One Prison is much like another - part 13
Author: archaeologist_d
Title: One Prison is much like another - part 13
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: none
Character/s: Merlin
Summary: Going back for the dragons' eggs might not have been the best idea.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 865
Camelot Drabble Prompt #589: shower
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
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And, of course, when did a thing ever go to plan? For a brief instant, he thought about chucking the whole idea, instead going off to live by a lake and create butterflies to keep him company and forgetting all about that destiny rot. He certainly hadn’t planned on battling with some stupid bandits hell-bent on absconding with a sack full of gold.
Merlin should have let the bastards go, too. It wasn’t as if Arthur didn’t have a treasure chest under his bed, stuffed to the gills with gold and jewels. The prat probably would not miss whatever Sarc took with him, especially since Arthur didn’t check under his bed to make sure his riches were still intact. The dust underneath was pretty massive, and once, Merlin had even written Arthur a message in the grime and he never mentioned a word of it. The arse.
Anyway, it was partly Merlin’s fault, loathe as he was to admit it, that his plan was going to hell.
He’d been quiet at a mouse, sneaking into the treasure cave ahead of Sarc and his band, assuming he’d find the dragons’ eggs and hide them until the villains were gone. He’d been careful, too, thinking that he didn’t want to alert the Camelot guards for all the questions that would be asked and Arthur scowling at him when he got back.
But Sarc, the bloody git, decided not to wait for dark, but push his way in. Merlin had to give him credit though, because they didn’t make much noise, at least not enough to alert the guards.
And Merlin would have a thing or two to say to Arthur about guard training when/if he got back to Camelot.
So there Merlin was, one large glowy egg cradled in his hands, standing there as Sarc ran into the cave and stopped, staring at Merlin. His minions piled on after, nearly knocking Sarc off his feet.
But instead of berating them, Sarc scowled at Merlin. “Well, well, what have we here? I thought we’d got rid of you already but I guess that’s what we get for beating you half to death and not finishing the job.” He pulled out a knife, brandishing it at Merlin. “I’ll make sure this time.”
Merlin put down the egg, keeping it out of the way, just in case things got messy. Looking at the four of them, figuring the odds were in his favour, he said, “You’ll try, I suppose, but gods above, you are thick. You should run while you have the chance.”
His eyes narrowing at the insult, Sarc waved his hand toward Merlin. “You have some bollocks after all. Too bad. You are in my way.” With that, gesturing for his men to attack, he threw the knife, straight for Merlin.
He really didn’t have time for this.
Dodging the knife which clattered uselessly at his feet, Merlin sent a wave of power toward the bandits. Flying high and screaming as they hit the rough walls, the wooden shelves shuddered under the impact and some of the riches stored there clattered to the floor, a shower of gold pouring over the men. Merlin winced a little at the noise, hoping that the Camelot guards hadn’t heard.
Under that precious treasure, two of the bandits lay there unmoving, their bodies at odd angles, likely dead. The third man, a little smarter than the rest, took one look at the situation and ran as fast as he could, staggering out toward the exit.
Only Sarc remained.
Not the brightest, Sarc rushed toward Merlin, slipping a little on the plunder scattered underfoot. But he gathered up a heavy goblet, encrusted with rubies and bright metal, and threw it at Merlin.
It wouldn’t have mattered, but as Merlin knocked it aside, he should have been more careful. It was heading straight for the egg. Panicking, he forgot Sarc a moment, and using his magic, pulled the cup back toward him. But his aim was off.
Instead, the goblet hit another of the shelves and knocked a few pots to the ground. The sound of them echoed down into the darkness beyond.
Sarc ploughed into Merlin, shoving him to the ground, pummelling him with heavy fists. It felt like Merlin’s broken ribs were shattering under the impact, and he couldn’t even scream for the agony. Not able to breathe, not able to think or to do anything but hope the blackness gathering in his brain wasn’t the end, somewhere in the terror of losing everything, his magic took over.
In the next instant, Sarc was pinned up high, impaled on one of the rocks above Merlin’s head, a sharp stone jutting through his chest. Sarc looked as if he were surprised, pulling at the bone and blood coating his hands, and then as Merlin rolled, agonizingly slow, out of the way, Sarc fell to the ground.
His body missed Merlin by inches.
But by then, it didn’t matter. Merlin was beyond worrying about Sarc. With the fierce buzzing inside his head and the blazing agony in his chest, the blackness around him was pulling him deeper and deeper into night.
Merlin let go.
Title: One Prison is much like another - part 13
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: none
Character/s: Merlin
Summary: Going back for the dragons' eggs might not have been the best idea.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 865
Camelot Drabble Prompt #589: shower
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
--------------
And, of course, when did a thing ever go to plan? For a brief instant, he thought about chucking the whole idea, instead going off to live by a lake and create butterflies to keep him company and forgetting all about that destiny rot. He certainly hadn’t planned on battling with some stupid bandits hell-bent on absconding with a sack full of gold.
Merlin should have let the bastards go, too. It wasn’t as if Arthur didn’t have a treasure chest under his bed, stuffed to the gills with gold and jewels. The prat probably would not miss whatever Sarc took with him, especially since Arthur didn’t check under his bed to make sure his riches were still intact. The dust underneath was pretty massive, and once, Merlin had even written Arthur a message in the grime and he never mentioned a word of it. The arse.
Anyway, it was partly Merlin’s fault, loathe as he was to admit it, that his plan was going to hell.
He’d been quiet at a mouse, sneaking into the treasure cave ahead of Sarc and his band, assuming he’d find the dragons’ eggs and hide them until the villains were gone. He’d been careful, too, thinking that he didn’t want to alert the Camelot guards for all the questions that would be asked and Arthur scowling at him when he got back.
But Sarc, the bloody git, decided not to wait for dark, but push his way in. Merlin had to give him credit though, because they didn’t make much noise, at least not enough to alert the guards.
And Merlin would have a thing or two to say to Arthur about guard training when/if he got back to Camelot.
So there Merlin was, one large glowy egg cradled in his hands, standing there as Sarc ran into the cave and stopped, staring at Merlin. His minions piled on after, nearly knocking Sarc off his feet.
But instead of berating them, Sarc scowled at Merlin. “Well, well, what have we here? I thought we’d got rid of you already but I guess that’s what we get for beating you half to death and not finishing the job.” He pulled out a knife, brandishing it at Merlin. “I’ll make sure this time.”
Merlin put down the egg, keeping it out of the way, just in case things got messy. Looking at the four of them, figuring the odds were in his favour, he said, “You’ll try, I suppose, but gods above, you are thick. You should run while you have the chance.”
His eyes narrowing at the insult, Sarc waved his hand toward Merlin. “You have some bollocks after all. Too bad. You are in my way.” With that, gesturing for his men to attack, he threw the knife, straight for Merlin.
He really didn’t have time for this.
Dodging the knife which clattered uselessly at his feet, Merlin sent a wave of power toward the bandits. Flying high and screaming as they hit the rough walls, the wooden shelves shuddered under the impact and some of the riches stored there clattered to the floor, a shower of gold pouring over the men. Merlin winced a little at the noise, hoping that the Camelot guards hadn’t heard.
Under that precious treasure, two of the bandits lay there unmoving, their bodies at odd angles, likely dead. The third man, a little smarter than the rest, took one look at the situation and ran as fast as he could, staggering out toward the exit.
Only Sarc remained.
Not the brightest, Sarc rushed toward Merlin, slipping a little on the plunder scattered underfoot. But he gathered up a heavy goblet, encrusted with rubies and bright metal, and threw it at Merlin.
It wouldn’t have mattered, but as Merlin knocked it aside, he should have been more careful. It was heading straight for the egg. Panicking, he forgot Sarc a moment, and using his magic, pulled the cup back toward him. But his aim was off.
Instead, the goblet hit another of the shelves and knocked a few pots to the ground. The sound of them echoed down into the darkness beyond.
Sarc ploughed into Merlin, shoving him to the ground, pummelling him with heavy fists. It felt like Merlin’s broken ribs were shattering under the impact, and he couldn’t even scream for the agony. Not able to breathe, not able to think or to do anything but hope the blackness gathering in his brain wasn’t the end, somewhere in the terror of losing everything, his magic took over.
In the next instant, Sarc was pinned up high, impaled on one of the rocks above Merlin’s head, a sharp stone jutting through his chest. Sarc looked as if he were surprised, pulling at the bone and blood coating his hands, and then as Merlin rolled, agonizingly slow, out of the way, Sarc fell to the ground.
His body missed Merlin by inches.
But by then, it didn’t matter. Merlin was beyond worrying about Sarc. With the fierce buzzing inside his head and the blazing agony in his chest, the blackness around him was pulling him deeper and deeper into night.
Merlin let go.