Author's Note: 'Lady of the Lake' is one of my most favorite episodes, as it was the introduction of Freylin, which in my opinion, is the most beautiful romantic pairing ever. *grins* I think there is no love story more amazing than theirs. Maybe it's because I'm more bromance-oriented than romance-oriented so I don't know many, but it's the best one I've ever known.

I was watching the episode again the other day, overcome with feels (my heart still does weird things thinking about them), and I suddenly wanted some kind of Merlin-Arthur bromance version of it. And so, this story was born. *smile* I hope you enjoy it! There is major friendship ahead, and it is focused on their bromance more than anything.

Chapter One

He huddled into himself as the cold air bit his skin and seeped into his muscles and bones, leaching out all the heat from his emaciated body. But the action wasn't enough to fight off the harsh winter, and his ragged and torn clothes weren't much help either.

He watched as his current master, Master Halig, sneered at him with disgust, and he flinched back, looking down at his arms on top of his knees and pressing further into the dark corner of the cage, and prayed for him to leave soon. He didn't want to be beaten or whipped, or told that he was worth nothing and he was born to be a slave. He didn't want to be called a monster, a curse upon this Earth, someone who'd never be loved because of what he was.

He knew why he was here. He knew this was the end of his journey, of his life as a slave. The end of his life itself. He was going to be sold here, to the King of Camelot, and his master would receive a handsome reward for the capture of a sorcerer. Even more so, a sorcerer such as him. And then, he was going to be executed. Killed.

Perhaps there was a part of him that was relieved at the prospect of death, after all these years of gaining nothing but torment and agony and sorrow and despair. But the other side of him still wished, still hoped for a better life. For a life where he was normal, loved and cared for by someone, and with people he loved as well. He wanted to be back at home, in Ealdor, living with his mother who was only mere pieces of memories in his mind.

Most of all, he just wanted to be loved.

But he knew there was no one in this world who would ever do so. He was a monster. A curse upon this Earth. He was worthless. Nothing. And to think that anyone could ever feel something for him would be foolish.

He had long since made peace with death, believing it to be better than the life he lived. Anyone would believe the same. The life of slavery and of someone who had magic was cruel and brutal, and the world was merciless and unforgiving towards all of them. There was little cause to hope for a reason to come along and make him want to keep fighting.

The yells of an authoritative and firm voice startled him out of his dark, inner thoughts. And he flinched violently, swallowing hard, and then slowly raised his head and glanced up at the scene.

"Search the citadel!" the man barked, waving an arm around while his hand rested on his sword. "The thief must be found! The items he stole were valuable goods! He must not get away!"

The man had blonde hair that glinted like the rays of the sun in the dark, eyes that were as beautiful and blue as the sea. He moved with an air of confidence and strength, with honour and nobility, back and shoulders straight and head held high.

There was another man with him. Tall and curly-haired, right alongside him as they ran about, with a similar, but a bit more inferior, air.

. . .

A small part of his mind registered the cage, but the rest was too focused on finding the thief, his head whipping in all directions as his sharp eyes searched all the places with the utmost concentration and attention, his body swinging and twisting left and right.

He began heading towards the tavern of The Rising Sun. It didn't seem like the worst place to hide. Crowded with full of people and noisy with chatter.

But just as he passed by the horse-cart, he startled slightly, barely restraining the small gasp that almost burst out from him, as a young boy jumped out towards him from inside the cage, the fingers of his manacled hands wrapping around the iron bars of the cage. His raven-black hair was long, curling slightly behind his prominent ears, and his large, doe blue eyes stared at him, drawing him in.

And for some reason, he couldn't look away.

"I suppose the Bounty Hunter is here, then," Sir Leon commented. "You know of the King's policy to offer a generous reward to those who capture sorcerers and bring them to him."

Arthur couldn't move. Couldn't think. It almost felt like those eyes were holding him in one place, trapping him, and stealing his ability to do anything. And he couldn't understand why.

"Sire?" Leon asked, his tone concerned at his lack of response.

Arthur shook his head out of the strange trance, and nodded quickly. "Yes, I know."

There was something inside him, telling him. Begging him. Screaming at him to save the boy.

Maybe it was the feeling of wrong there. The way his small, raw wrists were shackled in such a way, the way his clothes were tattered and shredded and barely covering much skin, his sunken face covered in grime and bruises and dried blood, the fragility of his visible bones poking through the thin, ragged shirt hanging on him, and the vulnerability of the inexplicable emotions that were brimming in the huge, desperate eyes boring into him. Maybe it was the plea in his devastated blue orbs, or maybe it was his own protective instincts that rose every time he saw a person such as him.

He'd never know.

"Sire?" Leon said, and it seemed as if it wasn't the first time he had been calling for him.

"Yes. Yes, of course," Arthur answered, looking at him. "We must find the thief."

As he walked away, the boy's gaze followed him, never leaving him.

. . .

The thief was caught and imprisoned, and the knights had all left for their night of sleep.

Yet, Arthur still felt like there was something weighing on him. Something he needed to do. And he couldn't sleep, because the face of that broken boy kept appearing in his mind, the image of him most probably out there in the cold, with little clothes and no layers on his body to protect him from it, manacled and beaten and skinny—

He forced himself to remember that he was a sorcerer, and closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

And yet, the feelings never eased.

And an hour later, he still found himself awake.

. . .

He snuck out into the dark night, the stars beaming down at him, almost as if praising him for his decision.

He spotted the cage near the tavern again, the same place it was last seen. And he made his way over, while the dredges of doubt roused in his head.

This boy was a sorcerer. He had magic. He could be dangerous, a killer. Someone who could attack him as soon as he was released (even if his appearance opposed such behavior). So, would it be right to do this?

His footsteps stopped in front of the cage, his chest slightly heavy. It was certainly freezing out here, his trembling breaths coming out in mists as the chilled air touched his skin through his expensive clothes, causing him to shudder in reaction even despite the jacket he was wearing, his nose growing numb with inhalation of the crisp wintery atmosphere.

The boy's head remained lowered, apparently unaware of his presence. Arthur licked his lips and glanced at the tavern for a few seconds, before moving towards the building, opening the door and discreetly peeking in, his gaze wandering until it settled on the man he believed to be the Bounty Hunter. By the looks of it, he must be planning on staying at least until midnight here, which gave him enough time to take the boy away and hide him somewhere no one could find him.

The smell of ale filtered in through his senses, the warm air inside tempting him to come in and spend a few moments there, at least until the discomforting cold was chased away from his body.

But he turned away and closed the door behind him, striding towards the confinement containing the young boy who had been haunting his sleep and keeping him from peace and rest.

His lips curled in a grimace of displeasure as he caught sight of the lock hanging on the door, and he hoped the key was somewhere around here and not with the Bounty Hunter. He searched throughout the cart, all the while shooting glances at the door of the tavern as if expecting the Bounty Hunter to emerge any minute.

There was nothing.

He gave one look towards the tavern again, before closing his eyes and heaving a large sigh, hoping that the loud chaos inside would be enough to keep the sounds from reaching the Hunter's ears. And then he opened his eyes, pursed his lips and grasped the hilt of his sword, sliding it out from its sheath, and then wrapped his other hand around it as well, and he slowly raised it high.

Before bringing it down on the lock in one swift whoosh.

The lock fell open.

And he grinned to himself in pride.

Arthur opened the cage, and that was when the boy acknowledged him, his head jerking up from his knees and looking at him, and then his eyes widened as they landed on him, his arms sliding off, palms flat on the ground, as he began backing away from the supposed threat.

"I won't hurt you," Arthur reassured him with placating hands lifted up, before lowering them down as he threw another glance at the tavern. He faced him again and climbed up into the cage. "Lift your hands."

The boy peered at him hesitantly, swallowing fearfully, his prominent throat bobbing visibly.

"Just do it!" Arthur whispered furiously at him, looking at the door once again.

And then he obeyed, tentatively reaching his hands up, eyes clenched shut as his head bowed down.

With one snap, the chains broke free.

Arthur grabbed his skinned, bony wrist. "Now, run," he said, pulling him along as he jumped out first, and then helped him down with an arm around him.

The door of the tavern clicked open, and in the shadows, the two figures were seen running away.

. . .

Arthur tugged him through the dark tunnels until he found a spot stretching out a wide clear area.

"You'll be safe here," he told him, turning around to face him once he examined the place and deemed it decent. "I promise."

"Why did you help me?" the boy asked quietly, his voice an almost inaudible mumble, as he hugged his bony arms around himself, his head still ducked down to stare at his own feet.

Arthur's mouth tightened at the question, wondering how he could explain that seeing him in such a state stirred a strong feeling of protectiveness like never before, and that even though helping him escape from that cage went against everything he had ever been taught, there was nothing that had ever felt more right.

Almost like destiny.

"I..." He paused, clearing his throat, and inhaled and lifted his chin. "I don't always agree with what the King does... even if I can scarcely stop him."

The boy shyly peeked through his fringe of black hair at those words, swallowing slightly.

It was then Arthur noticed his shivering, and the way his hands ran up and down his arms to produce heat.

He shrugged out of his jacket and held it out to him, but the boy shrunk away with a sudden gasp at his stretched arm, as if expecting to be hit, and Arthur stepped back with his hands raised in a placating manner once again. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just thought you might be cold."

The boy inhaled a small, shuddering breath, and Arthur offered the jacket to him again.

His small hands reached out and accepted it, pulling it towards himself.

"I'm Arthur," he said, smiling a bit as a reassuring promise that he was harmless.

The boy's gaze lifted tentatively, and settled on him.

"Merlin," he whispered softly, hesitance flickering in his features. "I'm Merlin."

No flamers. Constructive criticism is welcome though. Please, let me know what you think.