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There was a great commotion in the throne room, shouts and bangs and the clanging of metal against metal as Merlin pushed the heavy oak door open. With shallow breaths and a pounding heart, he took in the scene before him. There was Arthur, distraught and sweaty, fighting two cloaked figures while the other occupants of the room stood frozen in place. A third person stood on the far side of the room, smirking at the events that unfolded before their eyes. Why they hadn’t simply killed the King - or Arthur - with magic, Merlin didn’t know. He wasn’t about to complain, though. That meant he was still on time to save his friend’s life. And if he were lucky, no one might even notice that he used magic to do so. If he was lucky and subtle enough, he might be able to make it look like Arthur defeated his opponents on his own.
First, he made one of the swordsmen trip, giving Arthur the opportunity to run him through with his sword. Unfortunately, that caught the attention of the sorcerer, who turned his head towards Merlin. His smirk was now replaced by a scowl. Even more unfortunate was the fact that this directed Arthur’s attention towards Merlin as well. There was no way he could hide now, and he had no other option than using his magic if he wanted to defeat the sorcerer.
“Arthur!” Merlin shouted, heart in his throat as he saw the other swordsman approach the prince, his sword raised, ready to strike.
Arthur spun around, facing the man just in time to block his sword. Merlin sighed in relief. Now he could direct his attention to the sorcerer, knowing that Arthur would be fine fighting only one opponent.
The cloaked sorcerer frowned at Merlin, his lips turned down in contempt. Merlin had to admit he returned the feeling. He could feel the sorcerer’s magic. It was rather strong, but nowhere near enough to pose a real threat to Merlin. Without even having to cast a spell, Merlin sent his adversary flying, crashing against the wall behind the throne. The man got up and started casting a spell, but Merlin was faster. Before the enemy sorcerer could end his incantation, Merlin had broken his neck with a single thought. Distantly, he noticed that the sound of blades clicking against each other had ceased, and he turned around to see Arthur staring at him, the other man laying at his feet in a pool of blood. What Merlin had failed to notice, though, was that during the brief fight, the other sorcerer had lost his focus, dropping the spell that kept everyone else frozen in place.
Before he could open his mouth to say anything, he heard Uther shout, “Sorcerer! Seize him!”
Merlin didn’t resist as his wrists were encased in cold iron cuffs. The two guards that had hesitantly approached him seemed bolstered by his lack of resistance and grabbed each of his arms in an unforgivingly tight grip. As Merlin was dragged out of the room, he turned his head, his eyes finding Arthur’s.
The prince was still staring at him, a confusing mix of emotions on his face. Merlin saw hurt, betrayal, anger. But also sadness, regret, and something that looked like awe. The doors closed behind him before he could be sure, and before he knew it, he had been thrown in a damp, dirty cell in the dungeon. Despite the growing pit of fear and despair in his chest, Merlin didn’t even think of forming a plan to escape. He only hoped his death would come swiftly. He only hoped Arthur would one day come to forgive him for the years of lies.
But the guards had other ideas. With Merlin’s magic restrained, the young man was powerless, entirely at their mercy. And they had none.
At first, they didn’t do anything, and Merlin thought he might escape the rough treatment usually afforded to sorcerers who had to spend a night in one such cells while they waited for their execution. For hours, they said nothing to him, talking to each other in hushed voices outside the cell. Merlin shifted to get in a more comfortable position where he was sitting with his back against the wall, but the movement made the cuffs move slightly, causing a low whimper to escape his mouth. The two guards stationed outside turned to him, glaring.
“That cell’s not up to your standards, sorcerer?” One of them sneered.
Merlin recoiled, instinctively trying to get away from them. Merlin wasn’t familiar with either of them, he thought they must have been hired recently. He usually had a good relationship with guards, he knew most of them by name and always brought them food or something to drink when they were on duty. Plus, being Gaius’ apprentice, he had helped the physician heal their wounds on more than one occasion.
But it seemed like luck really wasn’t on Merlin’s side this time and he was stuck with two hostile men.
When it became obvious that Merlin wouldn’t answer, the other guard approached his cell and hit the bars with his sword. “I think we asked you a question.” He turned to his colleague with a vicious smirk, “Maybe he needs some help to find his words,” he said.
With that he opened the door, slowly enough to make it groan ominously. Merlin hid his head under his arms, curling in a tight ball. It didn’t stop the sound of heavy boots hitting the ground, though, and Merlin felt his muscles tensing as he waited for the first blow.
It came in the form of a kick to his side, right under his ribs. The guards laughed as he fell. Merlin couldn’t breathe, the pain was too intense. A heavy boot crushed his ankle, the thin bone snapping under the weight. Merlin didn’t need to be a physician’s apprentice to know it was broken. This time, he couldn’t hold back a scream as hot pain shot through his entire leg. After that, Merlin couldn’t tell where he was kicked or punched, he was caught in a torrent of violence, unrelenting and inescapable. When they were done, Merlin was barely conscious. He could only take shallow, raspy breaths that made his ribs and back flare with a dull, pulsing ache. His whole body hurt.
The knowledge that no one would come to his rescue hurt even more.
In the throne room, Arthur turned to his father as soon as his manservant disappeared behind the heavy doors. His hands were balled in tight fists, the leather of his gloves creaking against the strain.
“He saved our lives, how dare you treat him like this!” Arthur shouted, face red and eyes wide.
Uther only made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “He used sorcery. The boy must die, and you know it Arthur. The simple fact that you stand before me, questioning your King’s orders to defend his life is proof enough of his nefarious influence.”
Uther’s voice was calm, but Arthur knew his father enough to know that anger was lurking right below the surface and that he would be severely punished later for his insubordination. It didn’t matter though. Merlin had saved their lives. And yes, he had used magic, which was presumably evil, but it was still Merlin. It was still his friend.
Arthur hated asking for anything, especially from his father, and he had never begged for anything in his life, but he had to try, for Merlin. “Father, please. Merlin saved us and even if he turned to sorcery, he can’t be entirely corrupted by it if he stood in our defence. Send him away, banish him, but please, please, spare his life.”
Even before Uther opened his mouth, Arthur knew this was a lost cause. Never had Arthur seen such a hateful expression directed at him. “If you don’t want to end up in the dungeons, too, I advise you to get out of my sight,” he seethed. “This conversation is not over. I expect you in my chambers after dinner tonight.”
Arthur clenched his jaw. He knew when to give up, even if it left a bitter taste in his mouth. If there was no way of changing the King’s mind, he would have to find a way to get Merlin out himself.
The afternoon went by slowly. Every second of it felt like hours, as if time had slowed down its course to mock him. Dinner came and went, and Arthur found himself in front of the door to his father’s chambers. If he wanted to break Merlin out, he had to avoid any suspicion from the King, and accepting his punishment with a bowed head and a repentant attitude might do the trick. Arthur knocked and entered the chambers with a heavy heart.
There was shouting, accusations of betrayal that stung Arthur worse than the hard slap on his cheek. His eyes watered at the knowledge that he had lost his father trust, maybe even his love if he ever had it. The thought that he didn’t want his father’s approval anymore after years of doing anything he could to win it was what shattered his heart. All he had ever done, he did in the hopes of finally obtaining a tyrant’s praise. He wasn’t sure what that said about his character.
As he exited his father’s – no, Arthur thought, his King’s- chambers, Arthur knew he had reached a point of no return. There was no way he could let Merlin die, and if he helped Merlin run away, he would be accused of treason by the King. He had to leave Camelot with Merlin.
Quickly, he went back to his chambers and wrote a short letter. He pushed it under Morgana’s door on his way to the dungeons. He had no doubt that the Lady he had always considered like his sister would know what to do in his absence, but he had to explain his actions. He trusted her to help him take back what was his – what was theirs, really – when the time was right.
It was nearly midnight when he reached the cell Merlin was detained in. He ordered the guards to leave, and they obeyed without hesitation. In the dark, he could only see the faint outline of Merlin’s body lying on the hard stone floor of his cell. Grabbing a torch, he approached the bars that stood between him and his best friend. His heart clenched when he saw Merlin flinch and recoil at the sound of approaching footsteps, a weak whimper escaping his mouth. Arthur gritted his teeth as he saw the traces of blood on the floor beside his friend.
“Merlin, it’s only me,” he whispered, trying not to startle the wounded young man.
Merlin lifted his head slightly, revealing a swollen black eye and bruised cheek. Arthur though he saw a nasty cut on Merlin’s lower lip, too, but the lower half of Merlin’s face was hidden behind his shoulder.
“Arthur?” Merlin asked, “What are you doing here?”
Never had Arthur heard Merlin talk in such a small, uncertain voice. He eyed the prince with a combination of hope and apprehension, probably trying to ascertain what Arthur’s intentions were. And Arthur couldn’t blame him for it. Not after what the guards had done to him. Not after all the times Arthur had vehemently condemned sorcery either.
Dangling the keys he had managed to steal from the guards’ quarters, Arthur said, “Get up you lazy oaf, we have to be quick.”
Merlin frowned. “Are you here to break me out?” He asked, uncertainty still colouring his words.
“Yes Merlin, try to keep up for once.” Arthur said, opening the door to the cell.
Merlin sat up with a wince, and Arthur could see his whole face clearly in the glow of the torch. There were indeed multiple cuts on Merlin’s lips. Blood from his nose had trickled down his chin, staining his shirt and some of it had ran down his left cheek when he had laid on his side. There were bruises and cuts all over Merlin’s face, and Arthur knew that if he were to lift Merlin’s shirt, he would find more on his chest and abdomen. He gently took hold of Merlin’s wrists, opening the cuffs that restrained Merlin’s magic. When he saw the burned skin where the cold iron restraints had been, he was filled with a new wave of fury. If he had the opportunity to kill those guards on their way out, Arthur wouldn’t hesitate.
“Why?” Merlin asked, still sitting stiffly, contracting his muscles against the pain that must have been running through his whole body.
“Because you’re my best friend, dollophead.”
“That’s my word!” Merlin protested in a weak reproduction of their usual banter.
It made Arthur grin despite the circumstances.
Merlin’s own grin soon disappeared when he tried to get up only to stumble as soon as his right foot hit the ground. He would have fallen had Arthur not been there to catch him. Holding Merlin close to his chest, Arthur tried to reassure the both of them. He didn’t know why he had been so reluctant to share a hug with Merlin in the past, it was very nice.
“I can’t go, Arthur. My ankle is broken,” Merlin mumbled, his voice muffled against Arthur’s shoulder.
“I don’t care, Merlin. I’ll carry you.” Merlin blushed but didn’t protest as Arthur helped him climb on his back.
Thankfully, they managed to escape relatively easily, with Merlin’s magic warning them of any danger ahead of them. Arthur’s heart pounded in his chest from the adrenaline of the escape and the thrill of feeling Merlin’s body against his, his arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders, his legs against Arthur’s hips, his heart beating against Arthur’s back. Arthur wasn’t ready to admit it out loud yet, but he knew the feeling that blossomed in his heart as they ran in the night.
As they ran through the night, darkness enveloping them in her protective arms, Arthur didn’t know where they were going or what they were going to do. He didn’t know what the future held. Helping Merlin escape, fleeing Camelot with the person dearest to him, leaving behind all he had ever know, it was the craziest thing he had ever done.
He felt Merlin’s smile as the young man pressed a kiss to Arthur’s cheek, murmuring “thank you” against his ear, and he knew for sure that there had been no choice at all. There was no world in which he would let Merlin die.