TILL THE DAY I DIE
Yep...still procrastinating :)
SUMMARY: Merlin had once told Arthur that he would be happy to serve him until the day he died. He never imagined that it might someday come to that.
GENRE: Canon Era
RATING: PG (surprising, I know)
WARNINGS: Violence, torture
WORD COUNT: ~7300
A/N: A fic I started months ago and was finally able to finish
TILL THE DAY I DIE
“If I had known you were going to be this surly, Merlin,” Arthur commented as they rode at a leisurely pace, the four knights accompanying them following a few lengths behind, “I would never have suggested that you come along on this expedition.”
Merlin swatted at the pesky bugs that kept insisting on pestering him and loosened his scarf some to let the non-existent breeze reach his sweating neck. Arthur was right. He was surly. The air was unseasonably hot (Merlin pushed aside the fact that Arthur must be terribly uncomfortable in his chainmail so that he could wallow in his own self-pity), which was not only causing him to sweat, but also seemed to attract some pesky unwanted critters that insisted on paying more attention to Merlin than to his horse.
This discomfort had only added to his already bad mood that had been fuelled by his discussion (some would say argument) with Gaius this morning before Merlin had set off with Arthur.
Merlin had expressed that he felt it was time to tell Arthur about his magic, but Gaius, ever paternalistically protective, had insisted that such a disclosure was far too dangerous and urged Merlin to reconsider. Merlin had protested, telling Gaius that he trusted Arthur and that he did not feel right keeping the most important part of his life from his master, his prince, his friend. Gaius, of course, had countered that no matter how much Merlin trusted Arthur, there was no guarantee that Arthur would not disclose Merlin’s secret to this father, the magic-hating Uther, who would promptly have him executed. Merlin had tried to tell Gaius that he was certain Arthur would never expose him to Uther, but Gaius had fixed him with that eyebrow, which Merlin knew meant that the discussion was closed and that Gaius expected him to yield to his experienced advice.
And, so, Merlin had clamped his mouth shut, had grabbed his satchel, and had stomped out of their shared quarters, leaving Gaius standing there with that disappointed look on his face, the one that always hit Merlin right in the stomach and made him feel guilty as hell.
His mood had turned to angrily sombre by the time he had met up with Arthur just outside the courtyard, the horses prepared and the accompanying knights ready. Arthur had given him a look that suggested he had caught onto Merlin’s bad mood right away, and if he had not clued into Merlin’s mood at the very start of their journey, then Arthur certainly had done so by now, especially given that Merlin had said very little the past couple of hours except to grumble about the heat or the bugs.
The arrows came from out of nowhere and were intended to be the distraction that allowed the sword-bearing bandits to overtake the knights.
Three of the knights, outnumbered two to one, were slaughtered mercilessly while Arthur fended three bandits off by himself with Merlin’s limited help. Merlin hadn’t even had time to think about using magic to save the knights and was, as usual, focused on protecting Arthur.
“Put the sword down, Pendragon,” a gravelly voice ordered.
A man, obviously the leader of the group, stepped forward. One of his eyes was cold and challenging, the other hidden under a well-worn patch. A vicious scar ran down one cheek, blending into a cruel and twisted mouth. Merlin caught the glint of a large square-cut insignia ring on the man’s right hand.
“Besides being hopelessly out-numbered,” the man said, “the fate of one of your knights now rests in your hands.”
Merlin saw that one of the bandits had Sir Kay on his knees, a sword held to the back of his neck. Kay looked up, firm resolve in his noble eyes. “Do not surrender, my Lord,” he told Arthur. “My fate is my own.”
The man spoke confidently. “I will spare the life of this knight if you put down your sword and surrender yourself to me.”
“Do not surrender, Sire,” Sir Kay continued to appeal. “As a Knight of Camelot, I will die for my prince.”
Sir Kay may have been willing to die for his prince, but Merlin knew - and apparently this man did also - that the prince would never allow this to happen. With a look at Kay to let him know he appreciated his loyalty and noble service, Arthur threw down his sword. Two men moved in to restrain him.
“My name is Kelinar,” the man announced, meeting Arthur’s glare with a look of callous amusement. “I serve King Lyandor and the king has asked that the Prince of Camelot be escorted back to his castle.”
“For what purpose?” Arthur asked, his eyes furtively darting toward Sir Kay. Merlin knew that Arthur was worried about the knight’s fate, despite the fact that he had surrendered.
Kelinar shrugged. “To negotiate, of course.”
The way he said this made it very clear that actual negotiating would not be part of King Lyandor’s plans for Arthur, just as ‘escorting’ was an obvious euphemism.
“And to show the king’s good faith,” Kelinar said further, “this knight will return to Camelot to deliver a message to Uther Pendragon.” He smiled in his ruthless way. “The message will be that his son has been invited to discuss matters of great importance with King Lyandor of Palara.”
Kelinar nodded to the man holding Sir Kay and the bandit removed the sword from his neck and, for a minute, it seemed that Kelinar was going to honour Arthur’s surrender. But as Sir Kay stood, the bandit attacked, shoving his sword tip deep into Sir Kay’s right thigh.
Arthur started, struggling against the men restraining him. Merlin looked on with helplessness.
Kelinar proffered a malicious smile. “I said he would deliver the message. I did not say we would make it easy for him.”
Sir Kay was pushed to the ground and left there, holding the gaping, gushing wound in his thigh. Merlin watched him tear a piece from his red cloak and tie it around the wound in an effort to stop the bleeding. He wished he could do something to help. As brave and resilient as Sir Kay was, Merlin thought it unlikely that the knight would be able to make the journey back to Camelot to deliver the message without first bleeding to death, though he had to admit that more difficult feats had been accomplished by knights such as Kay.
Kelinar now waved his hand in the direction of Merlin. “Kill the servant. We do not need him.”
Merlin was considering his options to evade certain death when Arthur stepped in front of him protectively.
“That would be extremely unwise,” Arthur told them, his voice taking on the command of a seasoned warrior and prince. “Merlin is our best royal court servant and my father would not take kindly to his execution. You would have more leverage if you were to keep both of us alive.”
Merlin wasn’t sure what surprised him most. That Arthur had fibbed about Merlin’s service excellence or that he had outright lied about Uther caring one iota about Merlin’s existence, alive or dead. Still, Merlin appreciated Arthur’s attempt to persuade Kelinar away from his decision to get rid of him.
And it appeared to work. Kelinar considered for a moment and then told the others, “Bring them both.” He threw two lengths of rope toward one of the men. “Strip Pendragon of his chainmail,” he ordered. “Then tie both of their hands with rope and attach the ends to my horse.”
The men did as they were told. Arthur was divested of his chainmail and his wrists bound with rope, the end of a short length secured to the saddleback of a black horse. Merlin was similarly bound and secured. They noticed that Sir Kay, who had already been dismissed and forgotten by Kelinar and his men, had disappeared, no doubt starting the trek back to Camelot, limping painfully but stoically through the woods. Both Merlin and Arthur knew that the knight would do his best to make it back to Camelot alive in order to deliver the message that would assist in bringing about the rescue of the king’s son.
“Thanks,” Merlin mumbled to Arthur as they were being pulled along according to the pace of Kelinar’s horse.
Arthur arched an eyebrow. “You think I wanted to find out what fate awaits me all by myself?” he lilted. “No, Merlin, whatever it is, you’re going through it with me. It would be completely unfair for you to miss out because you were dead.”
Merlin managed a chuckle. He knew Arthur was trying to make light of a perilous situation, but regardless, whatever danger they were yet to face, it was understood implicitly by both that they would face it together. It was during such times that Merlin actually believed Arthur needed him as much as he needed Arthur.
As they were being pulled along, Merlin focused on thinking of ways he could use his magic to get them out of this mess (undetected, of course) when, distracted, he stumbled on a fair sized rock jutting up from the dirt path, causing him to lose his balance and, given that his hands were tied in front of him, to fall ungracefully to the ground.
Kelinar slowed his horse with a commanding “whoa!” and then quickly dismounted, charging toward them.
Merlin had expected Kelinar to grab and drag him up by his scarf or tunic but, instead, he stormed up to Arthur, stomped his boots on the rope wound tightly around his wrists, causing Arthur to be pulled down to the ground on his knees. Kelinar kept his boot pressed down on the rope, so that Arthur’s hands were effectively immobilized, which he no doubt felt was necessary given Arthur Pendragon’s skill as a formidable warrior. Then, to Merlin’s horror, Kelinar cracked the back of his fist across the side of Arthur’s face, the force of the blow causing Arthur’s entire head to snap to the side.
“No!” Merlin was surprised to hear himself yell out. “Please! Don’t hurt him. It was my fault. I tripped.”
Kelinar remained focused on Arthur, ignoring Merlin. “You wanted me to keep him alive,” he said to Arthur. “Be sure that he stays on his feet.”
Merlin got up from the ground, and so did Arthur, as Kelinar returned to his horse. They now started to move again, shuffling behind to keep up with Kelinar’s pace.
Merlin turned to Arthur, noticing the two-inch deep cut on Arthur’s cheekbone, the result of Kelinar’s ring having slashed into his flesh as it grated across his cheek in the follow-through of the back-handed blow.
“Arthur...” Merlin expressed with heart-felt agony. “I’m sorry - I...”
Arthur gave him a weakly reassuring half-smile. “It’s not your fault, Merlin. He wants to punish me, not you. Just try to stay on your feet, okay?”
Merlin felt the pin-pricks of tears welling up in the back of his eyes and he forced himself to hold them back. Arthur had been punished and hurt because of him, because of his clumsiness. He had to make sure that did not happen again.
Merlin wanted to touch the cut, to wipe some of the blood away, to let Arthur understand how very sorry he was, but he would not risk another potential mishap that could get Arthur punished more. He abandoned any thought of using his magic for fear he would do more harm than good.
At King Lyandor’s castle, they were led by their rope leads to a dark and dank dungeon and thrown into a dismal cell. Merlin was hopeful that they were at least being imprisoned together.
Arthur started working on the rope at Merlin’s wrists as soon as Kelinar and the guards disappeared from view. Even with his own wrists bound, Arthur was able to pull apart the rope binding and free Merlin’s hands. Merlin did the same for Arthur, distracting him long enough to use magic to help unknot the rope and set his hands free.
Arthur then set about looking around the cell, running his hand along the stone walls and across the barred door, most likely looking for some possible way to escape. Merlin helped him, but neither of them found anything that might aid their release.
Arthur seemed frantic, though controlled, and this worried Merlin. Even in the most dire situations (and they had been in more than a few of those) Arthur tended to hide any hint of anxiety or concern from Merlin, projecting outwardly only his consummate warrior face. But right now Arthur was showing some underlying apprehension and this made Merlin extremely nervous.
He was intent on asking Arthur about it, ready of course for Arthur’s dismissive reply, when Kelinar returned with two castle guards.
“Ah, I see you have done away with the rope binds,” Kelinar said appraisingly. “Very clever. But I am afraid it will do you no good.”
“We’ll see about that,” Arthur said and Merlin hoped Arthur’s cheekiness would not prompt Kelinar to re-bind them.
But Kelinar apparently had other plans. He unlocked the cell and motioned for the guards to take Arthur.
“Where are you taking him?” Merlin asked impertinently and Arthur shot him a look that told him to be quiet.
“King Lyandor has asked that the prince be brought for questioning,” Kelinar responded, this time focusing his gaze on Merlin. The coldness in his eye was unsettling. “Nothing you need to worry about, serving boy,” Kelinar added. “So long as your prince answers the questions, no harm will come to him.”
Merlin’s heart seized with panic. “Wait!” he attempted to appeal, aware of the hard stare Arthur was giving him. “Do not take him. Please. Take me.”
“Now why ever would I do that?” Kelinar asked, flashing a ruthless smile. “He is the Prince of Camelot and you are just a worthless serving boy. Surely, he holds the answers to the questions King Lyandor seeks, not you.” Kelinar indicated to the guards to lead Arthur away.
“Please,” Merlin said again, but his plea fell on deaf ears. “Arthur!” he called out as the guards and Kelinar led Arthur away.
It was no surprise to Merlin that Arthur ignored him.
~*~
It was the better part of two hours before Arthur was returned to the cell - his body battered, his face bloodied. Merlin’s heart wrenched.
The two guards shoved Arthur into the cell, throwing him roughly to the ground. Merlin went to him immediately. Holding a hand to his ribs, Arthur accepted Merlin’s help to prop himself up against the stone wall and even let Merlin tend to the more glaring wounds on his face.
“What did they do to you?” Merlin asked quietly, as he dabbed at the cuts on Arthur’s face with his neckerchief. He loathed to hear the answer but he had to know.
“Nothing I can’t handle, Merlin,” Arthur responded with warrior-like courage and resolve, but Merlin detected the anxious weariness in his tone. Merlin was used to Arthur’s stiff upper lip responses. They went very well with the way Arthur preferred to do everything.
There was no question of Arthur’s bravery, but Merlin could guess (from the look of the visible and not-so-visible injuries inflicted) that Arthur had been subjected to some form of physical torture. The mere thought of this made Merlin weep inside.
“What do they want?” he asked softly.
“Information,” Arthur told him. “Information about Camelot’s defence strategies, battle plans, weaknesses.” His blue eyes met Merlin’s. “I won’t tell them anything.”
“Then they will keep hurting you,” Merlin said, his tone more of a plea than a statement. He attempted to move Arthur’s hand and raise his tunic so he could inspect the state of his ribs, but Arthur stubbornly and firmly kept his hand in place.
“I’m fine, Merlin,” he said gruffly.
Merlin settled for sitting down next to Arthur, his own back against the cold stone wall, and contemplated whether this was now the time to tell Arthur his secret.
~*~
It was not quite a whole hour before Kelinar appeared again at their dungeon cell.
Arthur had fallen asleep, exhausted from the beating, resting his head on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin had let him, foregoing the conversation about his magic in order to let Arthur rest. He needed Arthur to be strong enough and aware enough if Merlin had any hope of facilitating their escape with the use of magic.
“Pendragon,” Kelinar said with a sadistic sneer to a wakening Arthur. “Are you ready for another round of questioning, or do you think the serving boy should have a turn?”
“He cannot tell you anything,” Arthur said firmly, but Merlin could see the wariness in his eyes. Surely, he wasn’t worried that Merlin would give away Camelot’s secrets?
“I wonder,” Kelinar mused, giving Merlin a look that made his skin crawl.
Arthur met Kelinar’s cruel graze with a firmly set one of his own. “Do you really think I would trust a servant with Camelot’s defence secrets?” Arthur slid his back up the wall, getting to his feet. “The only hope you have of getting any information is through me. So let’s get on with again, shall we?”
“Arthur--” Merlin began to beseech, but there really wasn’t anything he could do or say.
Arthur did not look at him but simply let the guards take him away.
~*~
This time when Arthur was returned to the cell, he had to be dragged in by the two guards, his body so battered and bloodied that he could not stand on his own two feet.
Merlin attempted to catch Arthur as the guards dragged and dropped his body into the cell.
“Arthur,” Merlin called softly, his hands shaking terribly as he took notice of the amount of blood covering his prince.
Arthur pried a swollen eye open. “Merlin,” he said weakly.
Merlin inspected the wounds on Arthur’s body, swallowing back tears and bile as he noted the swelling and the bruising, the cuts and the blood. There was almost no part of Arthur’s body that did not have some injury inflicted on it.
After soaking up what blood he could with his neckerchief and tunic bottom, Merlin arranged Arthur’s battered body against his and let him rest for a bit, cradling him in his arms for comfort. He had to get them out of here soon.
Thankfully, no one came for Arthur in the next two hours and Merlin let Arthur sleep in order to gather some strength. When he finally did wake, Merlin decided that it was time to tell Arthur.
“Arthur,” he began. “There’s something you should know.” Merlin passed his tongue over dry lips. “I can get us out of here,” he announced. “I can use magic--”
“No,” Arthur said firmly, not appearing at all surprised or flummoxed by Merlin’s revelation. He continued, not looking at Merlin, “If there is anybody who hates magic as much as my father, it is King Lyandor. If he should find out that my father, even unwittingly, has been harbouring a sorcerer right in his royal court, I fear that both of us will quickly meet our deaths.”
“But--” Merlin started to argue, completely thrown off by Arthur’s lack of surprise. He knew Merlin could do magic? “Arthur, I can do this--”
“It’s too dangerous!” Arthur barked at him harshly. He kept his gaze averted.
“But you don’t understand,” Merlin countered. “My magic is strong. I can get us safely out of here if you’d just let me--”
Arthur put a hand on his arm to stop his words and cast blue eyes that were beseeching at him. “I cannot let you, Merlin,” Arthur said softly. “I am too afraid.”
Merlin was shocked by Arthur’s revelation. The Arthur Pendragon he knew was not afraid of anything. What had they done to him to make Arthur, the bravest of all brave knights, the pompous of all princes, this fearful?
“Why are you afraid?” Merlin whispered.
Arthur’s look was grave and tormented. “I am afraid, Merlin,” he said, “that if Lyandor finds out you have magic, he will find some way of stopping you.” Arthur bit down on his bloody bottom lip. “And then he will lock you up and torture you before subjecting you to some horribly painful death.” Arthur’s eyes were full of agony. “And I cannot bear the thought of something like that happening to you,” he told him. “So please, Merlin,” Arthur pleaded, “do not use your magic. Not yet.”
Merlin’s heart filled with tortured sorrow. Arthur wasn’t worried that Merlin would give away Camelot’s secrets or that he’d do something that would get Arthur killed. Arthur was worried about him and what King Lyandor might do to him. It was almost too much to take in.
Tears began to fill Merlin’s eyes and he turned so that Arthur wouldn’t be able to see them. “Well, I can’t just sit here doing nothing while he tortures you!” he exclaimed in frustration. Merlin did not think he could bear it if they took Arthur away again.
“I will be alright, Merlin,” Arthur tried to reassure him. “I am a rough and tough knight, remember?” he said with an attempt at light-heartedness. Then, more resolutely, “I can see this through, at least long enough for my father to mount a rescue attempt. Just promise me you won’t use magic.”
Merlin felt decidedly mulish. He wasn’t sure he could make that promise.
“Merlin...” Arthur said in warning, seeing the stubbornness etched on his face.
Merlin said nothing for a couple of beats. Finally, giving Arthur a look that told him in no uncertain terms that he had the right to change his mind if he felt it was necessary, he conceded. “Okay.”
~*~
When Kelinar returned next, he was accompanied by King Lyandor.
Lyandor ran assessing eyes over Arthur. “So Pendragon has not yet given anything up?” he asked Kelinar.
“No, my Lord,” Kelinar answered, his head bowed. “Perhaps it is time to find out whether the serving boy could be persuaded to tell us something.”
Arthur spoke up now, addressing Lyandor. “You as well as anyone should know that a servant of the royal court would never reveal any information.”
“Uther’s son is right,” King Lyandor conceded. “The servant will not give up anything. He will remain loyal to his king and prince.” Lyandor considered for a moment then said to Kelinar, “Take Pendragon again.”
“No!” Merlin protested as Arthur tossed him a wary look.
King Lyandor looked intently at Merlin for a moment then cast a glance at Arthur. His mouth formed a cruel smile. “And take the servant,” he commanded, delighted to see the young Pendragon flinch ever so slightly. “Make him watch,” he told Kelinar. “Make him watch his prince be tortured. Maybe that will loosen his tongue some.”
~*~
As they were both led to another room (the torture room presumably), Merlin thought seriously about using his magic, but Arthur’s severe stare of warning stopped him.
Inside the room, Arthur was taken to one wall and shackled, his arms stretched out, wrists clapped with thick metal bracelets. Merlin felt sick. The way Arthur went into the shackling position without any resistance (he was weak and injured, mind you) it was clear that this is what they had done to him previously. Merlin was brought to a corner in the room with a full view of Arthur splayed out against the wall.
Two of the guards stayed with Kelinar in the room. One picked up a mace and the other a sword. More bile rose in Merlin’s throat.
Kelinar began the questions, sighing loudly but with knowing expectation each time Arthur refused to answer. And each time no answer was forthcoming, Kelinar signalled to one of the guards to inflict damage on Arthur’s body.
Mace to his abdomen and sides. Tip of sword blade to his chest and thigh. Fist to his face and body. And so it went on and on, Arthur never giving up even one small detail, until Merlin’s insides were churning, his throat choking on bile, his heart so heavy he wanted to die.
Finally defeated, Merlin sank to his knees, sobbing. Arthur - his Arthur - was being tortured, horrible pain inflicted on him. Arthur would never give up any of Camelot’s secrets. They would have to kill him. But before they did, they would drive him painfully to the edge of death so that Arthur (or Merlin) would beg them to end his life.
Merlin could take it no longer. The thought of Arthur in so much pain, so much agony, tore Merlin’s heart out. No more. He could do something about it.
Merlin’s eyes flashed in anger, his magic furiously shooting out at the two guards who were torturing Arthur. A dagger flew out from one of the guard’s belts, striking the other centre mass through the chain mail with lividly lethal force. He shouted incantations at the still standing guard, knocking him forcefully back against the hard stone wall, his head smashing fatally against it.
Kelinar froze in utter shock and astonishment and Merlin spared him no mercy. He sent a bolt of fire shooting from his hand at the hateful man, the one who had hurt Arthur mercilessly, and effectively obliterated him.
Merlin shot to his feet and shouted more incantations to break the iron wrist restraints holding Arthur. He caught Arthur as he fell forward.
Arthur was near dead, bloody and bruised.
“Merlin...” Arthur murmured weakly.
“I am getting you out of here,” Merlin told him.
~*~
Getting Arthur out of the castle proved to be tricky but Merlin allowed adrenaline (and a few other emotions) to propel him forward with confidence. Any person who stood in the way of him getting Arthur to safety was halted in their attempt to prevent them escaping with a quick flash of his eyes and a strongly uttered spell with absolutely no thought to the consequences. If he had to, Merlin would kill every last one of King Lyandor’s guards in order to protect Arthur.
Merlin was able to get Arthur safely out of the castle. Carrying Arthur along the best he could, he headed for the wooded area jutting alongside one end of the castle. Night had fallen, but Merlin could not risk magically producing illumination for fear any dispatched guards would be drawn toward it, so he stayed focused on his destination, praying his usual clumsiness would not make an inopportune appearance. Seeming to understand Merlin’s struggle, Arthur attempted to walk on his own, difficult as that was for him.
Not far from the woods, Arthur stumbled and Merlin went back to supporting him, dragging him along.
“I don’t think I can make it, Merlin,” Arthur said, pain and fatigue finally overcoming him.
Merlin stopped momentarily, giving Arthur a tender, encouraging look. “Of course you can,” he said. “You’re Arthur Pendragon, the greatest knight there ever was. You’re the Prince of Camelot, the man who will one day be a great king. You can do anything.”
Arthur breathed out a chuckle, which Merlin knew cost him further pain. “Do you really believe that, Merlin, or is that just your go at a pep talk?”
Merlin looked at Arthur with grave sincerity. “I believe it,” he told him. “Because it is true.” He prodded Arthur forward. “Now, come on, Arthur, just a little farther. We need to get out of sight so I can use my magic to heal some of your wounds.”
With Merlin half-dragging Arthur along, they made it to a small clearing far enough into the woods that it would afford them some guarantee of not being found straight away. Merlin helped Arthur settle on the ground, knowing they both needed the respite, and tried to prepare himself for what he knew he had to do.
Merlin had never done this kind of magic before. Powerful magic that involved the transference of his own life energy to another person. He had, of course, used his magic for healing with some success, once he had practiced and perfected the technique. But the kind of healing magic he needed to do right now was different. It required a lot more concentration, a lot more power, and a considerable amount of faith. Merlin was confident he could do it. He had to - for Arthur.
Merlin pressed his hands lightly to Arthur’s chest and whispered the magical words that would give over his life energy to his wounded master. Merlin focused on Arthur’s internal injuries first, the ones that were the most life-threatening. As he began to magically heal Arthur, Merlin could feel the shooting stab of pain in his ribs on both sides, felt a cut forming on his bottom lip, blood trickling from his nose. These were the consequences of giving Arthur some of his healthy life. Merlin had to take on some of Arthur’s injuries and the pain that went along with them.
Arthur was aware of what was happening. “Enough, Merlin,” he said, watching with agony as Merlin’s bottom lip split open, his nose starting to bleed. “Please don’t give me any more of your health.” Arthur covered Merlin’s hands with his own to further stop him. “You’ve given me enough to go on. Please don’t transfer anymore. I can’t stand to see you in pain because of me.”
Merlin stopped the magic, saying, “You’ll need to rest just a little before we move on.”
Merlin started to move away from Arthur, favouring his now painful ribs, but Arthur moved his hand to Merlin’s face, pulling it to his, resting cheek against cheek. “Thank you, Merlin.”
Merlin was momentarily stunned by Arthur’s tenderness. “For what?” he asked barely above a whisper.
“For saving me,” the prince whispered. “For believing in me. For loving me.”
Merlin pulled back, his heart practically in his throat. He held back the threat of tears and forced himself to jib back light-heartedly, “Okay, now I know you’re delirious with pain. When have you ever thanked a servant?”
“But you’re not any servant,” Arthur returned fondly, settling back to rest some. “You’re Merlin.”
~*~
Merlin sat on a rock (while Arthur tested his strength by standing and working out the kinks in his body) and concentrated hard on a spell he figured they would need if they were going to survive their way out of this one and save a few of the knights also.
Less than half an hour ago, Arthur had sent Merlin to scout the area and Merlin had reported back that there was a sizeable group of King Lyandor’s men now collected at the front of the castle, looking as though they were lying in wait of something.
“He is expecting my father to send a bevy of our best knights to rescue me,” Arthur had said with understanding realization. “He plans for his men to ambush them then kill them. We can’t let that happen.”
Merlin appreciated that Arthur knew what he was talking about. He was a strategic warrior, after all, and he could anticipate the actions of other warrior-leaders like Lyandor.
“Okay,” Merlin had conceded. “What do you suppose we do then?”
Arthur had been unwilling for the plan to include Merlin using his magic, but Merlin had finally managed to convince him otherwise.
“What else can we do, Arthur?” Merlin had reasoned. “Your injuries are no longer life-threatening but you’re still hurt. So please don’t tell me you honestly believe we’d stand a chance unless I use magic. ” Merlin had stared with intensity to appeal to Arthur’s sensibility. “I got us out of the castle. I can use my magic to level the playing field and maybe we will all get out here with our lives.”
Arthur had clearly not been happy but could not offer a more reasonable counter-argument and so the plan now included Merlin using his arsenal of magic to get all of them (he and Merlin plus the knights) out of King Lyandor’s lands safely.
“What are you doing?” Arthur asked, giving him a curious look.
“I’m trying to work out a spell that would cast some kind of protective shield around you,” he answered.
“I don’t need a protective shield, Merlin...”
Merlin gave Arthur a sardonic look.
“I am quite capable of defending myself,” Arthur added with a defiant lift of his chin.
“Of course you are,” Merlin said softly, “But you’re hurt, Arthur. And in case you hadn’t noticed, you have no sword, no weapon. I can’t stop you from getting into the thick of things because I know you better than that, but I can’t do what I need to do, Arthur, if I’m worrying about you.” Arthur looked like he was about to protest and Merlin continued, “And I will worry about you unless I cast some kind of protective shield around you. So that is what is going to happen.”
Arthur stared at him for a long moment. Merlin waited for the scolding, but Arthur never delivered one. Instead, he nodded and left Merlin to his task of concentrating. And when Merlin felt ready, Arthur allowed him to cast the spell on him.
“I hope this works,” Arthur mumbled and Merlin smiled his encouragement.
~*~
“Remember,” Arthur said to him, as they waited in the darkness not more than a hundred paces away from King Lyandor’s group of cleverly-hidden, lying-in-wait warriors. “Wait until our knights are close enough in range and then do your thing.”
Merlin nodded. They had talked at length about the plan, with Arthur repeating the steps over and over. Merlin had listened patiently because he knew Arthur was at his best when he was leading. And Merlin needed Arthur to be at his best if they had any hope of seeing the light of tomorrow’s day.
“I will intercept the knights and order them to retreat,” Arthur continued. “Use your magic to keep Lyandor’s men away, long enough for ours to pull back.”
“I’ve got it,” Merlin said.
“Do not hang back any longer than you need to, Merlin,” Arthur directed firmly.
Merlin saw the concern in Arthur’s eyes and realized that Arthur was still very apprehensive about Merlin using his magic. “I won’t,” he assured him.
At first sign of the knights making their way toward the castle, Arthur and Merlin moved in. There was a shout and then Lyandor’s men began the attempt to surround the knights but, according to plan, Merlin cast a spell that created a blazing line of fire to spring up between them, separating the knights from the warriors.
Merlin heard Arthur shouting at his knights, “Retreat! Retreat!” and hung back to make sure the fire would keep Lyandor’s men halted long enough to ensure the knights’ safe retreat.
But some of the warriors had managed to dodge or break through the blaze and Merlin found himself casting spells all around him to force them back. He heard Arthur yelling at someone to “Get Merlin! Now!”, and suddenly Sir Leon was next to him, gripping his shoulder, pulling him back and away.
Merlin continued to use magic to fight off the onslaught of warriors coming headstrong through the line of fire, even as Sir Leon pulled him along to safety. Merlin was exhausted, but he kept going, worried that if he didn’t, the knights would still be in danger. Arthur would still be in danger.
Finally, when no more of Lyandor’s men attempted to come at them and Merlin was able to see that the knights - and Arthur - were safe, he allowed himself to collapse, completely exhausted.
He was only vaguely aware of Arthur holding him, whispering softly, “You saved us, Merlin. We’re all safe. You saved us.”
~*~
“I’m sorry, Gaius,” Merlin said to the old man, his mentor, his father figure. “I couldn’t let them torture Arthur like that. I had to get him out of there. I had to use my magic to protect Arthur.”
Gaius gave him a warm, paternal look. “You did what you had to, Merlin. I do understand that.”
Merlin’s look was one of distress but not regret. “And now I’m probably going to be executed for it.”
Gaius peered intently through the dungeon cell bars at him. “Have faith, Merlin. You have to trust that Arthur will get you out of this. You know he will do everything in his power to help you.”
“Uther Pendragon is a stubborn man, Gaius. You know that as well as I do.”
“Yes, but so is Uther’s son,” Gaius replied, a small smile forming, intended for reassurance.
Yes, Merlin thought, Arthur was stubborn. Very stubborn. But, unlike his father, his tendency to be unyielding came with his self-ordered duty for doing the right thing; and, unfortunately, the right thing did not always triumph.
Gaius stayed with Merlin in the dungeons for what seemed like an eternity as Uther Pendragon decided his fate. Everything had been a complete blur to Merlin from the time he had collapsed outside King Lyandor’s castle after wielding so much magic until they had arrived safely back at Camelot, where upon learning that Merlin was actually a sorcerer, the King had ordered for him to be locked up. Arthur had bristled and had begun pleading his case, even as Merlin was being dragged away by the royal guards. For their part, the knights had been supportive. Merlin had even heard Sir Leon speak up on his behalf, claiming that they would not have escaped with their lives had it not been for Merlin.
Several hours ticked by before Arthur finally appeared in the dungeons. Merlin was both loathe and eager to see Arthur’s face, to glean from his expression what fate awaited him.
But Arthur would not look at him. He cast a few quick glances at Gaius as he spoke, but he would not look at Merlin, would not meet blue eyes with blue.
“My father will show clemency by not ordering Merlin’s execution,” he announced with little emotion. Merlin felt overwhelming relief, but it was not to last long. “Instead,” Arthur continued, his gaze focused on the ground, “Merlin is to be banished from Camelot.”
Banished? Away from Gaius? Away from Arthur? For a moment, Merlin thought death might be preferable.
Arthur now addressed Gaius, still avoiding Merlin’s searching glances. “Gaius, you will help Merlin gather his things. My father has commanded that I accompany Merlin out of Camelot to ensure that he abides by his order of banishment.” Merlin thought he saw Arthur sneak a quick glance at him then, but it was so brief that he feared he may have imagined it. “I will be around tomorrow morning to collect Merlin for the journey,” Arthur said to Gaius, and then turned, hesitating for only a moment, and left the dungeon.
A guard unlocked the cell to release Merlin. Presumably, he was in Gaius’ care until Arthur came for him in the morning.
~*~
Arthur rode at a slow gait with Merlin walking beside him. With every step Merlin took, it felt like lead in his boots, heavy, burdensome. Merlin did not want to make this journey.
It hadn’t helped any that Arthur had ridden silently for the better part of an hour, still refusing to meet his gaze. Merlin felt ashamed, as though he had somehow lost Arthur’s respect, if he had ever had it in the first place. Merlin was now a banished warlock, a vile being who could not be trusted within the walls of Camelot. Surely, Arthur despised him even though he had convinced his father to let Merlin live. He was a threat, dangerous and unpredictable. Why else would Arthur refuse to look at or talk to him?
Lost in thought, Merlin was barely aware that Arthur had stopped his horse and had dismounted. When he did, he realized that this was the sign that he was at the end of the road. Arthur would make sure he was on his way and then would return to Camelot.
“I guess this is it,” Merlin said forlornly. If only Arthur would look at him, say something. An awkward silence, then before Arthur could even get a chance to do what Merlin wanted, Merlin rounded on him, and cried accusingly, “You won’t even look at me! Look at me, Arthur! Can’t you at least do that for me?”
Arthur did look at him now and Merlin was stunned to see Arthur’s face etched with emotional agony, eyes glistening with heartfelt sorrow, tears brimming his eyelashes. “I can’t, Merlin,” he said softly. “It’s too painful.”
Arthur took a step closer to Merlin, his eyes shifting from Merlin’s to the ground and then back to Merlin’s. Finally, he said, “My father sent me with you to punish me, Merlin. He wants me to watch you leave because he knows it will rip my heart out, knows that it will kill me to turn my back and let you go.” A couple of tears escaped, running down Arthur’s still battered and bruised face. ““I can’t do it,” he said. “I can’t watch you leave.”
“What other choice is there?” Merlin asked, shaking. He was in absolute emotional turmoil right now. He had been upset by Arthur’s refusal to look at him, but Arthur’s revelation of why he couldn’t look at him had rendered Merlin emotionally damaged.
“I will not return to Camelot,” Arthur said decisively. “I will go with you.”
“You can’t,” Merlin said. He moved into Arthur, pulling his face to his, resting cheek against cheek. “Arthur,” he whispered strongly into his prince’s ear, “I love you, but you cannot come with me. You must return to Camelot. It’s your destiny to be King.”
“No,” Arthur replied in an equally strong whisper, his cheek still against Merlin’s. “My destiny is with you, Merlin. My path leads wherever you go.”
Merlin could feel the warm tears falling but he did not care. He loved Arthur. And he wanted Arthur to go with him. But he knew Arthur had to return home. So, he said, “Arthur, if you do not return, your father will assume I used magic on you to get you to come with me. And he will send out knights to get you back and they will kill me.”
Arthur pulled back his head to look at Merlin. “No, I do not think he will.” Merlin gave him one of his ‘are-you-mad?’ looks, believing that Arthur had surely been affected by the blows and beatings to think for a moment that Uther would not cry ‘sorcery’ when his son did not return. But Arthur only smiled. “I gave Gaius a letter to give to my father should I not return to Camelot. In it, I state that I have chosen to be banished along with you until a time when my father can accept that magic can be used for good by people with kind hearts. People like you, Merlin.”
“You had already decided you would come with me?”
Arthur nodded. “But I could not be certain you would let me.” Arthur looked intently at Merlin. “Will you let me come with you, Merlin?”
Merlin looked at Arthur for a long moment. “Yes,” he said finally.
They walked side by side toward Ealdor, Arthur leading his horse along by the reins, Merlin nattering about this and that.
“Merlin,” Arthur said suddenly, “you’re not going to natter the whole way to Ealdor, are you?”
Merlin grinned widely at him. “Yes, Arthur. I am.”
Arthur sighed and then returned the grin. “That’s what I thought. Well carry on then.”
THE END
SUMMARY: Merlin had once told Arthur that he would be happy to serve him until the day he died. He never imagined that it might someday come to that.
GENRE: Canon Era
RATING: PG (surprising, I know)
WARNINGS: Violence, torture
WORD COUNT: ~7300
A/N: A fic I started months ago and was finally able to finish
TILL THE DAY I DIE
“If I had known you were going to be this surly, Merlin,” Arthur commented as they rode at a leisurely pace, the four knights accompanying them following a few lengths behind, “I would never have suggested that you come along on this expedition.”
Merlin swatted at the pesky bugs that kept insisting on pestering him and loosened his scarf some to let the non-existent breeze reach his sweating neck. Arthur was right. He was surly. The air was unseasonably hot (Merlin pushed aside the fact that Arthur must be terribly uncomfortable in his chainmail so that he could wallow in his own self-pity), which was not only causing him to sweat, but also seemed to attract some pesky unwanted critters that insisted on paying more attention to Merlin than to his horse.
This discomfort had only added to his already bad mood that had been fuelled by his discussion (some would say argument) with Gaius this morning before Merlin had set off with Arthur.
Merlin had expressed that he felt it was time to tell Arthur about his magic, but Gaius, ever paternalistically protective, had insisted that such a disclosure was far too dangerous and urged Merlin to reconsider. Merlin had protested, telling Gaius that he trusted Arthur and that he did not feel right keeping the most important part of his life from his master, his prince, his friend. Gaius, of course, had countered that no matter how much Merlin trusted Arthur, there was no guarantee that Arthur would not disclose Merlin’s secret to this father, the magic-hating Uther, who would promptly have him executed. Merlin had tried to tell Gaius that he was certain Arthur would never expose him to Uther, but Gaius had fixed him with that eyebrow, which Merlin knew meant that the discussion was closed and that Gaius expected him to yield to his experienced advice.
And, so, Merlin had clamped his mouth shut, had grabbed his satchel, and had stomped out of their shared quarters, leaving Gaius standing there with that disappointed look on his face, the one that always hit Merlin right in the stomach and made him feel guilty as hell.
His mood had turned to angrily sombre by the time he had met up with Arthur just outside the courtyard, the horses prepared and the accompanying knights ready. Arthur had given him a look that suggested he had caught onto Merlin’s bad mood right away, and if he had not clued into Merlin’s mood at the very start of their journey, then Arthur certainly had done so by now, especially given that Merlin had said very little the past couple of hours except to grumble about the heat or the bugs.
The arrows came from out of nowhere and were intended to be the distraction that allowed the sword-bearing bandits to overtake the knights.
Three of the knights, outnumbered two to one, were slaughtered mercilessly while Arthur fended three bandits off by himself with Merlin’s limited help. Merlin hadn’t even had time to think about using magic to save the knights and was, as usual, focused on protecting Arthur.
“Put the sword down, Pendragon,” a gravelly voice ordered.
A man, obviously the leader of the group, stepped forward. One of his eyes was cold and challenging, the other hidden under a well-worn patch. A vicious scar ran down one cheek, blending into a cruel and twisted mouth. Merlin caught the glint of a large square-cut insignia ring on the man’s right hand.
“Besides being hopelessly out-numbered,” the man said, “the fate of one of your knights now rests in your hands.”
Merlin saw that one of the bandits had Sir Kay on his knees, a sword held to the back of his neck. Kay looked up, firm resolve in his noble eyes. “Do not surrender, my Lord,” he told Arthur. “My fate is my own.”
The man spoke confidently. “I will spare the life of this knight if you put down your sword and surrender yourself to me.”
“Do not surrender, Sire,” Sir Kay continued to appeal. “As a Knight of Camelot, I will die for my prince.”
Sir Kay may have been willing to die for his prince, but Merlin knew - and apparently this man did also - that the prince would never allow this to happen. With a look at Kay to let him know he appreciated his loyalty and noble service, Arthur threw down his sword. Two men moved in to restrain him.
“My name is Kelinar,” the man announced, meeting Arthur’s glare with a look of callous amusement. “I serve King Lyandor and the king has asked that the Prince of Camelot be escorted back to his castle.”
“For what purpose?” Arthur asked, his eyes furtively darting toward Sir Kay. Merlin knew that Arthur was worried about the knight’s fate, despite the fact that he had surrendered.
Kelinar shrugged. “To negotiate, of course.”
The way he said this made it very clear that actual negotiating would not be part of King Lyandor’s plans for Arthur, just as ‘escorting’ was an obvious euphemism.
“And to show the king’s good faith,” Kelinar said further, “this knight will return to Camelot to deliver a message to Uther Pendragon.” He smiled in his ruthless way. “The message will be that his son has been invited to discuss matters of great importance with King Lyandor of Palara.”
Kelinar nodded to the man holding Sir Kay and the bandit removed the sword from his neck and, for a minute, it seemed that Kelinar was going to honour Arthur’s surrender. But as Sir Kay stood, the bandit attacked, shoving his sword tip deep into Sir Kay’s right thigh.
Arthur started, struggling against the men restraining him. Merlin looked on with helplessness.
Kelinar proffered a malicious smile. “I said he would deliver the message. I did not say we would make it easy for him.”
Sir Kay was pushed to the ground and left there, holding the gaping, gushing wound in his thigh. Merlin watched him tear a piece from his red cloak and tie it around the wound in an effort to stop the bleeding. He wished he could do something to help. As brave and resilient as Sir Kay was, Merlin thought it unlikely that the knight would be able to make the journey back to Camelot to deliver the message without first bleeding to death, though he had to admit that more difficult feats had been accomplished by knights such as Kay.
Kelinar now waved his hand in the direction of Merlin. “Kill the servant. We do not need him.”
Merlin was considering his options to evade certain death when Arthur stepped in front of him protectively.
“That would be extremely unwise,” Arthur told them, his voice taking on the command of a seasoned warrior and prince. “Merlin is our best royal court servant and my father would not take kindly to his execution. You would have more leverage if you were to keep both of us alive.”
Merlin wasn’t sure what surprised him most. That Arthur had fibbed about Merlin’s service excellence or that he had outright lied about Uther caring one iota about Merlin’s existence, alive or dead. Still, Merlin appreciated Arthur’s attempt to persuade Kelinar away from his decision to get rid of him.
And it appeared to work. Kelinar considered for a moment and then told the others, “Bring them both.” He threw two lengths of rope toward one of the men. “Strip Pendragon of his chainmail,” he ordered. “Then tie both of their hands with rope and attach the ends to my horse.”
The men did as they were told. Arthur was divested of his chainmail and his wrists bound with rope, the end of a short length secured to the saddleback of a black horse. Merlin was similarly bound and secured. They noticed that Sir Kay, who had already been dismissed and forgotten by Kelinar and his men, had disappeared, no doubt starting the trek back to Camelot, limping painfully but stoically through the woods. Both Merlin and Arthur knew that the knight would do his best to make it back to Camelot alive in order to deliver the message that would assist in bringing about the rescue of the king’s son.
“Thanks,” Merlin mumbled to Arthur as they were being pulled along according to the pace of Kelinar’s horse.
Arthur arched an eyebrow. “You think I wanted to find out what fate awaits me all by myself?” he lilted. “No, Merlin, whatever it is, you’re going through it with me. It would be completely unfair for you to miss out because you were dead.”
Merlin managed a chuckle. He knew Arthur was trying to make light of a perilous situation, but regardless, whatever danger they were yet to face, it was understood implicitly by both that they would face it together. It was during such times that Merlin actually believed Arthur needed him as much as he needed Arthur.
As they were being pulled along, Merlin focused on thinking of ways he could use his magic to get them out of this mess (undetected, of course) when, distracted, he stumbled on a fair sized rock jutting up from the dirt path, causing him to lose his balance and, given that his hands were tied in front of him, to fall ungracefully to the ground.
Kelinar slowed his horse with a commanding “whoa!” and then quickly dismounted, charging toward them.
Merlin had expected Kelinar to grab and drag him up by his scarf or tunic but, instead, he stormed up to Arthur, stomped his boots on the rope wound tightly around his wrists, causing Arthur to be pulled down to the ground on his knees. Kelinar kept his boot pressed down on the rope, so that Arthur’s hands were effectively immobilized, which he no doubt felt was necessary given Arthur Pendragon’s skill as a formidable warrior. Then, to Merlin’s horror, Kelinar cracked the back of his fist across the side of Arthur’s face, the force of the blow causing Arthur’s entire head to snap to the side.
“No!” Merlin was surprised to hear himself yell out. “Please! Don’t hurt him. It was my fault. I tripped.”
Kelinar remained focused on Arthur, ignoring Merlin. “You wanted me to keep him alive,” he said to Arthur. “Be sure that he stays on his feet.”
Merlin got up from the ground, and so did Arthur, as Kelinar returned to his horse. They now started to move again, shuffling behind to keep up with Kelinar’s pace.
Merlin turned to Arthur, noticing the two-inch deep cut on Arthur’s cheekbone, the result of Kelinar’s ring having slashed into his flesh as it grated across his cheek in the follow-through of the back-handed blow.
“Arthur...” Merlin expressed with heart-felt agony. “I’m sorry - I...”
Arthur gave him a weakly reassuring half-smile. “It’s not your fault, Merlin. He wants to punish me, not you. Just try to stay on your feet, okay?”
Merlin felt the pin-pricks of tears welling up in the back of his eyes and he forced himself to hold them back. Arthur had been punished and hurt because of him, because of his clumsiness. He had to make sure that did not happen again.
Merlin wanted to touch the cut, to wipe some of the blood away, to let Arthur understand how very sorry he was, but he would not risk another potential mishap that could get Arthur punished more. He abandoned any thought of using his magic for fear he would do more harm than good.
At King Lyandor’s castle, they were led by their rope leads to a dark and dank dungeon and thrown into a dismal cell. Merlin was hopeful that they were at least being imprisoned together.
Arthur started working on the rope at Merlin’s wrists as soon as Kelinar and the guards disappeared from view. Even with his own wrists bound, Arthur was able to pull apart the rope binding and free Merlin’s hands. Merlin did the same for Arthur, distracting him long enough to use magic to help unknot the rope and set his hands free.
Arthur then set about looking around the cell, running his hand along the stone walls and across the barred door, most likely looking for some possible way to escape. Merlin helped him, but neither of them found anything that might aid their release.
Arthur seemed frantic, though controlled, and this worried Merlin. Even in the most dire situations (and they had been in more than a few of those) Arthur tended to hide any hint of anxiety or concern from Merlin, projecting outwardly only his consummate warrior face. But right now Arthur was showing some underlying apprehension and this made Merlin extremely nervous.
He was intent on asking Arthur about it, ready of course for Arthur’s dismissive reply, when Kelinar returned with two castle guards.
“Ah, I see you have done away with the rope binds,” Kelinar said appraisingly. “Very clever. But I am afraid it will do you no good.”
“We’ll see about that,” Arthur said and Merlin hoped Arthur’s cheekiness would not prompt Kelinar to re-bind them.
But Kelinar apparently had other plans. He unlocked the cell and motioned for the guards to take Arthur.
“Where are you taking him?” Merlin asked impertinently and Arthur shot him a look that told him to be quiet.
“King Lyandor has asked that the prince be brought for questioning,” Kelinar responded, this time focusing his gaze on Merlin. The coldness in his eye was unsettling. “Nothing you need to worry about, serving boy,” Kelinar added. “So long as your prince answers the questions, no harm will come to him.”
Merlin’s heart seized with panic. “Wait!” he attempted to appeal, aware of the hard stare Arthur was giving him. “Do not take him. Please. Take me.”
“Now why ever would I do that?” Kelinar asked, flashing a ruthless smile. “He is the Prince of Camelot and you are just a worthless serving boy. Surely, he holds the answers to the questions King Lyandor seeks, not you.” Kelinar indicated to the guards to lead Arthur away.
“Please,” Merlin said again, but his plea fell on deaf ears. “Arthur!” he called out as the guards and Kelinar led Arthur away.
It was no surprise to Merlin that Arthur ignored him.
~*~
It was the better part of two hours before Arthur was returned to the cell - his body battered, his face bloodied. Merlin’s heart wrenched.
The two guards shoved Arthur into the cell, throwing him roughly to the ground. Merlin went to him immediately. Holding a hand to his ribs, Arthur accepted Merlin’s help to prop himself up against the stone wall and even let Merlin tend to the more glaring wounds on his face.
“What did they do to you?” Merlin asked quietly, as he dabbed at the cuts on Arthur’s face with his neckerchief. He loathed to hear the answer but he had to know.
“Nothing I can’t handle, Merlin,” Arthur responded with warrior-like courage and resolve, but Merlin detected the anxious weariness in his tone. Merlin was used to Arthur’s stiff upper lip responses. They went very well with the way Arthur preferred to do everything.
There was no question of Arthur’s bravery, but Merlin could guess (from the look of the visible and not-so-visible injuries inflicted) that Arthur had been subjected to some form of physical torture. The mere thought of this made Merlin weep inside.
“What do they want?” he asked softly.
“Information,” Arthur told him. “Information about Camelot’s defence strategies, battle plans, weaknesses.” His blue eyes met Merlin’s. “I won’t tell them anything.”
“Then they will keep hurting you,” Merlin said, his tone more of a plea than a statement. He attempted to move Arthur’s hand and raise his tunic so he could inspect the state of his ribs, but Arthur stubbornly and firmly kept his hand in place.
“I’m fine, Merlin,” he said gruffly.
Merlin settled for sitting down next to Arthur, his own back against the cold stone wall, and contemplated whether this was now the time to tell Arthur his secret.
~*~
It was not quite a whole hour before Kelinar appeared again at their dungeon cell.
Arthur had fallen asleep, exhausted from the beating, resting his head on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin had let him, foregoing the conversation about his magic in order to let Arthur rest. He needed Arthur to be strong enough and aware enough if Merlin had any hope of facilitating their escape with the use of magic.
“Pendragon,” Kelinar said with a sadistic sneer to a wakening Arthur. “Are you ready for another round of questioning, or do you think the serving boy should have a turn?”
“He cannot tell you anything,” Arthur said firmly, but Merlin could see the wariness in his eyes. Surely, he wasn’t worried that Merlin would give away Camelot’s secrets?
“I wonder,” Kelinar mused, giving Merlin a look that made his skin crawl.
Arthur met Kelinar’s cruel graze with a firmly set one of his own. “Do you really think I would trust a servant with Camelot’s defence secrets?” Arthur slid his back up the wall, getting to his feet. “The only hope you have of getting any information is through me. So let’s get on with again, shall we?”
“Arthur--” Merlin began to beseech, but there really wasn’t anything he could do or say.
Arthur did not look at him but simply let the guards take him away.
~*~
This time when Arthur was returned to the cell, he had to be dragged in by the two guards, his body so battered and bloodied that he could not stand on his own two feet.
Merlin attempted to catch Arthur as the guards dragged and dropped his body into the cell.
“Arthur,” Merlin called softly, his hands shaking terribly as he took notice of the amount of blood covering his prince.
Arthur pried a swollen eye open. “Merlin,” he said weakly.
Merlin inspected the wounds on Arthur’s body, swallowing back tears and bile as he noted the swelling and the bruising, the cuts and the blood. There was almost no part of Arthur’s body that did not have some injury inflicted on it.
After soaking up what blood he could with his neckerchief and tunic bottom, Merlin arranged Arthur’s battered body against his and let him rest for a bit, cradling him in his arms for comfort. He had to get them out of here soon.
Thankfully, no one came for Arthur in the next two hours and Merlin let Arthur sleep in order to gather some strength. When he finally did wake, Merlin decided that it was time to tell Arthur.
“Arthur,” he began. “There’s something you should know.” Merlin passed his tongue over dry lips. “I can get us out of here,” he announced. “I can use magic--”
“No,” Arthur said firmly, not appearing at all surprised or flummoxed by Merlin’s revelation. He continued, not looking at Merlin, “If there is anybody who hates magic as much as my father, it is King Lyandor. If he should find out that my father, even unwittingly, has been harbouring a sorcerer right in his royal court, I fear that both of us will quickly meet our deaths.”
“But--” Merlin started to argue, completely thrown off by Arthur’s lack of surprise. He knew Merlin could do magic? “Arthur, I can do this--”
“It’s too dangerous!” Arthur barked at him harshly. He kept his gaze averted.
“But you don’t understand,” Merlin countered. “My magic is strong. I can get us safely out of here if you’d just let me--”
Arthur put a hand on his arm to stop his words and cast blue eyes that were beseeching at him. “I cannot let you, Merlin,” Arthur said softly. “I am too afraid.”
Merlin was shocked by Arthur’s revelation. The Arthur Pendragon he knew was not afraid of anything. What had they done to him to make Arthur, the bravest of all brave knights, the pompous of all princes, this fearful?
“Why are you afraid?” Merlin whispered.
Arthur’s look was grave and tormented. “I am afraid, Merlin,” he said, “that if Lyandor finds out you have magic, he will find some way of stopping you.” Arthur bit down on his bloody bottom lip. “And then he will lock you up and torture you before subjecting you to some horribly painful death.” Arthur’s eyes were full of agony. “And I cannot bear the thought of something like that happening to you,” he told him. “So please, Merlin,” Arthur pleaded, “do not use your magic. Not yet.”
Merlin’s heart filled with tortured sorrow. Arthur wasn’t worried that Merlin would give away Camelot’s secrets or that he’d do something that would get Arthur killed. Arthur was worried about him and what King Lyandor might do to him. It was almost too much to take in.
Tears began to fill Merlin’s eyes and he turned so that Arthur wouldn’t be able to see them. “Well, I can’t just sit here doing nothing while he tortures you!” he exclaimed in frustration. Merlin did not think he could bear it if they took Arthur away again.
“I will be alright, Merlin,” Arthur tried to reassure him. “I am a rough and tough knight, remember?” he said with an attempt at light-heartedness. Then, more resolutely, “I can see this through, at least long enough for my father to mount a rescue attempt. Just promise me you won’t use magic.”
Merlin felt decidedly mulish. He wasn’t sure he could make that promise.
“Merlin...” Arthur said in warning, seeing the stubbornness etched on his face.
Merlin said nothing for a couple of beats. Finally, giving Arthur a look that told him in no uncertain terms that he had the right to change his mind if he felt it was necessary, he conceded. “Okay.”
~*~
When Kelinar returned next, he was accompanied by King Lyandor.
Lyandor ran assessing eyes over Arthur. “So Pendragon has not yet given anything up?” he asked Kelinar.
“No, my Lord,” Kelinar answered, his head bowed. “Perhaps it is time to find out whether the serving boy could be persuaded to tell us something.”
Arthur spoke up now, addressing Lyandor. “You as well as anyone should know that a servant of the royal court would never reveal any information.”
“Uther’s son is right,” King Lyandor conceded. “The servant will not give up anything. He will remain loyal to his king and prince.” Lyandor considered for a moment then said to Kelinar, “Take Pendragon again.”
“No!” Merlin protested as Arthur tossed him a wary look.
King Lyandor looked intently at Merlin for a moment then cast a glance at Arthur. His mouth formed a cruel smile. “And take the servant,” he commanded, delighted to see the young Pendragon flinch ever so slightly. “Make him watch,” he told Kelinar. “Make him watch his prince be tortured. Maybe that will loosen his tongue some.”
~*~
As they were both led to another room (the torture room presumably), Merlin thought seriously about using his magic, but Arthur’s severe stare of warning stopped him.
Inside the room, Arthur was taken to one wall and shackled, his arms stretched out, wrists clapped with thick metal bracelets. Merlin felt sick. The way Arthur went into the shackling position without any resistance (he was weak and injured, mind you) it was clear that this is what they had done to him previously. Merlin was brought to a corner in the room with a full view of Arthur splayed out against the wall.
Two of the guards stayed with Kelinar in the room. One picked up a mace and the other a sword. More bile rose in Merlin’s throat.
Kelinar began the questions, sighing loudly but with knowing expectation each time Arthur refused to answer. And each time no answer was forthcoming, Kelinar signalled to one of the guards to inflict damage on Arthur’s body.
Mace to his abdomen and sides. Tip of sword blade to his chest and thigh. Fist to his face and body. And so it went on and on, Arthur never giving up even one small detail, until Merlin’s insides were churning, his throat choking on bile, his heart so heavy he wanted to die.
Finally defeated, Merlin sank to his knees, sobbing. Arthur - his Arthur - was being tortured, horrible pain inflicted on him. Arthur would never give up any of Camelot’s secrets. They would have to kill him. But before they did, they would drive him painfully to the edge of death so that Arthur (or Merlin) would beg them to end his life.
Merlin could take it no longer. The thought of Arthur in so much pain, so much agony, tore Merlin’s heart out. No more. He could do something about it.
Merlin’s eyes flashed in anger, his magic furiously shooting out at the two guards who were torturing Arthur. A dagger flew out from one of the guard’s belts, striking the other centre mass through the chain mail with lividly lethal force. He shouted incantations at the still standing guard, knocking him forcefully back against the hard stone wall, his head smashing fatally against it.
Kelinar froze in utter shock and astonishment and Merlin spared him no mercy. He sent a bolt of fire shooting from his hand at the hateful man, the one who had hurt Arthur mercilessly, and effectively obliterated him.
Merlin shot to his feet and shouted more incantations to break the iron wrist restraints holding Arthur. He caught Arthur as he fell forward.
Arthur was near dead, bloody and bruised.
“Merlin...” Arthur murmured weakly.
“I am getting you out of here,” Merlin told him.
~*~
Getting Arthur out of the castle proved to be tricky but Merlin allowed adrenaline (and a few other emotions) to propel him forward with confidence. Any person who stood in the way of him getting Arthur to safety was halted in their attempt to prevent them escaping with a quick flash of his eyes and a strongly uttered spell with absolutely no thought to the consequences. If he had to, Merlin would kill every last one of King Lyandor’s guards in order to protect Arthur.
Merlin was able to get Arthur safely out of the castle. Carrying Arthur along the best he could, he headed for the wooded area jutting alongside one end of the castle. Night had fallen, but Merlin could not risk magically producing illumination for fear any dispatched guards would be drawn toward it, so he stayed focused on his destination, praying his usual clumsiness would not make an inopportune appearance. Seeming to understand Merlin’s struggle, Arthur attempted to walk on his own, difficult as that was for him.
Not far from the woods, Arthur stumbled and Merlin went back to supporting him, dragging him along.
“I don’t think I can make it, Merlin,” Arthur said, pain and fatigue finally overcoming him.
Merlin stopped momentarily, giving Arthur a tender, encouraging look. “Of course you can,” he said. “You’re Arthur Pendragon, the greatest knight there ever was. You’re the Prince of Camelot, the man who will one day be a great king. You can do anything.”
Arthur breathed out a chuckle, which Merlin knew cost him further pain. “Do you really believe that, Merlin, or is that just your go at a pep talk?”
Merlin looked at Arthur with grave sincerity. “I believe it,” he told him. “Because it is true.” He prodded Arthur forward. “Now, come on, Arthur, just a little farther. We need to get out of sight so I can use my magic to heal some of your wounds.”
With Merlin half-dragging Arthur along, they made it to a small clearing far enough into the woods that it would afford them some guarantee of not being found straight away. Merlin helped Arthur settle on the ground, knowing they both needed the respite, and tried to prepare himself for what he knew he had to do.
Merlin had never done this kind of magic before. Powerful magic that involved the transference of his own life energy to another person. He had, of course, used his magic for healing with some success, once he had practiced and perfected the technique. But the kind of healing magic he needed to do right now was different. It required a lot more concentration, a lot more power, and a considerable amount of faith. Merlin was confident he could do it. He had to - for Arthur.
Merlin pressed his hands lightly to Arthur’s chest and whispered the magical words that would give over his life energy to his wounded master. Merlin focused on Arthur’s internal injuries first, the ones that were the most life-threatening. As he began to magically heal Arthur, Merlin could feel the shooting stab of pain in his ribs on both sides, felt a cut forming on his bottom lip, blood trickling from his nose. These were the consequences of giving Arthur some of his healthy life. Merlin had to take on some of Arthur’s injuries and the pain that went along with them.
Arthur was aware of what was happening. “Enough, Merlin,” he said, watching with agony as Merlin’s bottom lip split open, his nose starting to bleed. “Please don’t give me any more of your health.” Arthur covered Merlin’s hands with his own to further stop him. “You’ve given me enough to go on. Please don’t transfer anymore. I can’t stand to see you in pain because of me.”
Merlin stopped the magic, saying, “You’ll need to rest just a little before we move on.”
Merlin started to move away from Arthur, favouring his now painful ribs, but Arthur moved his hand to Merlin’s face, pulling it to his, resting cheek against cheek. “Thank you, Merlin.”
Merlin was momentarily stunned by Arthur’s tenderness. “For what?” he asked barely above a whisper.
“For saving me,” the prince whispered. “For believing in me. For loving me.”
Merlin pulled back, his heart practically in his throat. He held back the threat of tears and forced himself to jib back light-heartedly, “Okay, now I know you’re delirious with pain. When have you ever thanked a servant?”
“But you’re not any servant,” Arthur returned fondly, settling back to rest some. “You’re Merlin.”
~*~
Merlin sat on a rock (while Arthur tested his strength by standing and working out the kinks in his body) and concentrated hard on a spell he figured they would need if they were going to survive their way out of this one and save a few of the knights also.
Less than half an hour ago, Arthur had sent Merlin to scout the area and Merlin had reported back that there was a sizeable group of King Lyandor’s men now collected at the front of the castle, looking as though they were lying in wait of something.
“He is expecting my father to send a bevy of our best knights to rescue me,” Arthur had said with understanding realization. “He plans for his men to ambush them then kill them. We can’t let that happen.”
Merlin appreciated that Arthur knew what he was talking about. He was a strategic warrior, after all, and he could anticipate the actions of other warrior-leaders like Lyandor.
“Okay,” Merlin had conceded. “What do you suppose we do then?”
Arthur had been unwilling for the plan to include Merlin using his magic, but Merlin had finally managed to convince him otherwise.
“What else can we do, Arthur?” Merlin had reasoned. “Your injuries are no longer life-threatening but you’re still hurt. So please don’t tell me you honestly believe we’d stand a chance unless I use magic. ” Merlin had stared with intensity to appeal to Arthur’s sensibility. “I got us out of the castle. I can use my magic to level the playing field and maybe we will all get out here with our lives.”
Arthur had clearly not been happy but could not offer a more reasonable counter-argument and so the plan now included Merlin using his arsenal of magic to get all of them (he and Merlin plus the knights) out of King Lyandor’s lands safely.
“What are you doing?” Arthur asked, giving him a curious look.
“I’m trying to work out a spell that would cast some kind of protective shield around you,” he answered.
“I don’t need a protective shield, Merlin...”
Merlin gave Arthur a sardonic look.
“I am quite capable of defending myself,” Arthur added with a defiant lift of his chin.
“Of course you are,” Merlin said softly, “But you’re hurt, Arthur. And in case you hadn’t noticed, you have no sword, no weapon. I can’t stop you from getting into the thick of things because I know you better than that, but I can’t do what I need to do, Arthur, if I’m worrying about you.” Arthur looked like he was about to protest and Merlin continued, “And I will worry about you unless I cast some kind of protective shield around you. So that is what is going to happen.”
Arthur stared at him for a long moment. Merlin waited for the scolding, but Arthur never delivered one. Instead, he nodded and left Merlin to his task of concentrating. And when Merlin felt ready, Arthur allowed him to cast the spell on him.
“I hope this works,” Arthur mumbled and Merlin smiled his encouragement.
~*~
“Remember,” Arthur said to him, as they waited in the darkness not more than a hundred paces away from King Lyandor’s group of cleverly-hidden, lying-in-wait warriors. “Wait until our knights are close enough in range and then do your thing.”
Merlin nodded. They had talked at length about the plan, with Arthur repeating the steps over and over. Merlin had listened patiently because he knew Arthur was at his best when he was leading. And Merlin needed Arthur to be at his best if they had any hope of seeing the light of tomorrow’s day.
“I will intercept the knights and order them to retreat,” Arthur continued. “Use your magic to keep Lyandor’s men away, long enough for ours to pull back.”
“I’ve got it,” Merlin said.
“Do not hang back any longer than you need to, Merlin,” Arthur directed firmly.
Merlin saw the concern in Arthur’s eyes and realized that Arthur was still very apprehensive about Merlin using his magic. “I won’t,” he assured him.
At first sign of the knights making their way toward the castle, Arthur and Merlin moved in. There was a shout and then Lyandor’s men began the attempt to surround the knights but, according to plan, Merlin cast a spell that created a blazing line of fire to spring up between them, separating the knights from the warriors.
Merlin heard Arthur shouting at his knights, “Retreat! Retreat!” and hung back to make sure the fire would keep Lyandor’s men halted long enough to ensure the knights’ safe retreat.
But some of the warriors had managed to dodge or break through the blaze and Merlin found himself casting spells all around him to force them back. He heard Arthur yelling at someone to “Get Merlin! Now!”, and suddenly Sir Leon was next to him, gripping his shoulder, pulling him back and away.
Merlin continued to use magic to fight off the onslaught of warriors coming headstrong through the line of fire, even as Sir Leon pulled him along to safety. Merlin was exhausted, but he kept going, worried that if he didn’t, the knights would still be in danger. Arthur would still be in danger.
Finally, when no more of Lyandor’s men attempted to come at them and Merlin was able to see that the knights - and Arthur - were safe, he allowed himself to collapse, completely exhausted.
He was only vaguely aware of Arthur holding him, whispering softly, “You saved us, Merlin. We’re all safe. You saved us.”
~*~
“I’m sorry, Gaius,” Merlin said to the old man, his mentor, his father figure. “I couldn’t let them torture Arthur like that. I had to get him out of there. I had to use my magic to protect Arthur.”
Gaius gave him a warm, paternal look. “You did what you had to, Merlin. I do understand that.”
Merlin’s look was one of distress but not regret. “And now I’m probably going to be executed for it.”
Gaius peered intently through the dungeon cell bars at him. “Have faith, Merlin. You have to trust that Arthur will get you out of this. You know he will do everything in his power to help you.”
“Uther Pendragon is a stubborn man, Gaius. You know that as well as I do.”
“Yes, but so is Uther’s son,” Gaius replied, a small smile forming, intended for reassurance.
Yes, Merlin thought, Arthur was stubborn. Very stubborn. But, unlike his father, his tendency to be unyielding came with his self-ordered duty for doing the right thing; and, unfortunately, the right thing did not always triumph.
Gaius stayed with Merlin in the dungeons for what seemed like an eternity as Uther Pendragon decided his fate. Everything had been a complete blur to Merlin from the time he had collapsed outside King Lyandor’s castle after wielding so much magic until they had arrived safely back at Camelot, where upon learning that Merlin was actually a sorcerer, the King had ordered for him to be locked up. Arthur had bristled and had begun pleading his case, even as Merlin was being dragged away by the royal guards. For their part, the knights had been supportive. Merlin had even heard Sir Leon speak up on his behalf, claiming that they would not have escaped with their lives had it not been for Merlin.
Several hours ticked by before Arthur finally appeared in the dungeons. Merlin was both loathe and eager to see Arthur’s face, to glean from his expression what fate awaited him.
But Arthur would not look at him. He cast a few quick glances at Gaius as he spoke, but he would not look at Merlin, would not meet blue eyes with blue.
“My father will show clemency by not ordering Merlin’s execution,” he announced with little emotion. Merlin felt overwhelming relief, but it was not to last long. “Instead,” Arthur continued, his gaze focused on the ground, “Merlin is to be banished from Camelot.”
Banished? Away from Gaius? Away from Arthur? For a moment, Merlin thought death might be preferable.
Arthur now addressed Gaius, still avoiding Merlin’s searching glances. “Gaius, you will help Merlin gather his things. My father has commanded that I accompany Merlin out of Camelot to ensure that he abides by his order of banishment.” Merlin thought he saw Arthur sneak a quick glance at him then, but it was so brief that he feared he may have imagined it. “I will be around tomorrow morning to collect Merlin for the journey,” Arthur said to Gaius, and then turned, hesitating for only a moment, and left the dungeon.
A guard unlocked the cell to release Merlin. Presumably, he was in Gaius’ care until Arthur came for him in the morning.
~*~
Arthur rode at a slow gait with Merlin walking beside him. With every step Merlin took, it felt like lead in his boots, heavy, burdensome. Merlin did not want to make this journey.
It hadn’t helped any that Arthur had ridden silently for the better part of an hour, still refusing to meet his gaze. Merlin felt ashamed, as though he had somehow lost Arthur’s respect, if he had ever had it in the first place. Merlin was now a banished warlock, a vile being who could not be trusted within the walls of Camelot. Surely, Arthur despised him even though he had convinced his father to let Merlin live. He was a threat, dangerous and unpredictable. Why else would Arthur refuse to look at or talk to him?
Lost in thought, Merlin was barely aware that Arthur had stopped his horse and had dismounted. When he did, he realized that this was the sign that he was at the end of the road. Arthur would make sure he was on his way and then would return to Camelot.
“I guess this is it,” Merlin said forlornly. If only Arthur would look at him, say something. An awkward silence, then before Arthur could even get a chance to do what Merlin wanted, Merlin rounded on him, and cried accusingly, “You won’t even look at me! Look at me, Arthur! Can’t you at least do that for me?”
Arthur did look at him now and Merlin was stunned to see Arthur’s face etched with emotional agony, eyes glistening with heartfelt sorrow, tears brimming his eyelashes. “I can’t, Merlin,” he said softly. “It’s too painful.”
Arthur took a step closer to Merlin, his eyes shifting from Merlin’s to the ground and then back to Merlin’s. Finally, he said, “My father sent me with you to punish me, Merlin. He wants me to watch you leave because he knows it will rip my heart out, knows that it will kill me to turn my back and let you go.” A couple of tears escaped, running down Arthur’s still battered and bruised face. ““I can’t do it,” he said. “I can’t watch you leave.”
“What other choice is there?” Merlin asked, shaking. He was in absolute emotional turmoil right now. He had been upset by Arthur’s refusal to look at him, but Arthur’s revelation of why he couldn’t look at him had rendered Merlin emotionally damaged.
“I will not return to Camelot,” Arthur said decisively. “I will go with you.”
“You can’t,” Merlin said. He moved into Arthur, pulling his face to his, resting cheek against cheek. “Arthur,” he whispered strongly into his prince’s ear, “I love you, but you cannot come with me. You must return to Camelot. It’s your destiny to be King.”
“No,” Arthur replied in an equally strong whisper, his cheek still against Merlin’s. “My destiny is with you, Merlin. My path leads wherever you go.”
Merlin could feel the warm tears falling but he did not care. He loved Arthur. And he wanted Arthur to go with him. But he knew Arthur had to return home. So, he said, “Arthur, if you do not return, your father will assume I used magic on you to get you to come with me. And he will send out knights to get you back and they will kill me.”
Arthur pulled back his head to look at Merlin. “No, I do not think he will.” Merlin gave him one of his ‘are-you-mad?’ looks, believing that Arthur had surely been affected by the blows and beatings to think for a moment that Uther would not cry ‘sorcery’ when his son did not return. But Arthur only smiled. “I gave Gaius a letter to give to my father should I not return to Camelot. In it, I state that I have chosen to be banished along with you until a time when my father can accept that magic can be used for good by people with kind hearts. People like you, Merlin.”
“You had already decided you would come with me?”
Arthur nodded. “But I could not be certain you would let me.” Arthur looked intently at Merlin. “Will you let me come with you, Merlin?”
Merlin looked at Arthur for a long moment. “Yes,” he said finally.
They walked side by side toward Ealdor, Arthur leading his horse along by the reins, Merlin nattering about this and that.
“Merlin,” Arthur said suddenly, “you’re not going to natter the whole way to Ealdor, are you?”
Merlin grinned widely at him. “Yes, Arthur. I am.”
Arthur sighed and then returned the grin. “That’s what I thought. Well carry on then.”
THE END