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Merlin - Rescued
Sorry for spamming so much this weekend - I guess I was a bit productive lately? Anyway, polished this up and figured I would post it while I was still coherent enough to do so. *g*
Title: Rescued
Genre: Gen
Rating: R for gore and violence
Length: ~4,400 words
Spoilers: Er, Leon exists?
Synopsis: Rescue – to free or deliver from confinement, violence, danger, or evil.
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
Merlin awoke to quite a lot of pain. His jaw throbbed and his shoulders felt like they had been pulled out of their sockets. His wrists felt rubbed raw and, quite frankly, his arse felt like he had been dropped upon it from a great height. With quite some trepidation, he opened his eyes, only to wish he could slam them shut again.
“Oh good, you are finally awake,” Arthur whispered. He sounded oddly relieved; odd because he looked, if possible, to be in worse shape than Merlin himself. His face was dotted with emerging bruises and fresh cuts that oozed blood across his dirty skin, and his hunting tunic and trousers were stained and torn. He was seated on a dirt floor with his arms drawn behind him in what looked to be a truly uncomfortable manner, wrists shackled with heavy chains that were bolted to something solid and shadowed that Merlin could not quite make out from his angle.
He tried to move, just a little, and came to the conclusion that he was likely in the same position. Chains clinked and pulled against his tender skin with the slightest shrug, not to mention what the motion did to the pain that ratcheted up another level when he dared to grimace at the movement. “What happened?” he managed to ask. His mouth tasted like blood and perhaps a bit of bile, and he longed for even the mustiest skin of water to rid himself of the dryness.
“We thought they were simple bandits,” Arthur non-answered. Merlin swore he saw him shiver for a moment, but knew it must have been a trick of the shadows.
“They have proved to be something much worse,” a new voice joined in.
“Leon?” Merlin asked. He tried to focus on the shape of another person, but it was hard to see with the lack of light mixed with the blinding pain. A glance showed him the only light appeared to be from small torch hung high above Arthur, which explained the shadows and gloom.
The figure nodded and shifted slightly, allowing Merlin a bit better view of the knight. “Gawain is here as well, not that I wish he were,” Leon confirmed.
“And where exactly is here?” Merlin asked. He knew he had no right, and yet every right at the same time. These men outranked him socially, but they were all trussed up the same, all stuck in the identical situation; there was little harm in sharing just how dire said situation was at this moment.
“The depths of the Underworld itself,” Gawain muttered. He earned an admonition to be quiet for his efforts.
Merlin raised his eyebrows and waited for a more precise answer, and Arthur obliged him. “We appear to be in a stronghold of some sort. There are no less than thirty men outside and they appear to be quite deranged.”
“What do they want us for?” Merlin asked. There was a prickling at his senses, something uncomfortable and unusual.
“Sacrifice,” Leon answered. He already sounded resigned to his fate, which struck Merlin as odd, until the knight elaborated, “They have taken us one by one, and not a single man has returned.”
“I can see them,” Gawain admitted, voice shaking slightly at the admission. It reminded Merlin of how young he was, younger than Merlin himself perhaps, and how he had not yet learned to put up a believable front. “When they took Horace, and Reginald, I could see outside from my angle, saw what they did to the others. It... was brutal, to say the least.”
Merlin swallowed heavily, tongue feeling thick and heavy in his too dry mouth. “Has anyone tried to escape?” He grit his teeth as he pulled more soundly against his bonds, not surprised when they both offered no give and granted him quite a lot of pain.
“Gee, why hadn’t we thought of that?” Arthur commented with more sarcasm than Merlin felt was strictly necessary. “We have only been trained in battle and tactics since, oh, birth, but you, you have the knowledge of the ages, of a farmer himself, and we should bow to your great wisdom.”
Merlin was about to rebut the attitude, but was interrupted when what he assumed were the captors burst through what he now recognized as the door to their little cell. The skins and leathers they wore were filthy, dripping with gore that smeared along their skin. One stared at him, head cocked to the side as if sensing something within, even as Merlin sensed a mockery of magic and power inside him as well. The moment was broken when another of the captors, this one with nearly no buzz about him, elbowed the first and grunted something unintelligible. The four men who entered strode right over to Gawain, filthy blade held to his throat by two while the others released his chain from its hold.
As expected, Gawain lurched forward to fight and, as expected, he was quickly overpowered by both the number and size of the attackers. Merlin was only partially aware of Arthur’s shouts and pleas to take him instead and let the others go, focused instead on the little he could see outside the doorway. When the heavy wood slammed shut, he had seen enough to know there were no others left to let go, save what currently sat in his very cell.
“Sire,” Leon tried, voice deceptively calm. “There must be a way, a weakness of some sort.”
Merlin did not really listen to what either man had to say, watched instead as both looked eerily pale, sweat making their hair plaster to their heads in new and interesting ways, and the scent of what could only be fear filling the room. Arthur was never afraid, at least not visibly. Then again, as far as Merlin knew, Arthur had never been trussed up like a lamb for sacrifice, watching each one of his flock face the axe in turn before it was his time to head for the block.
There was, of course, no way Merlin was going to let that happen. He startled both men, and himself, when he blurted, “I think I can get us out of here.”
“You?” Arthur scoffed. The fear in his eyes was now matched with worry though, and Merlin took that as an advantage to press.
“I need you to promise me two things though,” Merlin said, ignoring the way Arthur looked ready to brush him off. His heart was beating far too fast, but he knew he needed to rush through this or he would never make it. “I need you to promise to stay behind me until we are out of here, and I need you to promise not to kill me yourselves until we are free and clear from this place.”
He was torn between thinking his destiny was for nothing, and that, perhaps, this was his destiny, to save Arthur from mortal danger, even at the cost of his own life. Even if he escaped before Arthur and Leon could take him to the executioner for what he was about to do, he would likely never see the prat again, never see what a great king was lurking deep within.
“Merlin” Arthur sighed, leaning against the bolt that held his chains. “You are talking like a mad man.”
“Do you promise?” Merlin demanded, voice suddenly stronger than even he thought he could make it.
There must have been something to his tone as Arthur looked up then, an inscrutable look upon his bruised face. “I swear upon the crown itself,” he intoned with a seriousness Merlin was rarely privy to.
“And I swear upon the crown which I serve,” Leon promised.
Merlin closed his eyes and nodded. He summoned every scrap of courage, every scrap of strength that he had, pushed the pain and fatigue to the back of his mind, and hoped it was enough. Even before he looked up, even before he knew his eyes swirled with the golden light of magic, he whispered, “I am so sorry. I never meant to keep this from you. I am so very sorry.”
“Merlin, what do you-” Arthur cut himself off mid-sentence, obviously seeing everything Merlin had laid out before him, everything Merlin had kept from him to protect him.
A word and his bonds broke free, the metal shattering like glass upon the ground. Another word and the heavy latch of the door caught, the wood creaking open ever so slightly to reveal what lie in wait on the other side.
Merlin scrambled to his feet, ignored the aches in his body and the accusing glare he received from his prince as he stumbled by him and peered outside into the clearing lit by the setting sun.
It was chaos, a mockery of magic. Bodies were strung up on stands in a circle around a central fire or, more accurately, pieces of such. Blood dripped from fatal wounds, from the limbs left hanging with nothing but their own weight to steady them. Men chanted nonsense words, a corruption of spells and prayers of old as they stood around each rack, each group engaged in various processes with each victim. The four that had taken Gawain were joined by three others, knives that looked to be made of bone stained with some unknown substance making shallow cuts into his skin. Gawain did not move though, save for his eyes, opened wide and filled with terror unlike anything Merlin had ever seen.
He turned back to the cell, flattened himself along the wall as his eyes readjusted to the lack of light, saw Arthur still fuming and Leon still questioning from their places on the floor. “Things do not look good,” he admitted. Not surprisingly, Arthur’s estimate of the number of men was near spot-on, which left them with quite the deficit in comparable manpower.
“And things are going to look far worse if you do not free us,” Arthur spat.
“Will you keep your promise?” Merlin asked. He instantly regretted it as he realised he had just questioned Arthur’s very honour, something made evident by the deepening of the glare pointed in his direction. Arthur had sworn upon the crown; Merlin should have realised the depth of that promise. He was guaranteed safety until after the escape, if no longer than that. “Silly question,” he muttered, not surprised when it had no effect on the prince’s attitude.
He freed them both with a word, worried when Arthur staggered before standing, when the action revealed more smears of blood than Merlin had initially realized. He offered a hand for support, but it was ignored as Arthur leaned around him to look out the door for himself. He was only slightly mollified when Arthur pressed himself back up against the wall, his skin an unhealthy shade of grey.
Leon, for his part, stayed behind Merlin, just as promised, his greater height allowing him to see over his shoulder, his less than silent curses telling Merlin when he had his fill. “What now?” the knight asked. Merlin was surprised to see him looking to him and not the prince for direction, and then remembered he was the one in charge, at least minimally, for the time being.
“You stay behind me,” he repeated, pleased when his voice did not shake as much as he thought it would. His body screamed in protest of what he was about to do and he knew the little strength he had was a gift of his magic and nothing more. His exhaustion and pain could wait though; their escape could not. “Grab weapons if you can and grab Gawain if you can. I fear the others are lost, but we can at least avenge their deaths.”
“The three of us against all of them?” Leon verified. Merlin could not tell if he looked impressed or like he was headed for a suicide mission. He decided not to try to figure it out.
“We have something they do not,” Merlin reminded him. He saw the questioning look and fought to roll his eyes as he turned back to the carnage outside. “Me,” he finished, far less impressively than he had hoped.
“And if you betray us? If you leave us here to join you fellow sorcerers in their archaic rituals?” Arthur spat from behind him.
Merlin whirled around at that, knew there was both anger and magic in his eyes as he hissed, “I have never and I will never betray you. I have saved your life far more times than you will ever realize and will do so until the day I die. Should I ever, for any reason, bewitched or no, purposefully cause you harm, you will not have the chance to kill me as I will already have taken a blade to myself.”
He did not bother to listen to Arthur’s rebuttal, turning back to the matter at hand and letting his anger and fury fuel his magic, grant him what he needed to hopefully get the job done and get them out of there. He called upon something deep within himself, letting his soul latch on to the Old Ways, let the power and the force of them flow through him at a level he himself barely understood. He pushed the door open and readied himself, knew they would have only one chance at this, if even that. He would make the most of it, as there was simply nothing else he could do.
There was a silence, eerie and empty, as if time itself stood still. A moment, a breath, and the elements themselves seemed to bend to his will, course through him in an explosion that knocked over half of the camp off their feet, left them stumbling and dumb as they tried to regroup, tried to figure out what just happened and just what was going on.
“Magic?” Arthur scoffed from behind him, still hidden in the shadows of the cell. “You, a single man, are going to use magic against a colony of magic users, and expect to win?”
“What they are doing is not magic,” Merlin told him, not bothering to turn to see him. He was in the open; their attackers could see him as much as he could see them. His gaze was locked on the people scrambling, the people grabbing weapons to use against them. A wave of his hand and four went sailing to the side, crumpled in a heap atop each other. “What they are doing is an abomination,” he said, striding forth. Another man attacked, and another man fell. “They hope to call upon something powerful, something to give them what they desire, something they will never even hope to touch.”
Three more lunged at him, one even managed to have a blade. A thought, a word, and the blade turned on its owner, sliced through the heavy hides he wore and deep into his skin. “The blades are poisoned,” Merlin cautioned, not even certain where he had obtained such knowledge. “One touch to your skin and you will freeze like stone, locked inside your own body and an easy victim to the others.” He watched as the man who had just cut himself stood paralysed in place, knocked aside by another who attempted to attack. A word and he fell as well.
Merlin only half registered Leon’s grunt of confirmation, of the way he ripped his shirt and wrapped it around his hand before he dared to reach for one of the fallen blades, of the way Arthur did the same.
Merlin occupied himself with taking out as many of the men as possible, with clearing a path to were Gawain hung heavy in his bonds, blood dripping from his arms and a sizable, but thankfully not fatal, gash to his side. Merlin had to pause in his eradication of the camp to free him from the chains, to make certain Arthur and Leon had a grip on him without accidentally cutting him or themselves with the weapons that had already used against men who had somehow gotten close enough to their range.
Merlin turned at a sound, found a man had slipped through the almost shield he had formed around himself, around the others, and was close enough to strike. The man folded to the ground instead, eyes wide in disbelief as Arthur wiped his now bloodied dagger against the man’s jerkin and ordered, “Let’s get out of here.”
Merlin nodded and turned towards what he thought was the exit to the stronghold. His suspicions were based solely on the fact that roughly a half dozen men, all armed with the blades he was beginning to despise, blocked the way.
One stood just in front of the others, his leathers and skins just a bit finer, just a bit more elaborate than what appeared to be standard for the camp. There was a buzz around him, the faint sense of an almost real power. “Sorcerer,” the man growled, eyes glowing more red than gold, his own, more elaborate, blade floating threateningly before him.
“More than you will ever know,” Merlin confirmed. He held up a hand, ready to lash out, ready to protect, ready to do what was needed to get the three men behind him to safety.
The knife flew at him, aim true and centre to his chest. It never made it that far, a whispered word turning it back on its owner, burying it deep enough the poison would not even need to do its job.
He barely had time to breathe before the others threw their own blades, metal and bone cascading towards him in a cloud of poison and fury even as they readied the next round from what seemed to be a limitless stash. This was far more difficult, took more effort and more concentration of his now lagging energy, but he managed to turn them all, managed to have them all find fitting and deserving targets that collapsed almost as one.
The path finally clear, they raced for the exit, the heavy gate lifting with a thought and falling closed behind them, the rock of the walls crumbling atop it, hopefully delaying any survivors long enough for the men of Camelot to find their freedom.
Winded and fatigued, Merlin took a moment to double over and finally catch his breath, to try to quell the wave of dizziness and nausea that threatened to overtake him. Which is why, he supposed, he did not hear the shouted, “Merlin!” until after a sharp pain pierced through the aches he had been ignoring thus far, until after his body collided with the ground, and until after the lethargy already began to seep into his system.
His eyes somehow stayed open just long enough to see the man from the cell, the man with a hint of power, collapse beside him, his own crazed eyes now unseeing as blood pooled beneath him, soaking deep into the dirt. After that, it was just too much. He was too tired, too weak, too numb from magic and fear and rage. His last thought before he gave into the darkness was whether Arthur would wait for him to wake, or grant him the gift of unconsciousness for his execution.
When he next opened his eyes, it was once again to near darkness. Shadows danced along the walls, but he was wrapped in comfort, not chains, and the light came not from a torch, but from a fire in a hearth and a candle placed near what appeared to be a window to whatever room his was in. Like before, however, his body thrummed in pain, his own exhaustion amplifying it until it was near too much to bear.
He must have made a noise of some sort as a board creaked beside him and then his view was filled with the sight of one very tired looking prince. “You’ve decided to rejoin us then?” Arthur asked. His face betrayed no emotion, a mask highlighted by the flames.
Merlin tried to answer, tried to speak, but only managed a sort of grunted gasp that burned against his chest.
“None of that now,” Arthur chided as he pressed two fingers against Merlin’s lips. “I would suppose you wore yourself out with your great displays. Not that I am an expert on such things, but you really have looked better.”
Merlin defied him the moment he removed his fingers, took a deep breath and managed a rough approximation of, “What -?”
“Happened?” Arthur finished for him. He manhandled Merlin into a slightly upright position and supported him as he poured something blessedly wet into his mouth. Most dribbled out and down his chin, but Merlin truly did not mind.
Arthur set the cup aside, and lowered Merlin back down to something soft and pillow-like. “Either they had a separate poison just for you, or your body did not react the same due to your... differences.”
Merlin knew what he meant, saw it in the eyes that would not quite meet his own. Due to being a sorcerer.
“It’s also quite possible you are just you and like to complicate things in any way possible,” Arthur continued blithely. “One of our captors managed to knick you with their poison before he met an unseemly end of his own. Luckily, it was not fatal, only paralysing. Unluckily, he managed to slice your chest, which meant your heart and lungs were not exactly working at full strength for a while, still probably are not even now.”
That explained the sluggishness, as well as the difficulty breathing and the intense pain focused at his core. Despite his better judgment, Merlin forced himself to speak again, this time to ask, “Where?”
“Are we?” Arthur guessed at his meaning. “At an inn loyal to Camelot. Leon and I were in no condition to drag both you and Gawain through the woods at night and would have likely aggravated your wounds further.” He sighed and twisted his fingers around the now empty cup. “We had no coin, but the crest of a prince goes far. We have sent a man ahead to my father and the knights should arrive by midday tomorrow with provisions and payment for the innkeeper’s kindness.”
Merlin’s eyes felt heavy despite the fear that burned through him. The knights were on their way. At least two had seen him perform magic, as had the prince himself. If he did not die this night, he would surely be on the executioner’s block by sundown tomorrow. He could not even gather up the energy to flee, to think of a spell to transport him away.
Resolute in his fate, save for the actual method and timing, he managed, “And me?”
Arthur’s eyes were on him in an instant, piercing, assessing, and blazing with an emotion Merlin could not quite name. Just as quickly, the moment passed and Arthur stared into the flames once more. His voice, when he spoke, was mild, so carefully controlled it was physically painful to listen to. “It is unfortunate you were injured in the escape though, luckily, you are far better off than poor Gawain. Both of your injuries should heal with time and Gaius’ care.”
“Arthur,” Merlin tried. He couldn’t form the words, willed his former friend to know what he meant. Why heal only to kill? Why put up this farce if it was to crumble as soon as they passed Camelot’s gates?
This time Arthur met his gaze, held it with an intensity like no other, a simple look more commanding than the most direct of orders. “Our captors did not secure you as effectively as they had the rest of us, enabling you to both free yourself and release us from our own bonds. We broke free of the stronghold and rescued Gawain using every advantage we had on offer but, unfortunately, you were further injured during the escape.”
Merlin swallowed, thick and heavy, as he realised what Arthur was doing. “Leon,” he whispered. Arthur was protected from his father’s wrath, at least to an extent, but the other knight had no such boon. If he was found to be knowingly protecting a sorcerer, his life was forfeit. Arthur could not blindly make that decision for him; Merlin would not let him.
The knight in question rose from where he had been tending to Gawain’s unconscious form. He stood behind Arthur,
“The prince told no lie,” he pointed out. “You were instrumental in our rescue but, alas, were injured in the end. You put your life at risk for the crown and, for that, you should be rewarded.” There was a quirk to his lips, an amusement at his own play on words as well as a promise that Merlin knew enough not to doubt or question in any way.
“Why?” Merlin asked. He felt tears prickle in the corner of his eyes, but did not have the strength to swipe at them.
Arthur looked down at him, the gaze of a friend, not a prince and certainly not an enemy as he tucked the borrowed blankets around him and let him sink further in to the pillows. “You saved us,” he said simply, as if that explained it all. “Now, let us save you.”
Merlin did not know what to say. He did not know if he could speak the words even if he could get them to form coherently in his addled head at this point. His eyes felt heavy and he felt sleep calling to him, even though he had barely been awake long enough to bother mentioning. It was long enough though, he supposed, to take care of the things that mattered most.
As he felt himself begin to slip away once more, he focused just enough to whisper what he hoped was a heartfelt, “Thank you.”
The darkness surrounded him, the blankets adjusted ever so slightly, and Arthur’s disembodied voice replied, “You are welcome.” Merlin was tempted to smile, if he could manage it, right up until he heard, “But we will be having quite the discussion once you are up to it.”
This time, he did smile.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
Title: Rescued
Genre: Gen
Rating: R for gore and violence
Length: ~4,400 words
Spoilers: Er, Leon exists?
Synopsis: Rescue – to free or deliver from confinement, violence, danger, or evil.
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
Merlin awoke to quite a lot of pain. His jaw throbbed and his shoulders felt like they had been pulled out of their sockets. His wrists felt rubbed raw and, quite frankly, his arse felt like he had been dropped upon it from a great height. With quite some trepidation, he opened his eyes, only to wish he could slam them shut again.
“Oh good, you are finally awake,” Arthur whispered. He sounded oddly relieved; odd because he looked, if possible, to be in worse shape than Merlin himself. His face was dotted with emerging bruises and fresh cuts that oozed blood across his dirty skin, and his hunting tunic and trousers were stained and torn. He was seated on a dirt floor with his arms drawn behind him in what looked to be a truly uncomfortable manner, wrists shackled with heavy chains that were bolted to something solid and shadowed that Merlin could not quite make out from his angle.
He tried to move, just a little, and came to the conclusion that he was likely in the same position. Chains clinked and pulled against his tender skin with the slightest shrug, not to mention what the motion did to the pain that ratcheted up another level when he dared to grimace at the movement. “What happened?” he managed to ask. His mouth tasted like blood and perhaps a bit of bile, and he longed for even the mustiest skin of water to rid himself of the dryness.
“We thought they were simple bandits,” Arthur non-answered. Merlin swore he saw him shiver for a moment, but knew it must have been a trick of the shadows.
“They have proved to be something much worse,” a new voice joined in.
“Leon?” Merlin asked. He tried to focus on the shape of another person, but it was hard to see with the lack of light mixed with the blinding pain. A glance showed him the only light appeared to be from small torch hung high above Arthur, which explained the shadows and gloom.
The figure nodded and shifted slightly, allowing Merlin a bit better view of the knight. “Gawain is here as well, not that I wish he were,” Leon confirmed.
“And where exactly is here?” Merlin asked. He knew he had no right, and yet every right at the same time. These men outranked him socially, but they were all trussed up the same, all stuck in the identical situation; there was little harm in sharing just how dire said situation was at this moment.
“The depths of the Underworld itself,” Gawain muttered. He earned an admonition to be quiet for his efforts.
Merlin raised his eyebrows and waited for a more precise answer, and Arthur obliged him. “We appear to be in a stronghold of some sort. There are no less than thirty men outside and they appear to be quite deranged.”
“What do they want us for?” Merlin asked. There was a prickling at his senses, something uncomfortable and unusual.
“Sacrifice,” Leon answered. He already sounded resigned to his fate, which struck Merlin as odd, until the knight elaborated, “They have taken us one by one, and not a single man has returned.”
“I can see them,” Gawain admitted, voice shaking slightly at the admission. It reminded Merlin of how young he was, younger than Merlin himself perhaps, and how he had not yet learned to put up a believable front. “When they took Horace, and Reginald, I could see outside from my angle, saw what they did to the others. It... was brutal, to say the least.”
Merlin swallowed heavily, tongue feeling thick and heavy in his too dry mouth. “Has anyone tried to escape?” He grit his teeth as he pulled more soundly against his bonds, not surprised when they both offered no give and granted him quite a lot of pain.
“Gee, why hadn’t we thought of that?” Arthur commented with more sarcasm than Merlin felt was strictly necessary. “We have only been trained in battle and tactics since, oh, birth, but you, you have the knowledge of the ages, of a farmer himself, and we should bow to your great wisdom.”
Merlin was about to rebut the attitude, but was interrupted when what he assumed were the captors burst through what he now recognized as the door to their little cell. The skins and leathers they wore were filthy, dripping with gore that smeared along their skin. One stared at him, head cocked to the side as if sensing something within, even as Merlin sensed a mockery of magic and power inside him as well. The moment was broken when another of the captors, this one with nearly no buzz about him, elbowed the first and grunted something unintelligible. The four men who entered strode right over to Gawain, filthy blade held to his throat by two while the others released his chain from its hold.
As expected, Gawain lurched forward to fight and, as expected, he was quickly overpowered by both the number and size of the attackers. Merlin was only partially aware of Arthur’s shouts and pleas to take him instead and let the others go, focused instead on the little he could see outside the doorway. When the heavy wood slammed shut, he had seen enough to know there were no others left to let go, save what currently sat in his very cell.
“Sire,” Leon tried, voice deceptively calm. “There must be a way, a weakness of some sort.”
Merlin did not really listen to what either man had to say, watched instead as both looked eerily pale, sweat making their hair plaster to their heads in new and interesting ways, and the scent of what could only be fear filling the room. Arthur was never afraid, at least not visibly. Then again, as far as Merlin knew, Arthur had never been trussed up like a lamb for sacrifice, watching each one of his flock face the axe in turn before it was his time to head for the block.
There was, of course, no way Merlin was going to let that happen. He startled both men, and himself, when he blurted, “I think I can get us out of here.”
“You?” Arthur scoffed. The fear in his eyes was now matched with worry though, and Merlin took that as an advantage to press.
“I need you to promise me two things though,” Merlin said, ignoring the way Arthur looked ready to brush him off. His heart was beating far too fast, but he knew he needed to rush through this or he would never make it. “I need you to promise to stay behind me until we are out of here, and I need you to promise not to kill me yourselves until we are free and clear from this place.”
He was torn between thinking his destiny was for nothing, and that, perhaps, this was his destiny, to save Arthur from mortal danger, even at the cost of his own life. Even if he escaped before Arthur and Leon could take him to the executioner for what he was about to do, he would likely never see the prat again, never see what a great king was lurking deep within.
“Merlin” Arthur sighed, leaning against the bolt that held his chains. “You are talking like a mad man.”
“Do you promise?” Merlin demanded, voice suddenly stronger than even he thought he could make it.
There must have been something to his tone as Arthur looked up then, an inscrutable look upon his bruised face. “I swear upon the crown itself,” he intoned with a seriousness Merlin was rarely privy to.
“And I swear upon the crown which I serve,” Leon promised.
Merlin closed his eyes and nodded. He summoned every scrap of courage, every scrap of strength that he had, pushed the pain and fatigue to the back of his mind, and hoped it was enough. Even before he looked up, even before he knew his eyes swirled with the golden light of magic, he whispered, “I am so sorry. I never meant to keep this from you. I am so very sorry.”
“Merlin, what do you-” Arthur cut himself off mid-sentence, obviously seeing everything Merlin had laid out before him, everything Merlin had kept from him to protect him.
A word and his bonds broke free, the metal shattering like glass upon the ground. Another word and the heavy latch of the door caught, the wood creaking open ever so slightly to reveal what lie in wait on the other side.
Merlin scrambled to his feet, ignored the aches in his body and the accusing glare he received from his prince as he stumbled by him and peered outside into the clearing lit by the setting sun.
It was chaos, a mockery of magic. Bodies were strung up on stands in a circle around a central fire or, more accurately, pieces of such. Blood dripped from fatal wounds, from the limbs left hanging with nothing but their own weight to steady them. Men chanted nonsense words, a corruption of spells and prayers of old as they stood around each rack, each group engaged in various processes with each victim. The four that had taken Gawain were joined by three others, knives that looked to be made of bone stained with some unknown substance making shallow cuts into his skin. Gawain did not move though, save for his eyes, opened wide and filled with terror unlike anything Merlin had ever seen.
He turned back to the cell, flattened himself along the wall as his eyes readjusted to the lack of light, saw Arthur still fuming and Leon still questioning from their places on the floor. “Things do not look good,” he admitted. Not surprisingly, Arthur’s estimate of the number of men was near spot-on, which left them with quite the deficit in comparable manpower.
“And things are going to look far worse if you do not free us,” Arthur spat.
“Will you keep your promise?” Merlin asked. He instantly regretted it as he realised he had just questioned Arthur’s very honour, something made evident by the deepening of the glare pointed in his direction. Arthur had sworn upon the crown; Merlin should have realised the depth of that promise. He was guaranteed safety until after the escape, if no longer than that. “Silly question,” he muttered, not surprised when it had no effect on the prince’s attitude.
He freed them both with a word, worried when Arthur staggered before standing, when the action revealed more smears of blood than Merlin had initially realized. He offered a hand for support, but it was ignored as Arthur leaned around him to look out the door for himself. He was only slightly mollified when Arthur pressed himself back up against the wall, his skin an unhealthy shade of grey.
Leon, for his part, stayed behind Merlin, just as promised, his greater height allowing him to see over his shoulder, his less than silent curses telling Merlin when he had his fill. “What now?” the knight asked. Merlin was surprised to see him looking to him and not the prince for direction, and then remembered he was the one in charge, at least minimally, for the time being.
“You stay behind me,” he repeated, pleased when his voice did not shake as much as he thought it would. His body screamed in protest of what he was about to do and he knew the little strength he had was a gift of his magic and nothing more. His exhaustion and pain could wait though; their escape could not. “Grab weapons if you can and grab Gawain if you can. I fear the others are lost, but we can at least avenge their deaths.”
“The three of us against all of them?” Leon verified. Merlin could not tell if he looked impressed or like he was headed for a suicide mission. He decided not to try to figure it out.
“We have something they do not,” Merlin reminded him. He saw the questioning look and fought to roll his eyes as he turned back to the carnage outside. “Me,” he finished, far less impressively than he had hoped.
“And if you betray us? If you leave us here to join you fellow sorcerers in their archaic rituals?” Arthur spat from behind him.
Merlin whirled around at that, knew there was both anger and magic in his eyes as he hissed, “I have never and I will never betray you. I have saved your life far more times than you will ever realize and will do so until the day I die. Should I ever, for any reason, bewitched or no, purposefully cause you harm, you will not have the chance to kill me as I will already have taken a blade to myself.”
He did not bother to listen to Arthur’s rebuttal, turning back to the matter at hand and letting his anger and fury fuel his magic, grant him what he needed to hopefully get the job done and get them out of there. He called upon something deep within himself, letting his soul latch on to the Old Ways, let the power and the force of them flow through him at a level he himself barely understood. He pushed the door open and readied himself, knew they would have only one chance at this, if even that. He would make the most of it, as there was simply nothing else he could do.
There was a silence, eerie and empty, as if time itself stood still. A moment, a breath, and the elements themselves seemed to bend to his will, course through him in an explosion that knocked over half of the camp off their feet, left them stumbling and dumb as they tried to regroup, tried to figure out what just happened and just what was going on.
“Magic?” Arthur scoffed from behind him, still hidden in the shadows of the cell. “You, a single man, are going to use magic against a colony of magic users, and expect to win?”
“What they are doing is not magic,” Merlin told him, not bothering to turn to see him. He was in the open; their attackers could see him as much as he could see them. His gaze was locked on the people scrambling, the people grabbing weapons to use against them. A wave of his hand and four went sailing to the side, crumpled in a heap atop each other. “What they are doing is an abomination,” he said, striding forth. Another man attacked, and another man fell. “They hope to call upon something powerful, something to give them what they desire, something they will never even hope to touch.”
Three more lunged at him, one even managed to have a blade. A thought, a word, and the blade turned on its owner, sliced through the heavy hides he wore and deep into his skin. “The blades are poisoned,” Merlin cautioned, not even certain where he had obtained such knowledge. “One touch to your skin and you will freeze like stone, locked inside your own body and an easy victim to the others.” He watched as the man who had just cut himself stood paralysed in place, knocked aside by another who attempted to attack. A word and he fell as well.
Merlin only half registered Leon’s grunt of confirmation, of the way he ripped his shirt and wrapped it around his hand before he dared to reach for one of the fallen blades, of the way Arthur did the same.
Merlin occupied himself with taking out as many of the men as possible, with clearing a path to were Gawain hung heavy in his bonds, blood dripping from his arms and a sizable, but thankfully not fatal, gash to his side. Merlin had to pause in his eradication of the camp to free him from the chains, to make certain Arthur and Leon had a grip on him without accidentally cutting him or themselves with the weapons that had already used against men who had somehow gotten close enough to their range.
Merlin turned at a sound, found a man had slipped through the almost shield he had formed around himself, around the others, and was close enough to strike. The man folded to the ground instead, eyes wide in disbelief as Arthur wiped his now bloodied dagger against the man’s jerkin and ordered, “Let’s get out of here.”
Merlin nodded and turned towards what he thought was the exit to the stronghold. His suspicions were based solely on the fact that roughly a half dozen men, all armed with the blades he was beginning to despise, blocked the way.
One stood just in front of the others, his leathers and skins just a bit finer, just a bit more elaborate than what appeared to be standard for the camp. There was a buzz around him, the faint sense of an almost real power. “Sorcerer,” the man growled, eyes glowing more red than gold, his own, more elaborate, blade floating threateningly before him.
“More than you will ever know,” Merlin confirmed. He held up a hand, ready to lash out, ready to protect, ready to do what was needed to get the three men behind him to safety.
The knife flew at him, aim true and centre to his chest. It never made it that far, a whispered word turning it back on its owner, burying it deep enough the poison would not even need to do its job.
He barely had time to breathe before the others threw their own blades, metal and bone cascading towards him in a cloud of poison and fury even as they readied the next round from what seemed to be a limitless stash. This was far more difficult, took more effort and more concentration of his now lagging energy, but he managed to turn them all, managed to have them all find fitting and deserving targets that collapsed almost as one.
The path finally clear, they raced for the exit, the heavy gate lifting with a thought and falling closed behind them, the rock of the walls crumbling atop it, hopefully delaying any survivors long enough for the men of Camelot to find their freedom.
Winded and fatigued, Merlin took a moment to double over and finally catch his breath, to try to quell the wave of dizziness and nausea that threatened to overtake him. Which is why, he supposed, he did not hear the shouted, “Merlin!” until after a sharp pain pierced through the aches he had been ignoring thus far, until after his body collided with the ground, and until after the lethargy already began to seep into his system.
His eyes somehow stayed open just long enough to see the man from the cell, the man with a hint of power, collapse beside him, his own crazed eyes now unseeing as blood pooled beneath him, soaking deep into the dirt. After that, it was just too much. He was too tired, too weak, too numb from magic and fear and rage. His last thought before he gave into the darkness was whether Arthur would wait for him to wake, or grant him the gift of unconsciousness for his execution.
When he next opened his eyes, it was once again to near darkness. Shadows danced along the walls, but he was wrapped in comfort, not chains, and the light came not from a torch, but from a fire in a hearth and a candle placed near what appeared to be a window to whatever room his was in. Like before, however, his body thrummed in pain, his own exhaustion amplifying it until it was near too much to bear.
He must have made a noise of some sort as a board creaked beside him and then his view was filled with the sight of one very tired looking prince. “You’ve decided to rejoin us then?” Arthur asked. His face betrayed no emotion, a mask highlighted by the flames.
Merlin tried to answer, tried to speak, but only managed a sort of grunted gasp that burned against his chest.
“None of that now,” Arthur chided as he pressed two fingers against Merlin’s lips. “I would suppose you wore yourself out with your great displays. Not that I am an expert on such things, but you really have looked better.”
Merlin defied him the moment he removed his fingers, took a deep breath and managed a rough approximation of, “What -?”
“Happened?” Arthur finished for him. He manhandled Merlin into a slightly upright position and supported him as he poured something blessedly wet into his mouth. Most dribbled out and down his chin, but Merlin truly did not mind.
Arthur set the cup aside, and lowered Merlin back down to something soft and pillow-like. “Either they had a separate poison just for you, or your body did not react the same due to your... differences.”
Merlin knew what he meant, saw it in the eyes that would not quite meet his own. Due to being a sorcerer.
“It’s also quite possible you are just you and like to complicate things in any way possible,” Arthur continued blithely. “One of our captors managed to knick you with their poison before he met an unseemly end of his own. Luckily, it was not fatal, only paralysing. Unluckily, he managed to slice your chest, which meant your heart and lungs were not exactly working at full strength for a while, still probably are not even now.”
That explained the sluggishness, as well as the difficulty breathing and the intense pain focused at his core. Despite his better judgment, Merlin forced himself to speak again, this time to ask, “Where?”
“Are we?” Arthur guessed at his meaning. “At an inn loyal to Camelot. Leon and I were in no condition to drag both you and Gawain through the woods at night and would have likely aggravated your wounds further.” He sighed and twisted his fingers around the now empty cup. “We had no coin, but the crest of a prince goes far. We have sent a man ahead to my father and the knights should arrive by midday tomorrow with provisions and payment for the innkeeper’s kindness.”
Merlin’s eyes felt heavy despite the fear that burned through him. The knights were on their way. At least two had seen him perform magic, as had the prince himself. If he did not die this night, he would surely be on the executioner’s block by sundown tomorrow. He could not even gather up the energy to flee, to think of a spell to transport him away.
Resolute in his fate, save for the actual method and timing, he managed, “And me?”
Arthur’s eyes were on him in an instant, piercing, assessing, and blazing with an emotion Merlin could not quite name. Just as quickly, the moment passed and Arthur stared into the flames once more. His voice, when he spoke, was mild, so carefully controlled it was physically painful to listen to. “It is unfortunate you were injured in the escape though, luckily, you are far better off than poor Gawain. Both of your injuries should heal with time and Gaius’ care.”
“Arthur,” Merlin tried. He couldn’t form the words, willed his former friend to know what he meant. Why heal only to kill? Why put up this farce if it was to crumble as soon as they passed Camelot’s gates?
This time Arthur met his gaze, held it with an intensity like no other, a simple look more commanding than the most direct of orders. “Our captors did not secure you as effectively as they had the rest of us, enabling you to both free yourself and release us from our own bonds. We broke free of the stronghold and rescued Gawain using every advantage we had on offer but, unfortunately, you were further injured during the escape.”
Merlin swallowed, thick and heavy, as he realised what Arthur was doing. “Leon,” he whispered. Arthur was protected from his father’s wrath, at least to an extent, but the other knight had no such boon. If he was found to be knowingly protecting a sorcerer, his life was forfeit. Arthur could not blindly make that decision for him; Merlin would not let him.
The knight in question rose from where he had been tending to Gawain’s unconscious form. He stood behind Arthur,
“The prince told no lie,” he pointed out. “You were instrumental in our rescue but, alas, were injured in the end. You put your life at risk for the crown and, for that, you should be rewarded.” There was a quirk to his lips, an amusement at his own play on words as well as a promise that Merlin knew enough not to doubt or question in any way.
“Why?” Merlin asked. He felt tears prickle in the corner of his eyes, but did not have the strength to swipe at them.
Arthur looked down at him, the gaze of a friend, not a prince and certainly not an enemy as he tucked the borrowed blankets around him and let him sink further in to the pillows. “You saved us,” he said simply, as if that explained it all. “Now, let us save you.”
Merlin did not know what to say. He did not know if he could speak the words even if he could get them to form coherently in his addled head at this point. His eyes felt heavy and he felt sleep calling to him, even though he had barely been awake long enough to bother mentioning. It was long enough though, he supposed, to take care of the things that mattered most.
As he felt himself begin to slip away once more, he focused just enough to whisper what he hoped was a heartfelt, “Thank you.”
The darkness surrounded him, the blankets adjusted ever so slightly, and Arthur’s disembodied voice replied, “You are welcome.” Merlin was tempted to smile, if he could manage it, right up until he heard, “But we will be having quite the discussion once you are up to it.”
This time, he did smile.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
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I was really freaked out you would kill Gawain or Leon there for a minute. Very convincing! But I should know you better than that by now. ^_^
I really liked how conscious Merlin was of the loss of trust, the questioning of it. And Leon's faith was almost as touching as Arthur's (more, in some ways, because there was no question once he said it).
Awesome reveal fic, bb!
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Non-canon character death just seems to be that line I cannot cross. I like things to slide back into place by the end, and death does make that a bit difficult. :)
Thank you again! So very happy you liked this.
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I liked your take on the reveal.
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And I especially loved that Merlin apologised, before he rescued them, great way of Arthur finding out.
Awww, and Sir Leon! You portrayed him so very well. ♥
And great ending as well! Had to grin about the prospect of them having "quite a discussion" afterwards. *lol*
Great story! :D
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Thanks again!
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I'm so curious how it'll be in the end, when Arthur finds out. I desperately hope they'll make it a good one... pretty PLEASE!!! *begs*
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Thanks again!
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I love the magic reveal too. One can only hope it's done just as lovingly on screen. Have I mentioned I love hurt-puppy!Merlin who then goes off to kick some asses. Cause I do.
Read this last Monday morning and aaaaaahhh that hit the spot. If only everyone could get treats like these before they start work. *g*
Thanks for sharing. :) ♥
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I would love for either a dramatic, life-saving reveal, or simply just a "Oh, yes, I knew that already," shrug from Arthur. Either one would do, just so long as he doesn't get pissed and become an arse about it.
BTW, I love that you picture Leon manfully tearing his shirt free and revealing his pecks for all to see. I meant just like a strip from the bottom of the shirt, but whatever gets you through the night, honey. ;)
And, speaking of night, I'm so totally going to bed now, really I am. 'Night!
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