"Merlin?" it's a cautious whisper- loud enough to be heard and yet soft enough to not wake the other knights, all of whom were rolled up in their capes like giant red worms and spread around the fire in a perfect octagon.

Merlin briefly wondered if sleeping arrangements were covered in basic training.

"Merlin? That you?"

And he had almost made a clean escape of it...

It was Gwaine, propped up on one elbow with his cape draped almost artistically around his shoulders, who had spoken up. Merlin, though he could not see his face for the darkness, recognized the outline of his scraggly hair by the blood-red dregs of the fire. Ironically enough, Gwaine had a reputation for being the heaviest sleeper of the lot, though he did always seem to have a sort of talent for keeping one eye firmly on Merlin during these types of trips.

Damn him and his caring.

"Err, yeah. It's me." he called back with his own cautious whisper.

"What are you doing?" By the weakened light of the fire Merlin watched his arm rise and fall lazily in replacement of a vertical shrug.

"Just...just off to pee." he gestured oh so innocently behind him into the forest with a grin, ever the clown, away from the warm, quiet campsite.

Gwaine grunted, apparently appeased, and flopped back down, wriggling slightly to find the most comfortable position he could while lying on a bed of dirt and grass.

Turning to walk away from the steady lull of warmth and towards the chilling autumn air, he tugged his handkerchief higher up on his neck and breathed into it, burrowing his nose deep into the pocket of hot air. Hopefully with any luck he would be able to return to the fire, and to sleep, before too long.

Seven of Camelot's finest plus their fearless prince (and his ever-present man-servant) had been dispatched quickly when scouts discovered a group of bandits attempting to exit the land. Loaded down with the kingdom's stolen goods that they intended to pawn off, the group had been easy to catch up to; but after two full days of travel, Arthur bid his tired men rest, planning an ambush for early the following morning.

Merlin didn't usually do things like this.

Well, disobey orders, yeah...

…but take on the land's most dangerous criminals all by himself in the dead of night? Not usually.

But he had his own reasons: as usual, he knew something that Arthur did not.

The scouts had not known the significance of what they saw, but Gaius had. As soon as he heard the men describe their findings in the throne room, he knew the real dangers they -or rather, just Merlin- was up against. The knights described the men they had seen in great detail. One particular description – a tall man with cropped silver hair, white stubble powering his face like snow, and steadier hands than a man at that age should have that clutched a cane he clearly did not need for walking purposes – stirred a deep recollection in Gaius.

It just so happened that this particular man was the leader of these bandits and, as usual with the goings-on in Camelot, there was more to him than met the eye. He was a powerful sorcerer called Gregor the inventor, and he indeed lived up to his title, for he was the creator of magic's most recent, and often times darkest, potions. So powerful was his magic and so cynical was his soul that he had taken great precautions in order to preserve and protect his life. He placed several potent and complex enchantments on his own body to ensure that he could not be defeated by any non-magical being, poison, or blade.

Gaius promptly warned Merlin that he must go with the knights in order to protect Arthur- not that it was particularly challenging to get included in the party. Nowadays Merlin was practically expected on missions of this kind. Who else was Arthur willing to trust to cook all the meals and clean all the pots? Besides, none of the Knights could handle being the butt of every. Single. Joke. Not like Merlin, anyway. In fact, getting permission from Arthur proved to be the easiest part of the whole affair for when Merlin had asked him he'd simply scoffed "Course. I thought that was obvious. You don't to get to laze around all week while I'm off defending Camelot, Merlin."

But either way, it's not like Gaius had to persuade Merlin to protect Arthur. Merlin would have protected him even if it wasn't his destiny, even if it wasn't written down in history or in the stars or wherever the hell these things are written down. Arthur, whom Merlin had loved since he'd known he was gay- or perhaps even before. He'd do anything for him.

At the very beginning he'd had nothing but annoyance for the prince's pomp, arrogance and alarmingly short temper. But as time went by he couldn't pretend not to notice the way he truly cared not only for his people and his land, but also for those beneath him, those others neglected- the servants and cooks. He was fair and just and kind. He had such an extraordinary responsibility pressing down on his shoulders; it was incredible that it didn't sink him right down into the ground under his feet, but you wouldn't know it by looking at him. He smiled and joked right along with the rest of his men while at the same time keeping a firm grip on their respect and loyalty. They would willingly follow him to the gates of hell itself. He was a true leader, and Merlin had not a single doubt that he would guide Camelot into brighter days and times of peace.

And there was no point in ignoring his –ahem- numerous physical aspects. The sweeping blonde hair, smooth skin and perfectly defined muscles...it was enough to make anyone go weak at the knees. This, unfortunately, created quite a few embarrassing moments for a blushing Merlin, seeing as he helped the man undress every day. Not that Arthur ever actually noticed. He was way too preoccupied with Gwen, and that was good. Merlin loved Gwen dearly, and she was a good fit for both Arthur and Camelot. Merlin didn't allow himself to be deluded into any sort of romantic fantasy involving himself and the prince, not even for a second (as hard as it was). He knew his place and he was happy to stay in it: right by Arthur's side… right where he was needed… up until he wasn't anymore.

But he was plenty needed at the moment. As usual, it was up to Merlin to defeat the bad guy and save Camelot; just another day as servant to the Prince.

Make breakfast. Check.

Clean armor. Check

Muck out stables. Check.

Polish boots. Check.

Singlehandedly defeat bandits.

Save Camelot.

Make dinner.

Of course, Merlin didn't have to defeat all of the bandits, a thought that anyone else might find alarming, but he found rather comforting. All he had to do was sneak to the edge of the camp and take out one man- a quiet, preemptive strike that would leave the rest of the men leaderless and chaotic. Easy in, easy out. He'd be back to bed within the hour. Not only would it be a piece of cake for him, but tomorrow morning the rest of the criminals would be easy pickings for the knights.

Finding and tracking their trail was easier than Merlin had dared to hope, even in the darkness. Crushed plants, broken branches, and marks on trees all lined a wide trail made by a lavishly large wagon; the deviants had supposedly traded stealth for speed. When Merlin had first stepped foot in Camelot he had known nothing about this sort of thing, but the frequent hunting trips with Arthur had proved to be less useless than he originally thought. They had taught him more than he had realized.

But it was more than that. Merlin would have been able to follow this trail had he been blind. Even though he was still several kilometers away, he could feel the tug of powerful magic like a hook attached to his shirt, gently pulling him in the right direction.

He did not know that this connection went both ways.

Too soon, or perhaps not soon enough it lead him to a good-sized clearing, on the outskirts of which he knelt beneath the cover of some low lying trees, a respectable distance from their set-up. He rubbed his stiff fingers together and scrutinized their camp. He could see several small tents as well as the wagon he had suspected of barreling through the woods, probably stuffed to bursting with valuables. Though, in actuality, it was even bigger than he had originally expected. Hooked up to a line of six horses it was like a huge wooden box on wheels and looked big enough to fit maybe nine adults in relative comfort.

There were no men around, all having presumably gone to bed. There remained only two guards sitting outside one of the bigger tents.

Excellent.

A smile spread across his face like warm butter.

He loved it when things were made easy for him.

With a quick spell and a quicker rock they both slumped over, unconscious. It left his path to the tent, and to Gregor, blissfully clear.

He settled more comfortably in his little nook next to the tree, breathing in the brusque air. A little good fortune and he could work all the magic he needed from right where he crouched.

He should have expected it. It was just too easy.

He reached down within himself, fingertips just brushing comfortingly against the swirling, golden magic. He raised his hand and drew a deep breath, incantation on the tip of his tongue when wham!

Something hit him sharply in the back of the head.

The world went black.

The tallest man nudged the boy with the toe of his boot, digging it into his cheek and turning his head so they could all get a good view of his face.

"N' he's really magic, then?" he spoke gruffly after letting the boy's cheek fall limply back to touch the forest floor.

"S'what Gregor says," another replies.

A humorless chuckle. "Looks like he finally gets ta use one o' does fancy collars he's been boasting 'bout."

"Think 'e's alone?"

"A scrawny boy like 'im? Wondering around in the woods alone in the dead o' night? Nah, there's bound to be a group of 'em not far off."

"Do'ya remember 'em imperial scouts we saw the other day? Think 'e's with 'em?"

"Do you see a Knight's amour on 'im, idiot?"

"'E could have taken it off, idiot!"

"Enough! You 'n you!" presumably the highest ranked of the group, a stout but muscular man with beady eyes and a permanent scowl on his face pointed to two other lackeys "get his hands 'n feet. You!" he pointed again "Go fetch Gregor. 'N you!" he pointed a third time "go warn the rest of the men; we're moving out in an hour."

When Merlin awoke it was to darkness, uncomfortable heat, and rhythmic swaying. He was lying on his back on hard wood. When he tried to sit up, his head banged painfully into what felt like another head, and he was roughly shoved backwards by a set of clanking hands.

Ohhh, his head… it had already been throbbing before he had slammed it into someone else. It felt as if it had been clubbed with a log.

Actually, looking back, he thought, that probably is exactly what happened.

"M'sorry," he mumbled without conviction, wincing at the pain, as he waited for a reply that never came.

Blinking furiously, he tried to raise his neck enough to see what was around him, only to feel something thick and heavy encircling his throat and sitting upon his jugular.

What? A collar? He laid his head back down, but brought his hands up to inspect it. And it was only then that he realized his hands were shackled together with thick cuffs around his wrists.

The confusing fog of ambush and sleep around his brain scattered instantly as real heart-pumping adrenaline-fueled panic rushed in to replace it.

He scrambled to a sitting position (ignoring a groan and another half-hearted shove) and squinted, trying frantically to see his surroundings.

But he could already hear just fine- the clopping of several horses, the ominous swing of many chains, and by the time he could see it only confirmed what he desperately hoped he was wrong about.

He swallowed despite his dry, parched throat as, slowly, the black-on-black shapes began to develop outlines…human outlines.

It was hot and cramped, but Merlin shivered. Feverish skin and sharp elbows pressed in on him from all sides, but Merlin's insides were caked with ice. There was a sickening smell of sweat, urine, and greasy, unwashed bodies.

Merlin felt sick.

He had been right about the wagon…it could fit about nine men in relative comfort…

…or about twenty if they crammed.

The precious goods these men were hauling, the ones they meant to sell…

These men weren't just bandits…they were slave traders.

Excellent.