February Challenge: Attempts at Peace
Author: itscaptain
Fandoms: BBC Merlin
H/C: captivity, kidnapping, dystopia, whipping(wild card)
Title: Attempts at Peace
Medium: fic
Rating: Mature
Warnings: detached/not-graphic torture
Summary: Uther and Merlin end up in the same cell of an enemy's dungeon.
The nerve! King Balock had insisted on hosting Camelot for peace talks. That snake! They had been there for two days before Balock had attacked. Arthur and most of the Knights they had brought had joined a hunting expedition that morning and the coward had waited until after noon before setting his own guards on the remaining party. His knights had fought valiantly, but they were simply too outnumbered.
Now, Sir Martin was in the corner, but his gaze had been unfocused, and Uther had seen enough head injuries to know he wouldn't wake up. The only other person in his cell was Arthur's obnoxious manservant. The boy had been brought down with the other servants of Camelot, but had been separated into Uther's cell instead of with the rest. Probably had something to do with Arthur's obvious favoritism for the boy. Not that Uther understood; he was a nuisance at best. It was nice to see Arthur interested in learning how to lead and wanting more responsibility though, and he wasn't naive enough to think the boy wasn't involved in that change.
Now that he was thinking about it, it was strange that Merlin wasn't on the hunt with Arthur. He usually was as good as his shadow. Not that a servant should be going on a formal hunt, but that never seemed to stop Merlin before. The boy's loyalty was the only reason Uther hadn't removed him from his position. It was dangerous for Arthur to allow anyone close to him, but if it had to be anyone, at least it was a loyal idiot who wouldn't, or couldn't, try to manipulate Arthur in his own favor.
Uther's contemplation was cut off by footsteps in the corridor. He glanced around. Sir Martin didn’t move from his slump, but Merlin straightened up and turned towards the door. It didn't take long for the group to come into view. Balock was surrounded by four rough-looking guards. The vain worm was posturing from behind the guards as he enjoyed his momentary victory and perceived superiority.
One of the guards stepped forward and with keys and unlocked the door. Two other guards came into the cell before the first guard closed and locked the door behind them again. As the two thugs approached Uther, Merlin started talking.
"Why are you doing this?"
How was someone this stupid still alive? Uther took out his frustration by sneering at the guards as they began to manhandle him.
"A servant like you could never understand the workings of royalty."
Did he actually just stick his nose in the air?
“Well, it sounds to me like you just don’t have a plan.”
The wound on his shoulder reopened while the guards chained his hands above his head. At least he could take comfort in knowing the boy was insolent to everyone.
“I have a plan! I’ve sent word to Essetir that I have Uther in my dungeon and would like to negotiate. King Cenred will reward me handsomely.”
What kind of king reacted defensively to a servant who was already in his dungeons? Ugh. And why did that guard have to punch so hard?
“Cenred isn’t going to do that. He’s too greedy to give power to another country, but even if he would, your plan wouldn’t work since we’ll all be back in Camelot by the time he gets here.”
It was becoming harder to focus on the conversation; his shoulder was likely to dislocate soon if this kept up. He grit his teeth.
“How do you think that is going to happen? Your precious prince and his men will be dead by breakfast tomorrow.”
Those words caused more pain than the next blow to his head. How he prayed Arthur would be okay!
“You underestimate Arthur Pendragon! He could beat ten of your men while blindfolded and unarmed, and he trains his knights just as well! You may as well already be dead!”
As much as the boy’s shouting hurt his head, it was good to be reminded of Arthur’s strength. Just because he was his son didn’t mean he was still the five year old who fought shrubbery with a wooden sword and lost. He tried to breathe, but several of his ribs were definitely bruised, if not broken. He lost Balock’s response to the fog in his head.
“Fine. Say everything goes according to your plan. Don’t you think Cenred will want King Uther to still be alive and conscious when he gets here? He’s not going to be happy if you take away that victory.”
Huh, that might have been the first time he had heard Merlin use his title and name together. There was some grunting and shuffling, then he heard the cell door open again. By the time he got his head up, Balock and his posse were walking back down the hall. He could still hear Merlin moving around, but couldn’t muster the energy to figure out what he was doing.
Then someone was touching him. Hanging as he was, he couldn’t do anything to hide his full-body flinch. There was a soft “sorry, sire,” and the hands were back. But they were not causing harm, so he gave his brain a moment to catch up. Slowly, he realized the hands and touch belonged to Merlin, and the boy seemed to be doing his best to tend to his wounds.
Though not without pain, he was gentle and efficient. He drifted in and out, but someone must have brought water at some point because there was a cup pressed to his lips, and he drank gratefully. The next thing he knew, Merlin was kneeling at his feet and tapping his ankle.
“Your majesty? Sire, if you step on my legs it will take pressure off your arms.”
As loath as he was to appear so weak and undignified, the pain in his arms was greater. Since there was no one else to see anyways, Uther adjusted so that his feet were balanced on the servant’s knees. Between the wall supporting his back and Merlin’s grip supporting his feet, he was able to stay steady enough for his mind to drift off again.
It wasn’t sleep, not really, but he still felt refreshed when he roused himself. He had no sense of how much time had passed, but it must have been a couple hours. As far as he could tell, all his open wounds had ceased bleeding. There were also footsteps in the corridor again, so he shuffled his feet off Merlin’s legs as quickly as he could, which unfortunately wasn’t as fast as he would have liked because of the stiffness in his joints. He was standing on his own by the time the guards made it to the cell, but Merlin was still on the floor trying to rub feeling back into his own legs.
Uther steeled himself when the guards entered, but was shocked when they released him from the shackles. He stumbled, but managed not to fall. His arms screamed from the sudden movement, and his whole body felt like it was being stabbed by a multitude of miniature swords, but nothing that spoke of serious injury other than his ribs which he already knew about. That boy had saved him from a world of hurt. He probably had Gaius to thank for that; the boy was his ward, and had probably learned most of what he had done from Gaius. Well, that or his own adventures in the stocks.
The boy’s yelp startled him, and he turned to see the guards had pulled him to his feet. They snapped the earlier shackles onto his wrists, and he would have fallen with how hard he flinched if the guards hadn’t been holding him so tightly. Uther knew the shackles hadn’t been spiked even if he hadn’t seen that reaction before. Add to that the way he had to be practically dragged by the guards left him with one conclusion.
How could he have been so blind! He had given that boy almost unlimited access to his son! Uther had slept next to him just last night! He had never been so glad to be alone in a cell.
He watched with intent as the guards pulled and shoved him into the cell opposite Uther’s. It didn’t appear that the sorcerer had been allied with Balock, at least. The guards had taken his shirt and finished stringing him up when one pulled out a whip. With his first strangled yell, Uther realized he wouldn’t have to fight Arthur about killing the traitor if he died in this dungeon. That thought was not without shame; he shouldn’t shy away from telling Arthur the danger he had been in. He must learn the wiles of magic, and learn what must be done. But he was getting older, and more and more he just wanted to have peace, even if only between himself and his son.
Arthur would mourn, of course. Uther was under no illusions that his son had not become attached to his manservant, but that was all the more reason to hope the sorcerer died here. Arthur would be able to grieve without hiding it or compromising national security. Uther’s own disapproval would be blamed on the boy’s social status. He would just need to make sure Arthur didn’t try to honor him with the knights who had died.
On the topic of dead knights, Uther realized he hadn’t checked on Sir Martin recently. When he turned to look, however, Sir Martin was already laid out and wrapped in his cloak. The boy must have done it around the same time as caring for Uther’s wounds, but something about it struck him as being wrong. If someone asked, he would say it was because of a sorcerer paying respects to a dead knight of Camelot, but that wasn’t quite it.
His puzzling was put on hold, though, when he heard the guards start to speak in the other cell.
“That probably wasn’t very fun, was it? We have some other things to try now that we’re done with the whip, but you probably don’t want that. I’m going to make you a deal. Tell us what you know about Arthur Pendragon and we won’t hurt you. Nothing will happen to you as long as you keep giving us information, okay?”
The boy was still panting from the whipping, but he managed to get out, “Okay. When do we start?”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
This was bad. Many people’s loyalties caved in the face of pain. Knights at least had some experience to endure longer, but servants didn’t have that experience to keep them from crumbling. Even if the boy wasn’t a sorcerer, he was still manservant to the crown prince of Camelot and privy to information he might not even realize was valuable.
“Great. So, first off, he’s a prat. I had barely been in Camelot a day before he was swinging a mace at my head.”
“Actual information, idiot!” the guard pressed the tip of a dagger to his chest.
“That is actual information! Anyways, he’s blond and his feet stink.”
“If you don’t start giving us things we can use, the tortures going to continue.”
“One last thing,” he raised his head just enough to glare at the guard, “he’s going to kill you.”
The guard growled, dragging the dagger down his ribs, just left of the center of his chest. The cut was shallow, obviously meant to hurt and not kill. They probably still hoped to get something out of him before they killed him. Then he stormed over to the other guard who had done the whipping.
They were visibly frustrated, but Uther was confused. Should it have been any other servant of Camelot, he would be almost proud of them for that performance. But this was a sorcerer. He shouldn’t care what happens to Arthur or Camelot. While the guards conversed in hushed tones, he tried to reason through the possibilities.
At first glance, the most plausible explanation would be that the boy didn’t know he had magic. For someone that young to have a noticeable reaction to iron, he likely had a predisposition for it. Arthur had mentioned once that he never knew his father, so there was an easy solution to why one born to someone with strong magic didn’t know about it. However, that option failed when he realized the boy lived with Gaius. Even if he hadn’t taught his ward anything, he still would have informed him of it and probably made him leave Camelot.
Had he wanted to kill either Arthur or himself, they would already be dead. There had also been several times when he had put his own life in jeopardy to save Arthur’s, so that one was out almost before it came up. Saving Arthur’s life would make sense if he was trying to gain his trust, but if he was playing the long game in an attempt to get a position of power in Arthur’s court he was doing it wrong. Not only was he too much of a fool, but he had become well known as Arthur’s servant and was proud of it. Had he wanted to be a courtier, he should have leaned more heavily into the role of ward to the court physician.
The next few solutions were no more probable. The only one that might make sense was that he hadn’t had magic long enough or in large enough quantities to be corrupted yet. When Uther had been a prince himself, there was a baker with hardly any magic, but he had enough to let him know when the bread was done. He had died before Uther was king, but he remembered him fondly. He knew there were probably others like him who had escaped his purge, people who had magic but were still good, but they wouldn’t come to Camelot. The only sorcerers who dared to enter his city now were those fueled by hate who had nothing to lose.
The guards seemed to come to a decision, and walked back to Merlin. One grabbed his hair to lift his head from his chest and make him face the other guard.
“Tell us about Arthur Pendragon.”
“No.” The second guard punched him in the face.
“Tell us about Arthur Pendragon.”
“No.” He punched him in the gut.
“Tell us about Arthur Pendragon.”
“No.” He punched on top of the dagger cut.
“Why won’t you tell us about Arthur Pendragon?”
The guard holding his hair pulled his head all the way back.
“He’s my friend.”
Before the guards could continue, a bell began to peal. For a couple heartbeats, everything was still. Then the guards jumped into action. They quickly got Merlin unshackled and practically threw him and his shirt back into the cell with Uther.
He stared at the boy bleeding on the ground. What was he supposed to do? Had things been different, the boy would already be dead by Uther’s hand. But now, even if he had wanted to, he had no convenient way of accomplishing that. Actually, was he able to do anything? Emotions aside, he took a deep breath and assessed the situation.
Merlin’s wrists were clearly burned. His back was pretty torn up, but thankfully he had landed on his stomach so the wounds were still mostly clean. Other than the cut on his chest, most of the obvious injuries on his front were bruises, but there could be more that he couldn’t see. Moving on, there wasn’t any water left from earlier. There was something that was probably supposed to be bread, but he wasn’t going to try and find out.
Picking up the boy’s shirt from the ground, he turned away from him and did his best to beat some of the dirt out of it. He wouldn’t be able to put it on now, but once most of the bleeding stopped it would help protect his wounds in the absence of bandages. Not that it would matter much if he went through that again, but he was hopeful the way the guards ran out meant that Arthur was attacking and they wouldn’t be here much longer.
For some time after that, time seemed to warp out of alignment. His head was no longer clouded, but he had no sense of how much time was passing. Merlin managed to push himself up on his arms, and after a minute Uther helped him with his shirt. They ended up sitting together in silence after moving Merlin to rest against the wall. As strange as it was, nothing about it felt strange. It was as if they had taken a step outside reality. For this moment, they weren’t king and servant, or even sorcerer and executioner. They were merely two people.
After a couple minutes or hours, the thought crossed his mind that he might be enchanted, and for the first time in decades the thought made him smile. When he had first fallen in love with Ygraine, he had gone to Gaius in a panic that he had been enchanted. At the time, Gaius had told him not to worry. He said the fact that Uther was wondering if he was enchanted was almost proof that he wasn’t. “On the slight chance that you are,” he assured him, “you can take comfort in the fact that it wasn’t a very good enchantment and is already breaking.” Those memories kept a smile on his face until there was once again sound coming from the corridor.
He and Merlin moved slightly apart, and he thought Merlin might be trying to situate himself to better defend them from the door. He needn’t have worried, however. The sounds quickly resolved themselves into the noises of fighting, and when a figure came into view, it was cloaked in Camelot red. There were two knights with torches, and they were checking every cell. Upon finding them, they unlocked the cell with pilfered keys and assisted them out. Uther made sure one of them grabbed Sir Martin’s body before heading toward the third knight keeping watch at the end of the hall.
Fandoms: BBC Merlin
H/C: captivity, kidnapping, dystopia, whipping(wild card)
Title: Attempts at Peace
Medium: fic
Rating: Mature
Warnings: detached/not-graphic torture
Summary: Uther and Merlin end up in the same cell of an enemy's dungeon.
The nerve! King Balock had insisted on hosting Camelot for peace talks. That snake! They had been there for two days before Balock had attacked. Arthur and most of the Knights they had brought had joined a hunting expedition that morning and the coward had waited until after noon before setting his own guards on the remaining party. His knights had fought valiantly, but they were simply too outnumbered.
Now, Sir Martin was in the corner, but his gaze had been unfocused, and Uther had seen enough head injuries to know he wouldn't wake up. The only other person in his cell was Arthur's obnoxious manservant. The boy had been brought down with the other servants of Camelot, but had been separated into Uther's cell instead of with the rest. Probably had something to do with Arthur's obvious favoritism for the boy. Not that Uther understood; he was a nuisance at best. It was nice to see Arthur interested in learning how to lead and wanting more responsibility though, and he wasn't naive enough to think the boy wasn't involved in that change.
Now that he was thinking about it, it was strange that Merlin wasn't on the hunt with Arthur. He usually was as good as his shadow. Not that a servant should be going on a formal hunt, but that never seemed to stop Merlin before. The boy's loyalty was the only reason Uther hadn't removed him from his position. It was dangerous for Arthur to allow anyone close to him, but if it had to be anyone, at least it was a loyal idiot who wouldn't, or couldn't, try to manipulate Arthur in his own favor.
Uther's contemplation was cut off by footsteps in the corridor. He glanced around. Sir Martin didn’t move from his slump, but Merlin straightened up and turned towards the door. It didn't take long for the group to come into view. Balock was surrounded by four rough-looking guards. The vain worm was posturing from behind the guards as he enjoyed his momentary victory and perceived superiority.
One of the guards stepped forward and with keys and unlocked the door. Two other guards came into the cell before the first guard closed and locked the door behind them again. As the two thugs approached Uther, Merlin started talking.
"Why are you doing this?"
How was someone this stupid still alive? Uther took out his frustration by sneering at the guards as they began to manhandle him.
"A servant like you could never understand the workings of royalty."
Did he actually just stick his nose in the air?
“Well, it sounds to me like you just don’t have a plan.”
The wound on his shoulder reopened while the guards chained his hands above his head. At least he could take comfort in knowing the boy was insolent to everyone.
“I have a plan! I’ve sent word to Essetir that I have Uther in my dungeon and would like to negotiate. King Cenred will reward me handsomely.”
What kind of king reacted defensively to a servant who was already in his dungeons? Ugh. And why did that guard have to punch so hard?
“Cenred isn’t going to do that. He’s too greedy to give power to another country, but even if he would, your plan wouldn’t work since we’ll all be back in Camelot by the time he gets here.”
It was becoming harder to focus on the conversation; his shoulder was likely to dislocate soon if this kept up. He grit his teeth.
“How do you think that is going to happen? Your precious prince and his men will be dead by breakfast tomorrow.”
Those words caused more pain than the next blow to his head. How he prayed Arthur would be okay!
“You underestimate Arthur Pendragon! He could beat ten of your men while blindfolded and unarmed, and he trains his knights just as well! You may as well already be dead!”
As much as the boy’s shouting hurt his head, it was good to be reminded of Arthur’s strength. Just because he was his son didn’t mean he was still the five year old who fought shrubbery with a wooden sword and lost. He tried to breathe, but several of his ribs were definitely bruised, if not broken. He lost Balock’s response to the fog in his head.
“Fine. Say everything goes according to your plan. Don’t you think Cenred will want King Uther to still be alive and conscious when he gets here? He’s not going to be happy if you take away that victory.”
Huh, that might have been the first time he had heard Merlin use his title and name together. There was some grunting and shuffling, then he heard the cell door open again. By the time he got his head up, Balock and his posse were walking back down the hall. He could still hear Merlin moving around, but couldn’t muster the energy to figure out what he was doing.
Then someone was touching him. Hanging as he was, he couldn’t do anything to hide his full-body flinch. There was a soft “sorry, sire,” and the hands were back. But they were not causing harm, so he gave his brain a moment to catch up. Slowly, he realized the hands and touch belonged to Merlin, and the boy seemed to be doing his best to tend to his wounds.
Though not without pain, he was gentle and efficient. He drifted in and out, but someone must have brought water at some point because there was a cup pressed to his lips, and he drank gratefully. The next thing he knew, Merlin was kneeling at his feet and tapping his ankle.
“Your majesty? Sire, if you step on my legs it will take pressure off your arms.”
As loath as he was to appear so weak and undignified, the pain in his arms was greater. Since there was no one else to see anyways, Uther adjusted so that his feet were balanced on the servant’s knees. Between the wall supporting his back and Merlin’s grip supporting his feet, he was able to stay steady enough for his mind to drift off again.
It wasn’t sleep, not really, but he still felt refreshed when he roused himself. He had no sense of how much time had passed, but it must have been a couple hours. As far as he could tell, all his open wounds had ceased bleeding. There were also footsteps in the corridor again, so he shuffled his feet off Merlin’s legs as quickly as he could, which unfortunately wasn’t as fast as he would have liked because of the stiffness in his joints. He was standing on his own by the time the guards made it to the cell, but Merlin was still on the floor trying to rub feeling back into his own legs.
Uther steeled himself when the guards entered, but was shocked when they released him from the shackles. He stumbled, but managed not to fall. His arms screamed from the sudden movement, and his whole body felt like it was being stabbed by a multitude of miniature swords, but nothing that spoke of serious injury other than his ribs which he already knew about. That boy had saved him from a world of hurt. He probably had Gaius to thank for that; the boy was his ward, and had probably learned most of what he had done from Gaius. Well, that or his own adventures in the stocks.
The boy’s yelp startled him, and he turned to see the guards had pulled him to his feet. They snapped the earlier shackles onto his wrists, and he would have fallen with how hard he flinched if the guards hadn’t been holding him so tightly. Uther knew the shackles hadn’t been spiked even if he hadn’t seen that reaction before. Add to that the way he had to be practically dragged by the guards left him with one conclusion.
How could he have been so blind! He had given that boy almost unlimited access to his son! Uther had slept next to him just last night! He had never been so glad to be alone in a cell.
He watched with intent as the guards pulled and shoved him into the cell opposite Uther’s. It didn’t appear that the sorcerer had been allied with Balock, at least. The guards had taken his shirt and finished stringing him up when one pulled out a whip. With his first strangled yell, Uther realized he wouldn’t have to fight Arthur about killing the traitor if he died in this dungeon. That thought was not without shame; he shouldn’t shy away from telling Arthur the danger he had been in. He must learn the wiles of magic, and learn what must be done. But he was getting older, and more and more he just wanted to have peace, even if only between himself and his son.
Arthur would mourn, of course. Uther was under no illusions that his son had not become attached to his manservant, but that was all the more reason to hope the sorcerer died here. Arthur would be able to grieve without hiding it or compromising national security. Uther’s own disapproval would be blamed on the boy’s social status. He would just need to make sure Arthur didn’t try to honor him with the knights who had died.
On the topic of dead knights, Uther realized he hadn’t checked on Sir Martin recently. When he turned to look, however, Sir Martin was already laid out and wrapped in his cloak. The boy must have done it around the same time as caring for Uther’s wounds, but something about it struck him as being wrong. If someone asked, he would say it was because of a sorcerer paying respects to a dead knight of Camelot, but that wasn’t quite it.
His puzzling was put on hold, though, when he heard the guards start to speak in the other cell.
“That probably wasn’t very fun, was it? We have some other things to try now that we’re done with the whip, but you probably don’t want that. I’m going to make you a deal. Tell us what you know about Arthur Pendragon and we won’t hurt you. Nothing will happen to you as long as you keep giving us information, okay?”
The boy was still panting from the whipping, but he managed to get out, “Okay. When do we start?”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
This was bad. Many people’s loyalties caved in the face of pain. Knights at least had some experience to endure longer, but servants didn’t have that experience to keep them from crumbling. Even if the boy wasn’t a sorcerer, he was still manservant to the crown prince of Camelot and privy to information he might not even realize was valuable.
“Great. So, first off, he’s a prat. I had barely been in Camelot a day before he was swinging a mace at my head.”
“Actual information, idiot!” the guard pressed the tip of a dagger to his chest.
“That is actual information! Anyways, he’s blond and his feet stink.”
“If you don’t start giving us things we can use, the tortures going to continue.”
“One last thing,” he raised his head just enough to glare at the guard, “he’s going to kill you.”
The guard growled, dragging the dagger down his ribs, just left of the center of his chest. The cut was shallow, obviously meant to hurt and not kill. They probably still hoped to get something out of him before they killed him. Then he stormed over to the other guard who had done the whipping.
They were visibly frustrated, but Uther was confused. Should it have been any other servant of Camelot, he would be almost proud of them for that performance. But this was a sorcerer. He shouldn’t care what happens to Arthur or Camelot. While the guards conversed in hushed tones, he tried to reason through the possibilities.
At first glance, the most plausible explanation would be that the boy didn’t know he had magic. For someone that young to have a noticeable reaction to iron, he likely had a predisposition for it. Arthur had mentioned once that he never knew his father, so there was an easy solution to why one born to someone with strong magic didn’t know about it. However, that option failed when he realized the boy lived with Gaius. Even if he hadn’t taught his ward anything, he still would have informed him of it and probably made him leave Camelot.
Had he wanted to kill either Arthur or himself, they would already be dead. There had also been several times when he had put his own life in jeopardy to save Arthur’s, so that one was out almost before it came up. Saving Arthur’s life would make sense if he was trying to gain his trust, but if he was playing the long game in an attempt to get a position of power in Arthur’s court he was doing it wrong. Not only was he too much of a fool, but he had become well known as Arthur’s servant and was proud of it. Had he wanted to be a courtier, he should have leaned more heavily into the role of ward to the court physician.
The next few solutions were no more probable. The only one that might make sense was that he hadn’t had magic long enough or in large enough quantities to be corrupted yet. When Uther had been a prince himself, there was a baker with hardly any magic, but he had enough to let him know when the bread was done. He had died before Uther was king, but he remembered him fondly. He knew there were probably others like him who had escaped his purge, people who had magic but were still good, but they wouldn’t come to Camelot. The only sorcerers who dared to enter his city now were those fueled by hate who had nothing to lose.
The guards seemed to come to a decision, and walked back to Merlin. One grabbed his hair to lift his head from his chest and make him face the other guard.
“Tell us about Arthur Pendragon.”
“No.” The second guard punched him in the face.
“Tell us about Arthur Pendragon.”
“No.” He punched him in the gut.
“Tell us about Arthur Pendragon.”
“No.” He punched on top of the dagger cut.
“Why won’t you tell us about Arthur Pendragon?”
The guard holding his hair pulled his head all the way back.
“He’s my friend.”
Before the guards could continue, a bell began to peal. For a couple heartbeats, everything was still. Then the guards jumped into action. They quickly got Merlin unshackled and practically threw him and his shirt back into the cell with Uther.
He stared at the boy bleeding on the ground. What was he supposed to do? Had things been different, the boy would already be dead by Uther’s hand. But now, even if he had wanted to, he had no convenient way of accomplishing that. Actually, was he able to do anything? Emotions aside, he took a deep breath and assessed the situation.
Merlin’s wrists were clearly burned. His back was pretty torn up, but thankfully he had landed on his stomach so the wounds were still mostly clean. Other than the cut on his chest, most of the obvious injuries on his front were bruises, but there could be more that he couldn’t see. Moving on, there wasn’t any water left from earlier. There was something that was probably supposed to be bread, but he wasn’t going to try and find out.
Picking up the boy’s shirt from the ground, he turned away from him and did his best to beat some of the dirt out of it. He wouldn’t be able to put it on now, but once most of the bleeding stopped it would help protect his wounds in the absence of bandages. Not that it would matter much if he went through that again, but he was hopeful the way the guards ran out meant that Arthur was attacking and they wouldn’t be here much longer.
For some time after that, time seemed to warp out of alignment. His head was no longer clouded, but he had no sense of how much time was passing. Merlin managed to push himself up on his arms, and after a minute Uther helped him with his shirt. They ended up sitting together in silence after moving Merlin to rest against the wall. As strange as it was, nothing about it felt strange. It was as if they had taken a step outside reality. For this moment, they weren’t king and servant, or even sorcerer and executioner. They were merely two people.
After a couple minutes or hours, the thought crossed his mind that he might be enchanted, and for the first time in decades the thought made him smile. When he had first fallen in love with Ygraine, he had gone to Gaius in a panic that he had been enchanted. At the time, Gaius had told him not to worry. He said the fact that Uther was wondering if he was enchanted was almost proof that he wasn’t. “On the slight chance that you are,” he assured him, “you can take comfort in the fact that it wasn’t a very good enchantment and is already breaking.” Those memories kept a smile on his face until there was once again sound coming from the corridor.
He and Merlin moved slightly apart, and he thought Merlin might be trying to situate himself to better defend them from the door. He needn’t have worried, however. The sounds quickly resolved themselves into the noises of fighting, and when a figure came into view, it was cloaked in Camelot red. There were two knights with torches, and they were checking every cell. Upon finding them, they unlocked the cell with pilfered keys and assisted them out. Uther made sure one of them grabbed Sir Martin’s body before heading toward the third knight keeping watch at the end of the hall.