic to…

For those of you who don't remember who Jarl is, he's that slave trader who captured Merlin, Arthur, and Gwaine at the end of season 3. He tried to get Arthur and Gwaine to fight to the death to save Merlin, but then Merlin burned the place down and they escaped. Later, Morgause killed Jarl when she found out he had Arthur but let him escape.

Every time you review, Merlin gets a hug. And he looks like he could use one... *ducks away from flying anachronistic fruits and vegetables*