A/N: I don't own Merlin. That was the luck of the BBC.

Home! Super-fast fibre optic broadband! Half the story's getting rejigged, so this chapter was rewritten on a train (because let's be honest, what else is there to do on a five hour train?) so there may be a few errors.

You guys are awesome. Seriously. I now have over 80 followers, over 40 favourites and some pretty overwhelming reviews. I appreciate so much you taking the time to read my story and give me feedback. The notifications always put a smile on my face and the reviews never fail to give me a laugh. I shall stop now before I become an emotional mess.

"Merlin!" Arthur could find no other words, floored by the sight of seeing his best friend bloodied, beaten and suspended from the low ceiling. He felt sick just looking at him, the extent of his torture now apparent as he gaped at Merlin's violet and crimson torso. Second to Merlin's broken form he noticed Drin, holding a knife that dripped with blood, and the small puddle that had amassed near Merlin's feet, clearly oozing from somewhere on his back.

"Arthur." Merlin breathed, a weak smiling ghosting over the boy's lips. It made Arthur catch his breath, the thought that his manservant could still smile despite the obvious pain he was in. The crushing guilt hit him all over again and in that moment the king felt nothing but intense hatred towards Drin. He sought to fight his captors and free himself, the knights and most importantly, Merlin, however he'd underestimated how many men the warlord had at his disposal, and was easily restrained. Although now the pointed tip of a large sword was thrust threateningly close to his neck.

Surprise was an understatement when Merlin felt the locks of the manacles come undone, his shaky legs giving out as he fell to ground, his knees taking the brunt of the impact on the hard stone floor. He was almost immediately pulled to his feet and physically restrained by a brute of a guard.

"Try anything, apart from our little demonstration, and I'll be sure to part your King's golden head from his body. Then I'll start slowly on those so-called knights of yours." Drin chuckled throatily towards Merlin, who was struggling to keep a lid on his now free flowing magic. This left Arthur more than a little confused, the king had been no match for the swarms of guards, what did Drin think Merlin was going to do? The boy couldn't lift a sword at the peak of health, and right now he was wheezing and pale, not exactly warrior material. "King Arthur, good of us to finally meet." Drin grinned spitefully.

"Leave him alone. He has no part in your plot." Merlin hissed, his voice rough. Arthur hoped it was from a lack of water, and not the terrifying alternative, that his servant had screamed himself hoarse.

"What the hell did you do to him?" Arthur mentally slapped himself for asking such a stupid question, he could clearly see what had been done to Merlin, as much as he wished couldn't.

"He was more than a little… discourteous with me." Drin sighed with disappointment as Arthur shot a look at Merlin conveying a thousand emotions. Anger and frustration, that Merlin had goaded the lunatic, worry that his manservant was in very real danger of losing his life, and a hint of pride, that Merlin hadn't crumbled. He'd remained defiant even when tortured, and Arthur could not understand how he had landed such a brave and loyal servant. "He's got something he'd like to tell you, haven't you Merlin?" Drin incited. Merlin clenched his jaw and glared at Drin, not liking where this was going. "No? Nothing?" More silence. "We'll have to show Arthur then, won't we?" Drin signalled to the guard with the sword, who raised it as if to strike a fatal blow to the king.

"This has nothing to do with him!" His crackling voice fell on deaf ears as time began to slow around the young warlock. This couldn't be happening. It wasn't fair! He'd wanted to be the one to tell Arthur, not have it forced out of him by this nut-job. He wasn't going to kill Arthur, surely? He wouldn't just kill the king, would he? He's not going to hurt him. He won't hurt him. He won't. Merlin was chanting in his head, hoping to keep himself calm, but to no avail. His magic was destined to protect Arthur, it was as instinctual to save him from danger as it was for Merlin's eyes to blink. Almost subconsciously Merlin's eyes glowed a fierce gold and his hand reached out towards the threat; the guard flung to the wall and knocked unconscious by the looks of things.

"Quite the show Merlin." Drin clapped as if he was watching a parlour trick. "So, King Arthur, care to share your opinion on your faithful servant's hidden talents?"

Merlin had always been an expert at reading Arthur's body language. He knew the twitch of his eyes when he was thoroughly bored with council matters, the sadness that lingered in his face when he thought of his father, and the way his muscles relaxed when he and Merlin were out on a rare carefree outing.

However, he had no words to describe the look on his king's face as Merlin began to tremble involuntary, unwanted panic turning his veins to ice. It was more painful just to look at his face than to be tortured by the madman holding them prisoner, as hurt, betrayal, anger and fear radiated from his deathly cold glare. Please, god no, Merlin hated people fearing him, it made him feel like a monster. Especially not Arthur. Surely he had to know that Merlin protected him, that he would never, ever hurt his king. Even under the Fomorroh's influence, he hadn't managed to kill Arthur; his magic protecting Arthur until the warlock's last breath – even if that last breath was by order of the king.

"Still want to continue your loyalty to king?" Drin's voice slithered over his body, "Look at him, he fears you Merlin, what good are you now to him? Join me and I'll see everyone fear you." Arthur didn't take his eyes off Merlin the entire exchange, as if he were about to make an attempt on his life at any moment, as ridiculous a notion that was.

Merlin had been his servant, nay friend, for years. He had had ample opportunities to kill Uther, kill Arthur, destroy Camelot and assert himself ruler as he knew all sorcerers wanted, something instilled in Arthur since his birth. Why hadn't he? God, the words Merlin and sorcerer should never be found together. How could he do this to Camelot, to his friends, to Arthur?

"I'm happy to be his servant until the day I die." Something about the response made Arthur shudder, he'd never heard Merlin speak like this before. The pretence of being Arthur's friend was not necessary anymore, he was so why Merlin was still claiming loyalty to him was anyone's guess. Unless… Arthur silenced the small voice in his head very quickly.

"I thought this would change your mind. Pity. We'll just have to revert to our old methods. Shackle him." Merlin was forced into the manacles once more, his magic retreating to the recesses of his mind, leaving nothing more than a cold shell. Merlin's eyes brimmed with sadness as he tried to find the king's. The king was glaring at him, his eyes dark and hard, narrowed in the warlock's direction.

"Arthur." Merlin cried weakly. If Arthur wouldn't rescue him, then he was fated to die here. Certainly the king couldn't just abandon everything they'd been through because he had magic? "I wanted to tell you, I never found the right time." He was murmuring, still feeling heady from the wounds and the beating, and his breathing hadn't been normal for quite some time.

"Magic? All this time, magic? You idiot." The king's voice was little more than a whisper, but it was loud enough to wind Merlin more than the numerous punches he'd received.

"Sorry." Merlin's bottom lip trembled, if only for a fleeting second. Before the king could responded with another soul-crushing comment, Drin dragged his knife across a small patch of unhurt skin on Merlin's stomach. He let scarlet trickle down the boy's torso, then walked around and pressed a hand against the large wound on his shoulder that worryingly was still bleeding. Merlin screamed, screwing his eyes closed then mentally chiding himself for taking his eyes off the King. Although what pathetic magic-less Merlin could do to help he didn't know. As if he were an afterthought, Drin waved to the guards surrounding Arthur.

"Take him back." Arthur was still too stunned to move, to think, to call out to his friend when he obviously was in agony, allowing himself to be led back to the cells, trying to block out the screams echoing through the corridors.

Oh Arthur. *sighs disappointedly* He never learns.

Thanks for the advice on the rating. I'll probably leave it as a T as it won't go into to graphic detail of the torture.

Side note: when describing Merlin's body, I learnt that there was a word to describe something violet: violaceous. But I felt like using that might be slightly too pretentious. Prompts to whoever catches me using it in the future though!