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Merlin - Finding
The second of the two-story experiment. This one is more from Merlin's point of view of the same events, though it is recommended that you read Searching first.
Title: Finding
Genre: H/C, Bit of Angst, Gen but subtext if you look for it
Rating: R
Length: ~ 4,400 words
Synopsis: Merlin may, possibly, be in over his head.
Warnings: Fairly graphic depictions of violence and the aftermath thereof.
Author’s Notes: The other half of Searching – this is Merlin’s point of view during the events.
Disclaimer: I do not own this particular interpretation of the myth and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
Merlin had just finished tidying up breakfast when he heard it: the quiet mumbling of people trying too hard to be quiet, only not having the experiences to blend in with the day to day cacophony of a castle. He opened the door to peer into the hallway to see what the non-ruckus was about, and was immediately pushed back into the room by three men dressed in ill-fitting servants’ wear. He did not recognize them, though he knew enough that they were a threat by the weapons they brandished.
“Where is the prince?” the first one demanded as the others pulled off their erstwhile disguises.
“Not here,” he replied, stating the obvious. He backed away slowly, presented them a full view of the room as he offered, “See for yourself.”
He doubted the intelligence of the men as they took him at his word and assumed he was a meek and humble worker. They stepped further into the room, and all but one turned his back to him as they did a quick search. The third man held a blade loosely in his hand and barely bothered to even pretend to watch over Merlin as he took in the finery of the room.
A reach and a heavy pitcher was in his hand. A breath and it was smashed over his guard’s head, sending him sprawling to the floor. The noise caught the others’ attention, and the game was on. They lunged at him, but the ridiculous training Arthur had insisted upon came into play, and he dodged them easily. Weapons were tossed and sliced towards him and he avoided them all with a combination of instinct, magic, and luck. He held one blade in the air, spinning just above his head as he reached for the dagger Arthur kept in a drawer, throwing the one and defending himself with the other in quick succession.
“He’s a sorcerer,” one of the men breathed. “In Camelot?” another challenged. “In the prince’s own quarters?” the third one asked. He really needed to discover their names to keep them straight. It was either marauder by number or make inappropriate comments regarding their sizes, and he was not certain either was the best choice.
They dove at him again, and it took him just a second too long to realize one had circled around to the back. One more count and the pommel of a knife came crashing into his skull, bringing both pain and darkness.
~~~~~~~~~~
He awoke to find himself propped up against the table, hands bound behind his back and around one of the wooden legs. He pulled against the ropes, but they held sound. A glance and he knew he was not alone. Another and he knew there was sharpened shard of the shattered pitcher just to his left.
“He’s awake,” one of the men said. This one had dark, almost black hair, not to be confused with the blond and the redhead and really, if he was comparing hair colour as means of identification, he was desperate at this point.
The blond crouched in front of him and Merlin gave him his full consideration for the first time. He had a bit of extra bulk, as if muscle gone unused for too long, and his clothing, while better than most villager standards, had the look of finery that was not well cared for and had never been replaced. The colours were familiar – not quite those of Camelot, but similar enough that they were most likely from an allied province.
The man licked chapped lips before he spoke, and when he did it was solely to ask a question. “Care to explain what a sorcerer is doing in King Uther’s court?” He pulled Merlin’s neckerchief free, used it to less than gently mop at the blood dripping down his forehead.
“No,” Merlin answered easily, refusing to wince from the pain of having his wound poked at. These men were not from around here, not of Camelot. Even Uther would take his word over those of brigands that broke into his son’s room.
He saw the punch come at him, but there was no way to dodge it as trussed up as he was. He used the distraction for what it was and willed the shard a bit closer, felt it land securely in his hand.
“Cheeky thing, aren’t you?” the man laughed without humour, dropping the fabric to rub his knuckles. It must have been too long since he had actually used them.
“I try,” Merlin allowed, mainly to see if it set him off again as he licked his bloodied lip. The shard began to saw through the ropes.
“Don’t you want to know why we are here?” the man asked. He sat back on his haunches a bit, far too relaxed for someone with real training.
Merlin looked around, saw the others setting up a series of traps that, if they did not kill someone outright, would harm them enough for a lingering death. “My guess is to kill Arthur, maybe take some of the guards and knights along with him,” Merlin replied.
“Smart boy,” the man smiled. He even had to the gall to reach over and ruffle Merlin’s hair. “Arthur’s death will make Uther pay for what he did; pay for the sons who have died because of him.”
Merlin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course it was a vengeance thing and of course it was due to something Uther mucked up in the past. “Why not go after Uther himself?” he asked instead. The first layer of rope was cut.
“In time,” the redhead swore as he set up something that looked like a trigger to a crossbow across the room.
“He will suffer the way we suffered first,” the blond promised. He reached into a pouch at his side, pulled out a familiar looking sigil. Arthur himself kept one nearly identical to it in his drawer. “Recognize this?” the man asked. He did not wait for an answer, but continued on instead. “This was given to all those loyal to the dear Lady Igraine, and there were many of us. Uther swept in and took control, any of us not willing to swear to him in her stead were left to rot, sons conscripted to an army and few ever seen of again.”
“And you seek your vengeance upon him, your gift to the Lady, but killing her son?” Merlin asked sceptically. Perhaps rot had been a valid description, only for their minds as well as their possessions.
“Arthur is the son of Uther. Igraine barely held him in her arms before she died, Uther having used her and tossed her to the side now that he had what he wanted, an heir in both their names,” the blond accused.
Merlin was going to argue that it was not true, that Uther loved Igraine, just from the stories he had heard during his time at court, but felt it would both fall on deaf ears and ruin his total streak of dislike for the man.
The man with black hair tossed his blade in the air, caught it in almost deft fingers. “We will make him pay, for what he did to us, and what he did to her,” he growled. He grabbed the cloth his companion had dropped earlier, opened the door just enough to hang it on it before closing it again. “A sign of what’s to come,” he said by way of explanation.
“But Arthur...” Merlin started, only to be cut off. That annoyed him nearly as much as being used as bait.
“The boy shall be with his mother once more, as it should be,” the blond grinned, sound in his lack of logic.
“And nothing will stop us from having our revenge,” the redhead joined in.
Merlin let his head fall as if defeated, let their guard drop ever so much. “You forget one thing,” he pointed out in no more than a whisper. When he looked up again, he knew his eyes shone gold with the magic within, watched as they stumbled in shock. He cocked his head to the side and brought his now freed hands around to the front, ropes swinging from where they still clung to his wrists. “Me.”
He lunged at the blond, knocking the blade out of the way and pounding his head against the stone. A swing of his hand and the other two flew against the far wall. One of the traps went off, piercing the black haired man with an arrow to his thigh. He broke it off and swung towards Merlin once more. Merlin ducked, letting the man’s momentum send him tripping over a chair.
He spared a look towards the window, saw the way the light angled in, and knew Arthur would be returning from the practice field soon. With a room full of traps and angry men who knew where they were, he did not want to risk it. He was already tired, and his head throbbed in time with his flickering vision, but he summoned what he could and murmured, “Alltudio.”
A whip of wind and colour and sound later, and he and the trio of men were outside, a stone wall he vaguely recognized as likely part of the castle looming at their side. The men were disoriented and Merlin was just happy to be somewhat out of harm’s way. He thought of Arthur happening into his room and setting off the traps and used a bit more of his waning strength to utter, “Amddiffyn,” in hopes to protect him long enough to do something about it.
The distraction must have been long enough for the trio to recoup as they began their attack once more. He barely ducked the redhead, gripping onto his tunic and using the more mundane defences Arthur taught him to use his momentum to toss him into the wall. He missed, slightly, breaking a wooden grate and nearly spearing the other man on the sharpened points the action produced. He pushed himself off the mostly unconscious body, tugging off the remnants of the ropes about his wrists and tossing them to the side before he turned to face the others.
The threw everything they had at him, quite literally, and he was forced to wonder just how many tiny blades the black haired one had on his person even as he twirled them around back at him. Many hit their mark, though most just trapped themselves in the folds of his tunic and light armour, infuriating him even further.
The redhead was stirring, the blond was circling, and the black haired one was just plain angry. Merlin was not sure how much longer he could hold out against them. His mind was torn between fighting and returning to ensure Arthur’s safety. He tried the transportation spell one more time, watching as the wind spun around the men, sending them somewhere, though their exact location he really did not have the foggiest idea of.
He turned to re-enter the castle, only to be reminded that one must have focus when one practiced magic as another mini-cyclone appeared and engulfed him as well. He spun and was disoriented, and rather would have liked to lose his breakfast, only to discover himself in Arthur’s room once more. He breathed a sigh of relief, and even managed to take a single step forward before he realized he was not alone. He turned to see the blond behind him, but thankfully not the others, right before his head exploded in pain and he crumpled to the floor once more.
~~~~~~~~~~
This time, when he awoke, he immediately knew two things: one was that he was incredibly uncomfortable, and the other was that he was in quite a lot of trouble.
His arms were drawn up over his head and he was suspended from the ceiling in such way that he could barely touch the ground with the tips of his boots. He could already feel the loss of sensation in his fingertips, and his arms ached from holding the weight of his own body.
“Where are they?” a regretfully familiar voice demanded. It was the blond, and he was pacing in front of him, a somewhat rusted dagger in hand.
“I don’t know,” Merlin answered truthfully. He tried to blink past his blurred vision, but it seemed far too much effort at this point. Besides, the man was far less frightening when he couldn’t see his expression.
He expected the punch this time, feet swaying and scrambling to find purchase again even as his ribs screamed in protest. “What kind of sorcerer are you if you don’t even know where you sent someone?” the man asked.
“Apparently not a very good one?” Merlin tried. He braced himself for the impact, and was not disappointed when it came.
The man spun around, began to pace a rather narrow path than Merlin figured was one of the safe zones free of traps. “No matter,” he said, possibly to convince himself more than Merlin. “The trap is set and everything is in place. It will be enough.”
Merlin tried to keep his head upright, braced it against one of his aching arms. “Surely you can’t still be willing to continue with this scheme?” he sighed. Unfortunately, it was less of boredom and more of an attempt to get air into and out of himself. “Just how do you plan on escaping when this is all over, or did you not think that far in advance? The castle is probably crawling with knights and guards by now, leaving you no way out.” He had no idea if that were true or not, but it sounded good, so he went with it.
The man whirled around again, pointed his blade at Merlin’s chest and pressed just enough to break the skin. “Arthur will be dead and Uther will suffer; it will be enough,” he insisted.
Merlin tried to think of a way out of this, or at least a way to warn Arthur. He was too weak to break the ropes cutting into his wrists, and too drained to use any sort of powerful magic any time soon. “I’ll scream,” he offered. It was a less than noble way to go, but it might be enough.
The man seemed to actually consider that a threat. He grabbed Merlin’s throat with his free hand, air that was already a precious commodity slowing to a near stop. “No you won’t,” he threatened. He tossed his dagger to the table, the point embedded in the wood to stand upright as he pulled a length of cloth from the pouch at his side. He released Merlin just long enough for him to try to take a breath, before he shoved the cloth at him, wrapping it around and tying it tightly.
The fabric was smoother than Merlin had thought it would be, making him think it was probably a remnant of Igraine’s days, some unknown history tied to it. It still cut into his skin and, when he tried, prevented any reasonable sound from escaping.
“Try to scream for your prince now,” the blond laughed, retrieving his dagger. He limped over to a place near the door and steadied himself up against the wall, apparently content to wait. Merlin simply focused on trying to breath.
He could not tell if it was hours, minutes, or days later when he heard something in the hallway. His body had not even granted him the reprieve of numbness, each muscle taking turns to scream out its discomfort before the next one got its chance. He had busied himself with trying to set off the traps he could see, lobbing an apple from the table at one, a fallen dish at another, and thoroughly angering his captor until he felt the need to beat him to near unconsciousness once more. Part of him thought it was likely a waste of energy and magic, but the rest of him figured if he saved even a single knight, or Arthur himself, it would be worth it.
His jailor must have heard the noise at the same time, straightening in his position at the door, dagger at the ready. He motioned for Merlin to be quiet which of course he took as a challenge, and he did his very best to scream and holler through his gag. The handle that had been turning paused, and he breathed a sigh of relief, only to turn it into a curse as the door flung open the rest of the way.
The first trap was released, arrows flying towards the opening, the blond ducking to safety. Merlin called on the last shreds of his strength and willed the arrows away from the two blurred figures he saw in the doorway, unfortunately sending at least one into a second trap, which released another round. These flew in his direction and he tried to send them away, but it was too much too late in game for those types of heroics, and he felt one embed itself into his skin, discovered that there really was more pain in the world to go around as his vision began to white out from it.
He opened his eyes to see Arthur rising, the blond readying his attack behind him. He shouted in warning, did not know if it would even get through, but watched as Arthur sliced clean through him, leaving a crumpled heap on the floor. A voice he belatedly recognized as Morgana’s was calling his name, but Arthur was asking him something and he focused on those words instead.
“Are there any more?” he demanded. Merlin shook his head; the companions had never found their way back from wherever he had sent them.
Arthur said something to Morgana, and she replied, but Merlin could make no sense of the words, everything blurring into one giant jumble now that the threat was out of the way and safety was within his reach.
The strain on his arms was suddenly lessened, and he could not help the sigh that escaped him at the relief that gave him. He heard Arthur’s voice, felt his arms around him as he promised, “I’ve got you.”
His hands were finally free and he was lowered to the blessed ground. The shine of a blade so near his face made him want to flinch, but he did not have the energy, settled for licking his lips and taking a breath of relief as the gag was cut away.
There was a hand in his hair. It pulled at the wound along his scalp as much as it comforted, but he leaned into it nonetheless. “What did he do to you?” Morgana asked.
Merlin took a moment to do a self-assessment, but could not tell which of his injuries were from when he was strung up and which were from the previous taking on of all three men. “I fought back,” he non-answered.
“Of course you did,” Arthur sighed, though he did not sound disappointed. There was a gentle squeeze of his shoulder, and he could feel his muscles tremble under the touch.
“What did they want with you?” Morgana asked, pressing something to his most recent wound.
He did not hide his grunt of pain, but did manage to grind out, “Didn’t want me... wanted Arthur.”
“Dead, I assume?” Arthur guessed.
Merlin nodded, body and muscles locking up with the simple action. He had to warn him though. For as many traps as he set off, he was certain there was more. His words were slurring, but he was fairly certain he got out something fairly coherent.
He was starting to drift when he heard a question he had to answer, “Were you here the whole time?”
He thought of Arthur, was fairly certain now that he had searched for him, wondered what would have happened if he had opened the door and set something off before he and the blond man returned, was thankful the protection spell worked enough to keep him away until now. “Sorcerer,” he grinned, or at least tried to. “Went somewhere and came back. Not sure exactly where; knocked me around right good first.”
His grip on consciousness was nearly good and truly gone at this point, and he let himself sink into the blackness, happy the pain seemed to fade with the light.
There was a nudge against his mind and he felt the slender thread of magic that was Gaius appear, healing hands running over him and finding injuries he could not remember receiving. He opened his eyes enough to see Arthur reach for the man’s pouch, pull out the sigil he would undoubtedly recognize. He could not bear him thinking his own mother tied into this plot, no matter how convolutedly. A whispered word and the sigil fell into the pouch and appeared in Merlin’s hand.
“Merlin, now is not the time,” Gaius hissed at him.
Merlin folded the aged hands around his own, pressed the piece into them. “Hide this from him,” he whispered.
He watched as Gaius looked down, knew the moment he recognized it. The healer tucked it away with a terse, “I will expect a full explanation for this later.” Merlin had expected no less.
Arthur was gone now and Morgana forced from the room to give Gaius some privacy. Several guards remained, and Merlin saw one wander too close to what he recognized as another trap just before it went off. He muttered the protection, watched as the blade just missed him, felt the last of his strength leave his body. Just before he gave in to the darkness, he heard Gaius whisper his thanks.
~~~~~~~~~~
When Merlin next awoke, he was in his own bed, a stream of moonlight filtering in through the window to combat the candles laid about. The worst of the aches were gone, but the fuzzy feeling his head told him that was more than likely due to one of Gaius’ tinctures than his injuries miraculous disappearance.
He looked around for the healer, but found a tired Gwen in his stead, slightly less than ladylike in posture as she slumped in a chair that had been brought in. “I sent him to get some sleep,” she explained, voice barely above a whisper. “How are you feeling?”
He thought about it for a moment, feeling a thread of both strength and magic returning. It was not much, but it was more than he had when he was last awake, so it would have to do for now. “Drained,” he answered honestly.
“I would imagine,” she smiled. “Can I get you anything?”
His throat was dry and it hurt to talk, his voice sounding gravelly to his own ears. “Water?”
She reached for a jug on a small table next to her, poured a distinctly not-clear liquid into a small cup and offered it to him. “Gaius asked that you drink this first,” she explained. “It’s not water, but it’s wet, so that should help. I think it’s some sort of tea.”
Merlin took a tentative sip with her help. It was not awful, but he had drunk better in his life. He could taste as much as feel the herbs that were infused in it and, when a tiny tingle of his magic coursed through his veins, had a fair idea why Gaius had recommended it.
He tried to stay awake and reassure Gwen than he was okay, or near enough to it, but his eyes felt heavy and staying awake seemed far too much bother. “Sleep,” she bade him. She pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead and he drifted off with a smile.
~~~~~~~~~~
The next time he awoke, Gaius was there and Gwen was nowhere to be found. The pinks of the rising sun were lighting his room and most of the candles had been put out.
He told Gaius the whole story over more of the tea and a bit of soft bread. Gaius did not fully agree with the reasoning for keeping the secret, but promised not to tell Arthur anything he did not discover on his own. Figuring that was better than he could have expected, Merlin settled into his pillow and let the healer fuss over his injuries some more.
Each scrape, scratch, and cut was explained, as was the treatment. The bandages from his wrists were removed to allow him a quick wash, only to be replaced again when the simple action tore the skin once more. There were stitches in his arm, but thankfully none in his scalp, and he took that as a small blessing. Gaius gave him permission to try some of the healing incantations on himself, but only after he slept some more and got something more than bread into him.
He was just about to drift off when Arthur arrived. The hum of the two familiar voices had nearly lulled him to sleep when he heard the door close and the chair shift as someone sat down. He tried to force his eyes open enough to make out who it was, smiling when he realized it was Arthur. He was safe and sound and whole, which meant Merlin had done his job.
They had some sort of inane conversation that he barely tracked, but the tone of Arthur’s voice told him he was glad he was doing well, which was a step in the right direction.
The pull of sleep was strong, but there was something he needed to know before he gave in. Even though he had dreamt of the two other attackers appearing in a land far enough away from Camelot that the very seasons seemed to have changed, he doubted his magic was powerful enough to send them that far, especially in the condition he had been in, and wanted to make certain the threat had passed. “Did you get them all?” he asked, not bothering to open his eyes again.
“They won’t let me check for myself, but they are looking,” Arthur assured him, a hint of a pout to his tone.
Merlin smiled despite everything that had happened, happy to know the knights and guards were keeping Arthur safe when he could not. “Good,” he nodded.
Just before he let sleep claim him, he heard the squeak of the chair as Arthur settled in, followed by a whispered, “Good.” Figuring it was time for the prince to watch over him for a change, he smiled and let go.
~~~~~~~~~~
Read Searching (Arthur's POV) if you have not yet already.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
Title: Finding
Genre: H/C, Bit of Angst, Gen but subtext if you look for it
Rating: R
Length: ~ 4,400 words
Synopsis: Merlin may, possibly, be in over his head.
Warnings: Fairly graphic depictions of violence and the aftermath thereof.
Author’s Notes: The other half of Searching – this is Merlin’s point of view during the events.
Disclaimer: I do not own this particular interpretation of the myth and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
Merlin had just finished tidying up breakfast when he heard it: the quiet mumbling of people trying too hard to be quiet, only not having the experiences to blend in with the day to day cacophony of a castle. He opened the door to peer into the hallway to see what the non-ruckus was about, and was immediately pushed back into the room by three men dressed in ill-fitting servants’ wear. He did not recognize them, though he knew enough that they were a threat by the weapons they brandished.
“Where is the prince?” the first one demanded as the others pulled off their erstwhile disguises.
“Not here,” he replied, stating the obvious. He backed away slowly, presented them a full view of the room as he offered, “See for yourself.”
He doubted the intelligence of the men as they took him at his word and assumed he was a meek and humble worker. They stepped further into the room, and all but one turned his back to him as they did a quick search. The third man held a blade loosely in his hand and barely bothered to even pretend to watch over Merlin as he took in the finery of the room.
A reach and a heavy pitcher was in his hand. A breath and it was smashed over his guard’s head, sending him sprawling to the floor. The noise caught the others’ attention, and the game was on. They lunged at him, but the ridiculous training Arthur had insisted upon came into play, and he dodged them easily. Weapons were tossed and sliced towards him and he avoided them all with a combination of instinct, magic, and luck. He held one blade in the air, spinning just above his head as he reached for the dagger Arthur kept in a drawer, throwing the one and defending himself with the other in quick succession.
“He’s a sorcerer,” one of the men breathed. “In Camelot?” another challenged. “In the prince’s own quarters?” the third one asked. He really needed to discover their names to keep them straight. It was either marauder by number or make inappropriate comments regarding their sizes, and he was not certain either was the best choice.
They dove at him again, and it took him just a second too long to realize one had circled around to the back. One more count and the pommel of a knife came crashing into his skull, bringing both pain and darkness.
~~~~~~~~~~
He awoke to find himself propped up against the table, hands bound behind his back and around one of the wooden legs. He pulled against the ropes, but they held sound. A glance and he knew he was not alone. Another and he knew there was sharpened shard of the shattered pitcher just to his left.
“He’s awake,” one of the men said. This one had dark, almost black hair, not to be confused with the blond and the redhead and really, if he was comparing hair colour as means of identification, he was desperate at this point.
The blond crouched in front of him and Merlin gave him his full consideration for the first time. He had a bit of extra bulk, as if muscle gone unused for too long, and his clothing, while better than most villager standards, had the look of finery that was not well cared for and had never been replaced. The colours were familiar – not quite those of Camelot, but similar enough that they were most likely from an allied province.
The man licked chapped lips before he spoke, and when he did it was solely to ask a question. “Care to explain what a sorcerer is doing in King Uther’s court?” He pulled Merlin’s neckerchief free, used it to less than gently mop at the blood dripping down his forehead.
“No,” Merlin answered easily, refusing to wince from the pain of having his wound poked at. These men were not from around here, not of Camelot. Even Uther would take his word over those of brigands that broke into his son’s room.
He saw the punch come at him, but there was no way to dodge it as trussed up as he was. He used the distraction for what it was and willed the shard a bit closer, felt it land securely in his hand.
“Cheeky thing, aren’t you?” the man laughed without humour, dropping the fabric to rub his knuckles. It must have been too long since he had actually used them.
“I try,” Merlin allowed, mainly to see if it set him off again as he licked his bloodied lip. The shard began to saw through the ropes.
“Don’t you want to know why we are here?” the man asked. He sat back on his haunches a bit, far too relaxed for someone with real training.
Merlin looked around, saw the others setting up a series of traps that, if they did not kill someone outright, would harm them enough for a lingering death. “My guess is to kill Arthur, maybe take some of the guards and knights along with him,” Merlin replied.
“Smart boy,” the man smiled. He even had to the gall to reach over and ruffle Merlin’s hair. “Arthur’s death will make Uther pay for what he did; pay for the sons who have died because of him.”
Merlin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course it was a vengeance thing and of course it was due to something Uther mucked up in the past. “Why not go after Uther himself?” he asked instead. The first layer of rope was cut.
“In time,” the redhead swore as he set up something that looked like a trigger to a crossbow across the room.
“He will suffer the way we suffered first,” the blond promised. He reached into a pouch at his side, pulled out a familiar looking sigil. Arthur himself kept one nearly identical to it in his drawer. “Recognize this?” the man asked. He did not wait for an answer, but continued on instead. “This was given to all those loyal to the dear Lady Igraine, and there were many of us. Uther swept in and took control, any of us not willing to swear to him in her stead were left to rot, sons conscripted to an army and few ever seen of again.”
“And you seek your vengeance upon him, your gift to the Lady, but killing her son?” Merlin asked sceptically. Perhaps rot had been a valid description, only for their minds as well as their possessions.
“Arthur is the son of Uther. Igraine barely held him in her arms before she died, Uther having used her and tossed her to the side now that he had what he wanted, an heir in both their names,” the blond accused.
Merlin was going to argue that it was not true, that Uther loved Igraine, just from the stories he had heard during his time at court, but felt it would both fall on deaf ears and ruin his total streak of dislike for the man.
The man with black hair tossed his blade in the air, caught it in almost deft fingers. “We will make him pay, for what he did to us, and what he did to her,” he growled. He grabbed the cloth his companion had dropped earlier, opened the door just enough to hang it on it before closing it again. “A sign of what’s to come,” he said by way of explanation.
“But Arthur...” Merlin started, only to be cut off. That annoyed him nearly as much as being used as bait.
“The boy shall be with his mother once more, as it should be,” the blond grinned, sound in his lack of logic.
“And nothing will stop us from having our revenge,” the redhead joined in.
Merlin let his head fall as if defeated, let their guard drop ever so much. “You forget one thing,” he pointed out in no more than a whisper. When he looked up again, he knew his eyes shone gold with the magic within, watched as they stumbled in shock. He cocked his head to the side and brought his now freed hands around to the front, ropes swinging from where they still clung to his wrists. “Me.”
He lunged at the blond, knocking the blade out of the way and pounding his head against the stone. A swing of his hand and the other two flew against the far wall. One of the traps went off, piercing the black haired man with an arrow to his thigh. He broke it off and swung towards Merlin once more. Merlin ducked, letting the man’s momentum send him tripping over a chair.
He spared a look towards the window, saw the way the light angled in, and knew Arthur would be returning from the practice field soon. With a room full of traps and angry men who knew where they were, he did not want to risk it. He was already tired, and his head throbbed in time with his flickering vision, but he summoned what he could and murmured, “Alltudio.”
A whip of wind and colour and sound later, and he and the trio of men were outside, a stone wall he vaguely recognized as likely part of the castle looming at their side. The men were disoriented and Merlin was just happy to be somewhat out of harm’s way. He thought of Arthur happening into his room and setting off the traps and used a bit more of his waning strength to utter, “Amddiffyn,” in hopes to protect him long enough to do something about it.
The distraction must have been long enough for the trio to recoup as they began their attack once more. He barely ducked the redhead, gripping onto his tunic and using the more mundane defences Arthur taught him to use his momentum to toss him into the wall. He missed, slightly, breaking a wooden grate and nearly spearing the other man on the sharpened points the action produced. He pushed himself off the mostly unconscious body, tugging off the remnants of the ropes about his wrists and tossing them to the side before he turned to face the others.
The threw everything they had at him, quite literally, and he was forced to wonder just how many tiny blades the black haired one had on his person even as he twirled them around back at him. Many hit their mark, though most just trapped themselves in the folds of his tunic and light armour, infuriating him even further.
The redhead was stirring, the blond was circling, and the black haired one was just plain angry. Merlin was not sure how much longer he could hold out against them. His mind was torn between fighting and returning to ensure Arthur’s safety. He tried the transportation spell one more time, watching as the wind spun around the men, sending them somewhere, though their exact location he really did not have the foggiest idea of.
He turned to re-enter the castle, only to be reminded that one must have focus when one practiced magic as another mini-cyclone appeared and engulfed him as well. He spun and was disoriented, and rather would have liked to lose his breakfast, only to discover himself in Arthur’s room once more. He breathed a sigh of relief, and even managed to take a single step forward before he realized he was not alone. He turned to see the blond behind him, but thankfully not the others, right before his head exploded in pain and he crumpled to the floor once more.
~~~~~~~~~~
This time, when he awoke, he immediately knew two things: one was that he was incredibly uncomfortable, and the other was that he was in quite a lot of trouble.
His arms were drawn up over his head and he was suspended from the ceiling in such way that he could barely touch the ground with the tips of his boots. He could already feel the loss of sensation in his fingertips, and his arms ached from holding the weight of his own body.
“Where are they?” a regretfully familiar voice demanded. It was the blond, and he was pacing in front of him, a somewhat rusted dagger in hand.
“I don’t know,” Merlin answered truthfully. He tried to blink past his blurred vision, but it seemed far too much effort at this point. Besides, the man was far less frightening when he couldn’t see his expression.
He expected the punch this time, feet swaying and scrambling to find purchase again even as his ribs screamed in protest. “What kind of sorcerer are you if you don’t even know where you sent someone?” the man asked.
“Apparently not a very good one?” Merlin tried. He braced himself for the impact, and was not disappointed when it came.
The man spun around, began to pace a rather narrow path than Merlin figured was one of the safe zones free of traps. “No matter,” he said, possibly to convince himself more than Merlin. “The trap is set and everything is in place. It will be enough.”
Merlin tried to keep his head upright, braced it against one of his aching arms. “Surely you can’t still be willing to continue with this scheme?” he sighed. Unfortunately, it was less of boredom and more of an attempt to get air into and out of himself. “Just how do you plan on escaping when this is all over, or did you not think that far in advance? The castle is probably crawling with knights and guards by now, leaving you no way out.” He had no idea if that were true or not, but it sounded good, so he went with it.
The man whirled around again, pointed his blade at Merlin’s chest and pressed just enough to break the skin. “Arthur will be dead and Uther will suffer; it will be enough,” he insisted.
Merlin tried to think of a way out of this, or at least a way to warn Arthur. He was too weak to break the ropes cutting into his wrists, and too drained to use any sort of powerful magic any time soon. “I’ll scream,” he offered. It was a less than noble way to go, but it might be enough.
The man seemed to actually consider that a threat. He grabbed Merlin’s throat with his free hand, air that was already a precious commodity slowing to a near stop. “No you won’t,” he threatened. He tossed his dagger to the table, the point embedded in the wood to stand upright as he pulled a length of cloth from the pouch at his side. He released Merlin just long enough for him to try to take a breath, before he shoved the cloth at him, wrapping it around and tying it tightly.
The fabric was smoother than Merlin had thought it would be, making him think it was probably a remnant of Igraine’s days, some unknown history tied to it. It still cut into his skin and, when he tried, prevented any reasonable sound from escaping.
“Try to scream for your prince now,” the blond laughed, retrieving his dagger. He limped over to a place near the door and steadied himself up against the wall, apparently content to wait. Merlin simply focused on trying to breath.
He could not tell if it was hours, minutes, or days later when he heard something in the hallway. His body had not even granted him the reprieve of numbness, each muscle taking turns to scream out its discomfort before the next one got its chance. He had busied himself with trying to set off the traps he could see, lobbing an apple from the table at one, a fallen dish at another, and thoroughly angering his captor until he felt the need to beat him to near unconsciousness once more. Part of him thought it was likely a waste of energy and magic, but the rest of him figured if he saved even a single knight, or Arthur himself, it would be worth it.
His jailor must have heard the noise at the same time, straightening in his position at the door, dagger at the ready. He motioned for Merlin to be quiet which of course he took as a challenge, and he did his very best to scream and holler through his gag. The handle that had been turning paused, and he breathed a sigh of relief, only to turn it into a curse as the door flung open the rest of the way.
The first trap was released, arrows flying towards the opening, the blond ducking to safety. Merlin called on the last shreds of his strength and willed the arrows away from the two blurred figures he saw in the doorway, unfortunately sending at least one into a second trap, which released another round. These flew in his direction and he tried to send them away, but it was too much too late in game for those types of heroics, and he felt one embed itself into his skin, discovered that there really was more pain in the world to go around as his vision began to white out from it.
He opened his eyes to see Arthur rising, the blond readying his attack behind him. He shouted in warning, did not know if it would even get through, but watched as Arthur sliced clean through him, leaving a crumpled heap on the floor. A voice he belatedly recognized as Morgana’s was calling his name, but Arthur was asking him something and he focused on those words instead.
“Are there any more?” he demanded. Merlin shook his head; the companions had never found their way back from wherever he had sent them.
Arthur said something to Morgana, and she replied, but Merlin could make no sense of the words, everything blurring into one giant jumble now that the threat was out of the way and safety was within his reach.
The strain on his arms was suddenly lessened, and he could not help the sigh that escaped him at the relief that gave him. He heard Arthur’s voice, felt his arms around him as he promised, “I’ve got you.”
His hands were finally free and he was lowered to the blessed ground. The shine of a blade so near his face made him want to flinch, but he did not have the energy, settled for licking his lips and taking a breath of relief as the gag was cut away.
There was a hand in his hair. It pulled at the wound along his scalp as much as it comforted, but he leaned into it nonetheless. “What did he do to you?” Morgana asked.
Merlin took a moment to do a self-assessment, but could not tell which of his injuries were from when he was strung up and which were from the previous taking on of all three men. “I fought back,” he non-answered.
“Of course you did,” Arthur sighed, though he did not sound disappointed. There was a gentle squeeze of his shoulder, and he could feel his muscles tremble under the touch.
“What did they want with you?” Morgana asked, pressing something to his most recent wound.
He did not hide his grunt of pain, but did manage to grind out, “Didn’t want me... wanted Arthur.”
“Dead, I assume?” Arthur guessed.
Merlin nodded, body and muscles locking up with the simple action. He had to warn him though. For as many traps as he set off, he was certain there was more. His words were slurring, but he was fairly certain he got out something fairly coherent.
He was starting to drift when he heard a question he had to answer, “Were you here the whole time?”
He thought of Arthur, was fairly certain now that he had searched for him, wondered what would have happened if he had opened the door and set something off before he and the blond man returned, was thankful the protection spell worked enough to keep him away until now. “Sorcerer,” he grinned, or at least tried to. “Went somewhere and came back. Not sure exactly where; knocked me around right good first.”
His grip on consciousness was nearly good and truly gone at this point, and he let himself sink into the blackness, happy the pain seemed to fade with the light.
There was a nudge against his mind and he felt the slender thread of magic that was Gaius appear, healing hands running over him and finding injuries he could not remember receiving. He opened his eyes enough to see Arthur reach for the man’s pouch, pull out the sigil he would undoubtedly recognize. He could not bear him thinking his own mother tied into this plot, no matter how convolutedly. A whispered word and the sigil fell into the pouch and appeared in Merlin’s hand.
“Merlin, now is not the time,” Gaius hissed at him.
Merlin folded the aged hands around his own, pressed the piece into them. “Hide this from him,” he whispered.
He watched as Gaius looked down, knew the moment he recognized it. The healer tucked it away with a terse, “I will expect a full explanation for this later.” Merlin had expected no less.
Arthur was gone now and Morgana forced from the room to give Gaius some privacy. Several guards remained, and Merlin saw one wander too close to what he recognized as another trap just before it went off. He muttered the protection, watched as the blade just missed him, felt the last of his strength leave his body. Just before he gave in to the darkness, he heard Gaius whisper his thanks.
~~~~~~~~~~
When Merlin next awoke, he was in his own bed, a stream of moonlight filtering in through the window to combat the candles laid about. The worst of the aches were gone, but the fuzzy feeling his head told him that was more than likely due to one of Gaius’ tinctures than his injuries miraculous disappearance.
He looked around for the healer, but found a tired Gwen in his stead, slightly less than ladylike in posture as she slumped in a chair that had been brought in. “I sent him to get some sleep,” she explained, voice barely above a whisper. “How are you feeling?”
He thought about it for a moment, feeling a thread of both strength and magic returning. It was not much, but it was more than he had when he was last awake, so it would have to do for now. “Drained,” he answered honestly.
“I would imagine,” she smiled. “Can I get you anything?”
His throat was dry and it hurt to talk, his voice sounding gravelly to his own ears. “Water?”
She reached for a jug on a small table next to her, poured a distinctly not-clear liquid into a small cup and offered it to him. “Gaius asked that you drink this first,” she explained. “It’s not water, but it’s wet, so that should help. I think it’s some sort of tea.”
Merlin took a tentative sip with her help. It was not awful, but he had drunk better in his life. He could taste as much as feel the herbs that were infused in it and, when a tiny tingle of his magic coursed through his veins, had a fair idea why Gaius had recommended it.
He tried to stay awake and reassure Gwen than he was okay, or near enough to it, but his eyes felt heavy and staying awake seemed far too much bother. “Sleep,” she bade him. She pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead and he drifted off with a smile.
~~~~~~~~~~
The next time he awoke, Gaius was there and Gwen was nowhere to be found. The pinks of the rising sun were lighting his room and most of the candles had been put out.
He told Gaius the whole story over more of the tea and a bit of soft bread. Gaius did not fully agree with the reasoning for keeping the secret, but promised not to tell Arthur anything he did not discover on his own. Figuring that was better than he could have expected, Merlin settled into his pillow and let the healer fuss over his injuries some more.
Each scrape, scratch, and cut was explained, as was the treatment. The bandages from his wrists were removed to allow him a quick wash, only to be replaced again when the simple action tore the skin once more. There were stitches in his arm, but thankfully none in his scalp, and he took that as a small blessing. Gaius gave him permission to try some of the healing incantations on himself, but only after he slept some more and got something more than bread into him.
He was just about to drift off when Arthur arrived. The hum of the two familiar voices had nearly lulled him to sleep when he heard the door close and the chair shift as someone sat down. He tried to force his eyes open enough to make out who it was, smiling when he realized it was Arthur. He was safe and sound and whole, which meant Merlin had done his job.
They had some sort of inane conversation that he barely tracked, but the tone of Arthur’s voice told him he was glad he was doing well, which was a step in the right direction.
The pull of sleep was strong, but there was something he needed to know before he gave in. Even though he had dreamt of the two other attackers appearing in a land far enough away from Camelot that the very seasons seemed to have changed, he doubted his magic was powerful enough to send them that far, especially in the condition he had been in, and wanted to make certain the threat had passed. “Did you get them all?” he asked, not bothering to open his eyes again.
“They won’t let me check for myself, but they are looking,” Arthur assured him, a hint of a pout to his tone.
Merlin smiled despite everything that had happened, happy to know the knights and guards were keeping Arthur safe when he could not. “Good,” he nodded.
Just before he let sleep claim him, he heard the squeak of the chair as Arthur settled in, followed by a whispered, “Good.” Figuring it was time for the prince to watch over him for a change, he smiled and let go.
~~~~~~~~~~
Read Searching (Arthur's POV) if you have not yet already.
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Feedback is always welcomed.
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Very happy you liked this!
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Are you going to continue? Maybe from the girls' POV next? They must spoil him rotten, I insist on it. *g*
likely due to one of Gaius’ tinctures than his injuries miraculous disappearance.
I think there should be a possessive apostrophe for injuries?
Thanks for writing and sharing! \o/ <333
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[Also, I have to giggle because the Bat For Lashes song "Wizard" just started playing on my computer...]
The apostrophe was debated, and I think Gaius having the possessive right before it makes it even more obvious so it's edit time (again). *g*
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Heee. Of course they'd be aware of it but indulge him anyway... I'm guessing just to irk Arthur at the same time. *g*
Is that song any good?
Yeah, most of my grammar 'corrections' tend to be in question form because sometimes I'm not sure myself. English for me is instinctive. I did study it for a while, but I wouldn't be able to explain grammar to save my life. Convoluted thing that it is. Heh.
YAYZ PLEASE TO BE WRITING MOAR I AM ESPECIALLY INTRIGUED BY THIS ANGSTFEST 2009 THAT YOU SPEAK OF <3 <3 <3
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Re: Angst - it's this wonderful way to get out the frustrations and such in a non-destructive manner (well, unless you're the characters *g*). The problem is I feel almost guilty after screwing with them for too long and either go back and change things or go write fluff. *g*
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