A/N: Post ep.2.11 "Witch's Quickening"

To Protect Me

Alvarr leaned casually on the trunk of a large box-elder, just out of sight of his two captives, toying with his handful of straw, twisting in preparation to tie. Congratulating himself on the success of another ambush.

A prize far more valuable than a wagonload of supplies bound for Camelot's citadel, and the chainmail and crimson cloaks to disguise their infiltration. A conquest far more certain than a lady's mercurial favor and assistance. Too bad Enmyria wasn't here to savor the moment with him. Too bad Mordred wasn't either – his captive's fault on both counts, and he expected to extract satisfaction for the loss of both.

All he had left were those three – Alvarr tossed a glance over his shoulder to the unwashed ruffians bickering over the bits and pieces hastily scavenged from the prince's slaughtered patrol. Oh, well. At least he had loyalty from them, if no brains or magic to speak of, among the three.

"Merlin."

The hissed whisper from his conscious captive, out of sight beyond the tree that hid him, brought a twisted smile to his face, as he twisted the straw back upon itself. It had almost been too easy.

Of course old Uther would send a patrol immediately, upon discovery of Alvarr's escape from the cells of Camelot. His gamble had been that the prince would be ordered to lead it – not such a stretch – and that the peasant-clad servant would be included in their number. His true quarry.

He mouthed the name to himself as the prince hissed it with more urgency – "Merlin!" – and couldn't quite keep a snicker from escaping.

Oops.

"Who's there?"

Because while the Pendragons were amusingly ignorant and willfully blind about some things, Prince Arthur's woodcraft really was – formidable. He'd tracked their camp, after all, protected as it had been. If Alvarr didn't have magic on his side – one spell powerful enough to put half the patrol to sleep where they sat their horses, halted by the prince's raised hand of warning – this latest ambush might have failed.

"Who is it, who's there?" the prince continued, raising his voice in his most demanding tone.

Alvarr smirked toward his three men – their names forgotten, but it was their loyalty that counted – who took no notice.

"I can tell you're there, you might as well come out and face me. If you're man enough."

Alvarr let the silence hang a bit longer, to unsettle the Pendragon further, dividing the loose ends of the straw into quarters. And was rewarded with another furious murmur.

"Merlin! Dammit, wake up…"

Too delicious to be savored alone. But none of those three could appreciate the irony… Alvarr sighed, and pushed round the tree, keeping one shoulder leaned casually against the rough bark.

The prince, in spite of his assertion of knowledge of Alvarr's presence, inhaled swiftly through his nostrils and sat back, recognition in his eyes. His spine straightened and his chin lifted, but the dirt and blood on his face and in his disheveled hair – as well as the fact that that he was on the ground on his royal ass with his hands bound behind his back - ruined the effect.

Not for Alvarr, who grinned and enjoyed. "By all means, keep calling for your boy to wake and serve you," he drawled. And shifted only slightly to be able to hook the toe of his boot under the bent knee of the servant boy – on his back with his hands bound behind him also – and flip him to a new position of awkwardness. Not that he felt it.

"You leave him alone," the prince growled. "Your quarrel is with me."

"Too right," Alvarr agreed. "You lost me that crystal and the boy powerful enough to use it." Dead or dying or fled, he didn't know; Mordred hadn't responded to any of his calls, and they'd found no trace of him in the woods, either. "You're responsible for the death of the woman I loved."

"Then loose my hands and return my sword and we'll settle this like men," the prince demanded. "Unless you're too much of a coward, and plan to kill me while I'm tied. In which case, get on with it; you're boring me."

"I'm not going to kill you," Alvarr said. "At least not yet." He gave the prince an evil, significant grin, and enjoyed the way the boy's eyes fell to the figure in his hands as he tied the third of the four quarter-sections.

"Ransom, then?" the prince asked. Trying for arrogant indifference, but he watched Alvarr finish the poppet.

"Do you even know how much of a hypocrite you are?" Alvarr asked curiously. He leaned forward to touch the servant's black hair, rub it til he had only about half a dozen strands between his fingers, then pinched and yanked. The boy's head jerked with the action, but he remained placidly asleep.

"I said leave him alone," the prince growled. The glance he gave his fellow-captive contained a flicker of hope – which turned to trepidation when the plucking of hairs failed to rouse him. "What are you doing? What've you done to him?"

"He won't wake til I allow it." The strands were short, but sufficient; Alvarr held the ends in place with his thumb and wrapped the length around the straw figure's throat. Paused to wonder aloud, "Does he know how much of a hypocrite you are?"

"What are you talking about?" the prince spat in frustration, shifting as he pulled at the cords binding his hands.

"I guessed that you didn't know," Alvarr said. "That he wouldn't have told you. But then, why remain in your service?" He spoke the spell to light the poppet's head on fire, and the prince flinched.

The straw blackened as the hairs lit and shriveled; the unconscious sorcerer on the ground frowned and inhaled and moved sluggishly. For a moment. Then subsided as Alvarr blew out the flame.

The smoke that rose from the poppet twisted with his breath as he spoke. "Let's ask him, shall we? I need to know what I'm up against if I'm to make a proper counter-offer."

"Are you mad?" the prince said incredulously. "All this because you wanted my servant? And he's a useless one, why would you –"

Alvarr smiled and released the sleeping spell. The prince cut himself off as his companion half-rolled, groaning.

"Ar-thr…"

"Right here, Merlin." The prince's voice was steady, but the way he cut his glance at Alvarr said, he was fully aware the other's waking was the renegade's doing, according to plan.

Alvarr grinned, and blew a pattern in the trail of smoke from the poppet's head. "Good morning," he said to the boy, who'd gotten a shoulder under him to raise his head from the ground. "Or afternoon, rather."

Merlin made sure of the prince with a quick look, before struggling around to where he could sit up. Interestingly enough, the prince swung his upper body away, in trying to reach to help him with the hands tied together behind his back.

"I do apologize for this," Alvarr told him, twirling the poppet slightly. The boy's eyes fixed to it longingly, but with a puzzlement Alvarr didn't immediately understand. "Oh, you've not seen one of these used before? It binds one's magic – temporarily, of course, I needed to be sure you would hear me out."

"What?" Arthur exclaimed, as Alvarr watched fear shoot through the younger sorcerer's eyes.

"He didn't know," Alvarr said sympathetically. "I understand. You lied and hid because you didn't have a choice – but now you do."

"I don't have magic," Merlin said immediately. "You thought I had magic? You're wrong, though, I –" he dry-swallowed revealingly, but didn't look at the prince, who still looked confused – "don't."

Alvarr hummed and twirled the poppet again. "Not at the moment, no."

"Merlin?" the prince said, scowling in irritated bewilderment.

Merlin shied away from the Pendragon's glare, ducking his head and lifting his shoulders slightly. "I… don't."

"You didn't know he had magic," Alvarr said gleefully to the prince, "but he does. And now that the prince knows – Merlin, isn't it? – only death awaits you in Camelot, so you see it's a very easy choice, after all."

"To join you, you mean?" the prince turned his anger on Alvarr. "You're a sorcerer, and sorcerers lie."

The boy flinched, and Alvarr laughed. "Only too true," he said. "Would you believe him if he told you himself? Go on, Merlin, tell him. The truth at last, won't it feel good?"

The black-haired boy bit his lips shut and shook his head. Slowly, mutinously. He was stubborn. Alvarr liked that – and able to avoid detection, living in Camelot under the king's nose, which meant also, clever and deceptive. He liked that even more.

"If I shove a pin through this narrow straw chest," he said, "guess what'll happen?"

"I'll die," Merlin said dryly to his knees, and the prince's blue eyes widened in horror.

"Hells, no." Alvarr was offended. "No, I don't want to kill you. I'm recruiting you, boy. Just – snipping the ties that bind you to your former life. Encouraging you – maybe a little forcefully – to tell the truth, and don't look back. Where is that needle, now?"

He knew he didn't have one. Enmyria had carried one. There might be one among the patrols' belongings, though; Alvarr's three men were more the type to kill a man for his jacket than sew a tear in their own.

"Why do you even want him?" the prince said boldly. "He's perfectly useless, you know. And a coward, to boot."

"Do you remember I told you, you couldn't wield the crystal, none of you had the power?" Alvarr said conversationally.

The prince looked puzzled; Merlin abruptly lost all color.

"I was wrong. You tossed it at him, like an old bone to a pup with milk-teeth, and rolled yourself in your cozy blanket by your warm fire." Alvarr still couldn't believe it, and shook his head. "You didn't see him. But I had my eye on that crystal –" it'll still be mine, one day – "and I saw him."

The prince turned his head to stare at his companion, who swallowed and closed his eyes, and held very still.

"He used it. Or rather, it used him; it does require a bit of training, I understand. But it proved his potential." Alvarr grinned down at them, but neither reacted to him, and he added, "What did you see, by the way? I'm curious."

Merlin shook his head so vigorously his hair flopped like a child's.

"What did you see?" the prince repeated, then started as if he'd spoken without intending to.

"Just the – fire, reflected and – broken, by the – faces of the crystal," Merlin said jerkily. "It was – eerie, so I – dropped it."

The prince pulled back, his lip lifting toward an uncertain sneer.

Alvarr said gleefully, "He can hear the lie, now, Merlin. Might as well tell him the truth about your magic. You can tell me what you actually saw, later."

Merlin gave him a black glare from under his brows, one which would have been golden-deadly if not for the smoking poppet in Alvarr's hand. Loyalty. Good to see, just as good as stubbornness and cleverness and deceitfulness. But, misguided.

Alvarr snapped the fingers of his other hand, and called the fire back in a floating tongue of flame over his palm. He stepped – carefully, the prince was a warrior and trained strategist and not seriously injured – to Pendragon's side. The prince leaned back, lips pressed together and breathing quickened through widened nostrils; Merlin squirmed desperately and ineffectively.

"Tell your prince you have magic," Alvarr warned indulgently.

Merlin struggled. The prince's blue eyes almost crossed, staring at the flame that began to redden his skin.

"I have magic!" Merlin shouted.

Alvarr halted forward movement – then retreated in satisfaction so that the prince's attention could leave the threatening tongue of fire to snap around to his servant's face. A single tear coursed a clean path through grime on Merlin's thin cheek as he held the prince's gaze. Too loyal, maybe.

"I use it for you, Arthur," he whispered. "Only for you, I swear."

"Pendragons punish magic with death," Alvarr reminded him. "You're much better off using it for me – or for yourself, rather."

The prince narrowed his eyes, searching Merlin's another long moment. And when Merlin blinked, releasing another tear, the prince lifted his chin to address Alvarr with royal insolence. "I don't believe it," he announced. "I haven't seen any evidence that Merlin has magic, the idea is ridiculous. He'd say anything to protect me."

Merlin's body slouched as he exhaled relief, and Alvarr frowned. This wasn't going the way he wanted it to, at all.

"Fine," he huffed, dusting the flame from his fingertips to pick at the poppet. Finding one hardened, withered strand of hair, he teased it loose and dropped it to the breeze, weakening the enchantment. "Now you should be able to manage enough for a demonstration."

Merlin darted a quick look at Arthur's challenging stare, then shook his head. "No, I won't. I – can't. I don't have…"

"I'll get that pin," Alvarr threatened, losing patience.

Merlin didn't even hesitate, shaking his head again, with more determination.

This time Alvarr drew the dagger from his belt, stabbing it quickly and carelessly toward the meat of the prince's shoulder. Not a killing blow, but the Pendragon hissed and twisted away. Alvarr followed; he'd pin him to the ground if he –

"No!" Merlin gasped. His eyes sparked gold – and the dagger twitched from Alvarr's hand, dropping with a rustle to the leaf-strewn ground.

"Very good," he approved, retrieving the blade. The boy hadn't even needed a spell. "Now do you see him for what he is, Pendragon?"

Merlin's head hung down between knees that sagged to either side, panting with the effort of pushing even a bit of magic past the poppet's loosened binding. The prince watched him a moment - then looked up at Alvarr with a blank sort of defiance.

"I still don't believe it," he declared. "For all I know, your little doll could be making it look like he's got magic when he doesn't."

"That's stupid," Alvarr hissed. "Why on earth would I be interested in him if he doesn't have magic?"

"How should I know?" Arthur shrugged. "Merlin's insolent and clumsy and foolish – though anything but boring… But sorcerers are stupid."

Merlin darted the prince a glare that he didn't even notice, and Alvarr was incensed.

"Stupid prince," he hissed. "Willfully blind." Furiously he picked at the melted strands around the figure's neck – but they wouldn't slacken further.

"Having trouble with your dolly?" The prince's voice dripped with mockery. "I've heard it said that magic rots reason, and now I suppose I'm seeing the –"

Alvarr cut him off, clenching his hand around the air in Pendragon's throat – anything to shut him up – and cursed, flinging the poppet to the ground. Where it was safe to obliterate it – and the spell – in an explosion of sparks.

"Now show him what you're capable of, Merlin!" he shouted.

…..*…... …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin was beyond angry.

A good bit of fear fueled that emotion, he recognized – Arthur disarmed and bound; Merlin also, it seemed from his reaction to the straw figure in Alvarr's hand – but anger was easier and better than fear. So much he had learned from Arthur – which was another sort of fear. But that could be dealt with later, when his friend was safe.

Anger at Alvarr was obvious. But he could not figure what Arthur was playing at, deliberately oblivious and taunting the rogue who held them at his mercy.

Merlin spared a thought to wonder if the patrol had been shown mercy, sometime in the darkness in his memory – between that broken twig-crack lifting Arthur's arm in a signal to halt, and waking here and now.

But when Alvarr threw the poppet down and obliterated the bonds on Merlin's magic, he didn't need to think twice. Life rushed released through his veins, and he didn't need his hands, or even words.

Instinct spiraled out from him in a trio of individual strands. One to send flying the three others of Alvarr's band – the only ones left after Arthur's raid, Merlin thought and hoped. One to crush the sorcerer himself back against the trunk of the box-elder tree. Hard enough to crack the back of his skull, Merlin was afraid and he'd never be the same if he even lived – did Merlin care if he lived… well maybe a little…

The third, of course, to Arthur, unraveling his bonds to the weakest threads in a heartbeat.

Arthur reacted even faster than that, as if expecting – no, rather because he was trained to anticipate opportunity. One freed palm down on the ground to brace him rolling to get his feet under him, to sprint to safety but –

His other hand grasped Merlin's elbow.

The prince's momentum actually dragged him about half a pace before Arthur realized Merlin's dumbfounded inertia. His gaze dropped from automatically scouting a path for escape, to scowl at Merlin.

"Yours, too, idiot, come on!"

Strong fingers squeezed Merlin's bones at the elbow joint, and it was as much in reaction to the flash of sudden and clarifying pain that Merlin obeyed, as to anything more intentional. His bonds combusted, leaving a smudge of black at wrists and shirt-cuffs. Arthur hauled him to his feet and only turned loose his hold when Merlin's stumblings gained purpose and direction.

And they sprinted together.

Merlin had no idea where they were, which direction they were going – towards Camelot or away – but he followed Arthur implicitly as though nothing had changed.

Even though everything had. Merlin wondered if he should stop running, if they were in fact headed toward Camelot. He wondered if Arthur would keep running if he stopped – running from him. A sorcerer. I have magic.

But it was Arthur who stopped first – slowed, and walked a few paces, looking back, before bending over his knees to heave for air.

Merlin had passed him by a couple paces, but returned, not sure what to say. He remembered there had been blood on Arthur's face and in his hair.

"Are you all right?" he asked from sheer force of habit, reaching to touch the rusty-matted hair at the prince's temple, try to move it to see how bad the injury might be.

Arthur caught his hand and thrust it away – and how he did it, spoke volumes. Wordless, impatient – I'm fine, it's nothing – a gesture Arthur had made a hundred times throughout their association, rejecting Merlin's concern as unnecessary.

No fear or distaste – don't touch me, sorcerer – but rather, exactly his customary, don't coddle me you big girl.

As if nothing had changed.

"And you?" Arthur said, straightening and beginning to stride away – evidently sufficiently rested, and reassured that no one was following. "You went to sleep and fell off your horse. Head first, so you should be fine…" He glanced, one sardonic eyebrow slightly raised.

Merlin's feet were following of their own accord, though he still wasn't convinced he should. And he was still half out of breath. "I'm a bit sore," he allowed. "Nothing broken. The others, the knights?"

Arthur's mouth tightened grimly as he searched the forest behind them, and shook his head. "That bastard Alvarr and his men. Killed them all, even the ones they ensorcelled so they couldn't fight back."

He couldn't help the wince, but didn't think Arthur noticed, and the prince didn't act like he meant anything more by it. Two more steps, tramping determinedly through the underbrush.

Then Arthur added, referring to their renegade attackers, "Are they dead, do you think?"

Merlin shrugged, immediately babbling. "How should I know, didn't exactly wait to see – you were yanking my arm out of its socket so –"

Arthur stopped, and caught Merlin's gaze with his own before he could help it, and send his eyes skittering somewhere else. Anywhere else.

"When you did," the prince said deliberately, "what you did. Did you kill them?"

For a moment he considered lying, again. Seeking refuge in Arthur's refusal to believe the truth, turning his tactic back on him and claiming the excuse he'd made to fluster their enemy was truth…

But Merlin shrugged again, miserably. "I don't know," he whispered. "I only thought… you had to escape, so…" It occurred to him, that he'd found out Arthur's game – the prince had believed, and had pretended willful ignorance to maneuver Alvarr into giving Merlin the opportunity Arthur needed.

"That," Arthur continued, draping his wrist over Merlin's shoulder to anchor them together, close but far. "Was a helluva lot of power. Did you mean it when you said, you use it for me? For us, for Camelot?"

Merlin nodded, and couldn't force any more strength into his voice. Or draw any of the misery out of it. "Yes."

"You've lied to me before," Arthur pointed out, turning his head a few degrees to convey inclination to disbelief. "Lots of times, now that I think on it."

"Yes, but… that was the truth."

The prince let his arm drop, studying Merlin hair to heels with an expressionless sort of deliberation. Then nodded to himself and turned to tramp onwards – looking back when Merlin lingered. "Aren't you coming home with me?"

"I'm – not sure I should?" Merlin couldn't keep a sudden unexpected hope from lifting his response into a question.

"Why not?"

"Ah… what are you going to do with me?"

"Put you straight to work heating bathwater and getting bloodstains out of my laundry," Arthur said promptly. Merlin couldn't work out whether that was a threat or a joke; Arthur rolled his eyes and explained, "Nothing. I'm not going to report you – not if you're on our side, you're not a threat. You'll have to go on keeping your secret if you want to stay – only, not from me."

"That's… you'd – lie to your father?" Merlin said incredulously. Which was stupid – did he want Arthur to change his mind? No – but right away, if he was going to at all.

"It's not a lie," Arthur stated, the blue of his gaze intent. "It's simply, omitting to tell a truth."

So the prince understood that part of Merlin's secret; the relief was immense and nearly overwhelming. "You'd do that," Merlin said, "to protect me?"

Arthur returned the few steps to his side, slinging his elbow around Merlin's neck and forcing his spine to bend awkwardly, as he began to drag him along at a slow saunter. "You remember Lancelot," he said conversationally.

Merlin's heart fluttered – Lancelot had known – but couldn't find his throat, the bent position he was in. He grunted affirmation.

"I'd have kept the secret that he didn't actually inherit a title," Arthur said. "Because otherwise, he was a good fighter and a noble heart. A small fabrication about his… identity, and background. Shouldn't change my trust in him as a defender of the kingdom. Should it?"

Merlin straightened away from Arthur's arm, slapping away his halfhearted attempts to reassert control. "Did you just – compliment me?"

"Course not. I was talking of Lancelot."

"But comparing me to him. Favorably."

"Well, he did do an excellent job in the stables that first day…" Arthur grinned and cuffed the back of Merlin's head lightly.

"Hey! What was that for?"

"You are such an idiot, Merlin. Magic in Camelot."

Merlin bore the mocking roll of his prince's eyes and the sarcastic tone gladly. Because everything was different… and he followed the prince home.

"We have a lot to talk about, Merlin. Good thing it's also a very long walk."