"Where is he?" Arthur growled into the darkness. Merlin should have been back with the firewood at least twenty minutes ago. Well, he wasn't going out searching for him. Arthur, unbuckling his sword, leaned back against a tree and stretched his legs out in front of him. When Merlin came back, he would just have the task of lighting the fire by himself in the dark, that was all. And serve him right for being so sullen today.
Alright, so that wasn't entirely his fault, Arthur had to admit. He himself had been in a rotten mood, and had taken it out on Merlin. And Merlin hadn't been sullen; he had been silent. That could mean a myriad of things, but it was unlikely Merlin was sulking. He didn't sulk. If he had a grievance, he told Arthur what it was. Arthur smiled in spite of himself. Much as he complained when Merlin called him a clotpole or a dollophead, he really didn't mind. At least he knew Merlin was always honest with him. There was no sycophancy there. And Merlin always had his best interests at heart, much as his methods occasionally annoyed him.
Where was he, anyway? Arthur got up and wandered over to the edge of the clearing, in the direction Merlin had disappeared in three quarters of an hour ago. He hoped he hadn't run into any trouble.
There was a sound in the underbrush off to his right, and Arthur moved a few steps in that direction. "Merlin?" he called. "Is that you?"
Something heavy struck him in the head from behind. Arthur fell to his knees, dazed. He reached for his sword, but it wasn't there—he had unbuckled it, he realized. No wonder Father always told me his father-in-law Aurelianus slept with his sword on, he thought vaguely as a couple of pairs of hands grabbed his arms and tied them behind him. He found himself looking up into the grinning, filthy face of a bandit.
Not Merlin, then, he thought obscurely.
"Ah, what have we here?" the bandit said gleefully. "A pretty knight in shiny mail! I'm sure King Arthur will pay well for your ransom: they say he's a loyal and generous king. And who is Merlin? Another knight?"
"My se—squire," Arthur said, pulling himself together. If the bandits knew he was the king, they would either kill him, as too dangerous a victim, or require a ransom that the kingdom would have difficulty paying. Better they thought him simply a knight.
One of the other bandits handed their leader Arthur's sword. The bandit drew it from its sheath and brandished it. "Clearly a man of some wealth! And what is yourname, Sir Knight?" the bandit asked.
"Aurelianus." He used the first name that came into his head. "Sir Aurelianus de Bois." When Camelot got word that Arthur's grandfather, who had been dead for thirty years, had been kidnapped and was being held to ransom, they would surely be able to figure out who it really was the bandits had caught.
"Alright, Sir Aurelianus," the bandit said as his men stuffed a gag in Arthur's mouth. "We'll send word to your king immediately."
Arthur stifled a sigh. Kidnapped by bandits in his own kingdom. It was too embarrassing.
"Someone's coming," one of the bandits hissed.
"Merlin, no doubt," the leader said. "Scatter." The bandits disappeared into the darkness.
The bandits had taken the torches with them, and Arthur couldn't see anything in the darkness. The gag prevented him from shouting and warning Merlin of the danger he was in. Arthur tensed his body to struggled against the two men holding him, but in an instant he felt the cold steel of a knife blade at his throat. "Not a move from you, Sir Aurelianus," one of the bandits hissed in his ear. Arthur could smell onions and old sweat.
There was a clatter, as of someone dropping an armful of firewood. Arthur fought the urge to roll his eyes in the dark. The torches reappeared, lighting up Merlin's surprised face. The bandit who held the knife to his throat dragged him into the circle that had formed around Merlin.
"Just the person we want," the bandit leader said, smiling. "You can take a message back to Camelot that your master has been kidnapped."
"If you value your lives," Merlin answered quite solemnly, "you'll release him immediately."
The bandits laughed. Arthur stared at Merlin. Was he crazy? Merlin looked back at him—calculatingly, he thought. Something subtle changed in his expression, his bearing—he looked older, stronger, more confident. Who knew Merlin could bluff so well? "Last chance," he said.
"You don't even have a sword," the bandit pointed out.
"I don't need one," Merlin answered slowly, and there was a definite threat in his eyes. The bandit leader lifted Excalibur…
What happened next went so fast that Arthur almost missed it. Merlin didn't even move a muscle. His eyes flashed gold once, and the entire circle of bandits were blasted backwards from him, as if he were the center of an explosion. Excalibur, flying up into the air, shone in the torchlight and fell, point-first, into the earth. The only bandit still standing was the one holding a knife to Arthur's throat. Swearing, he dropped it and fled, like the rest of his comrades, into the woods. Arthur could hear them scrabbling, cursing, and dragging their unconscious fellows into the forest. In a moment, Arthur and Merlin were left alone, staring at one another in the light of a few dropped torches.
Without a word, Merlin walked forward, his lips pressed tightly together, and picked up the dropped knife. For a moment Arthur was afraid, and he stiffened, almost flinching, as Merlin pulled away the gag and cut the rope that held his hands. He offered Arthur a hand.
It was that movement of friendship that did it. Arthur slapped Merlin's hand away and sprang to his feet unaided, fuming. The world literally flashed red for a moment. He glared at Merlin, panting, half surprised that the fire he could feel inside of him wasn't burning his manservant to a crisp. Instead Merlin looked straight back into his eyes—saddened, but unafraid. Unafraid of his laws, unafraid of his authority—
Arthur reached both hands up and shoved Merlin in the chest, pushing him backward. Merlin, stepping back, merely took it, with a look of resignation. When Arthur strode forward Merlin backed away from him, tripping over the forgotten pile of firewood and landing on his backside. Arthur grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled back his fist. For the first time, Merlin showed a sign of fear—he raised his arm, shielding his face from the blow.
Arthur, brought up short, stared down at him. Merlin's face, averted from Arthur's fist, was white, and the lines between his brows clearly showed he was on the edge of tears. Arthur dropped him and stumbled backward, sitting down abruptly on the dirt.
"Everyone I've ever cared about has lied to me," he said blankly. "Morgana, Gwen, Agravaine… now you. The one person I thought would never betray me…"
"I lied to you, yes, but I never betrayed you," Merlin said quickly.
"You don't call this betrayal?" Arthur said angrily, feeling on the verge of tears himself. He took refuge in yelling. "To commit treason by disregarding the laws of Camelot? My laws? To make a fool of me—serving me as a loyal servant while all the while you were practicing magic? To make me think—to make me think I could trust you, when you didn't even tell me this?" Tears stung his eyes and he looked away. "You've betrayed Camelot, and you've betrayed me."
"You have no idea how many times magic has saved your life, Arthur," Merlin shot back. "How many times—" He checked himself.
"How many times you've saved my life," Arthur said slowly. He remembered Merlin saying as much when they were being hunted by the dorocha. "How many times has it been, Merlin?" He looked back at him.
Merlin dropped his gaze. "I've—lost count."
"Guess. Five? Ten?"
"At least thirty."
They stared at one another for a long time in silence. "Tell me," Arthur said at last."
"What?"
"Tell me about the times you saved my life. With magic."
TBC
AN: BTW, Arthur knows perfectly well that Gwen was enchanted when she lied to him. He's just upset.
