Sold

Summary: Gwaine and Merlin have run into trouble. That is, they've been captured by slave traders. While Arthur and company search, Merlin and Gwaine find new work for a nobleman in Lot's kingdom. Gwaine, in return for Merlin's safety, promises to behave...But what happens if he slips? Torture, blood, whump, etc.

Rating: M, for torture, blood, rape, and probably some language

Disclaimer: How many claims could a writer disclaim if the writer disclaims the claims the writer can't claim? The answer is one per story, of course.

Dedicated to Kas3y - thanks for the prompt!

Chapter 1

"We've lost the trail," Arthur announced, standing and brushing himself off from where he had been kneeling in the leaves. "We'll have to split up."

The knights around him dismounted their horses and tethered them to a low-hanging, sturdy branch nearby. Merlin did as well, albeit sullenly, knowing that he would be expected to help or to watch after their belongings. The knife Arthur had made him carry hung heavily from his belt. It was a strange weight, and Merlin didn't exactly know how to use it, but if it kept his master happy he would wear it, he supposed.

"Under no circumstance should you engage the bandits in any way," Arthur was saying in his most prattish tone. "If you find the trail, return here at once. If nothing is found within half a mark, return here. Do not follow them. Do not reveal your presence."

"Yes, Sire," came the chorus of voices.

"Sirs Percival and Elyan," Arthur pointed east, and they went. "Sir Leon, with me to the north. Sirs Lancelot and -"

"I'll take Merlin," Gwaine interrupted, slinging a heavy arm over the manservant's shoulders. Merlin grinned at Arthur's petulant expression.

"The bandits will hear him coming a league away," Arthur scowled. "Merlin will stay here and tend to the horses. As I was saying -"

Merlin didn't hear the rest, as Gwaine was discreetly pulling him backward, careful to make no noise. The manservant grinned when he realized that they were disobeying Arthur. The king had been rather rude recently, although Merlin knew it was due to stress. All the same, Merlin wanted to go somewhere instead of looking after the blasted horses as he had been doing every day, and Gwaine was always - well, usually - a fun chap to be around. So he snuck away with his friend, spinning round and breaking into a run when Arthur turned and spotted them.

"Hey!" Arthur barked.

Gwaine and Merlin laughed, but did not slow down.

"I'm sick of watching the bloody horses!" Merlin called over his shoulder. "Prat!"

Just in that brief moment, Merlin had had more fun than he'd had in all five days of the trip combined. They'd been tracking a particularly nasty strain of bandits that had been caught within Camelot's borders. Arthur, as per usual, wanted to go out and take care of it himself, taking his most trusted knights with him. And Merlin, of course.

After making sure that they had not been followed, the two mischief-makers slowed to a walk. It was only then that they remembered to look out for the bandits' trail, and cast their eyes downwards. Nothing thus far but their own footsteps.

"Princess will get over it," Gwaine chuckled, sweeping a hand through his shaggy hair.

Merlin's eyes twinkled merrily. "I'll probably have to muck out every stable in the kingdom after a month in the stocks," he said with a good-natured grimace.

Gwaine laughed, but just as suddenly sobered and held up a silencing finger. Merlin turned serious as well and followed the knight's gaze. There was a broken branch hanging a ways ahead of them, and a bit farther on they could see the beginnings of a new trail. They grinned and crept forward unanimously. They'd follow it a bit just to be sure it was not some unsuspecting camp of travelers or Druids, and then go back to fetch the others.

Well, that had been the unspoken plan.

What had really happened was that the two of them had crept forward, trying to spot the encampment. In doing so, Merlin had tripped a wire, which in turn tripped a bell, which rent the air. Merlin and Gwaine both froze, wide-eyed.

Nothing happened.

Merlin turned his head to grin at Gwaine - and an arrow that would have killed him whistled past and struck, shaft quivering, into the tree behind him.

"Get down!" Gwaine hissed, shoving Merlin to one side and drawing his sword with the other. Not that a sword would do much against arrows, but it was a matter of principle.

Merlin scrambled backward to hide. He wasn't leaving Gwaine behind, far from it. He just couldn't allow anyone to see him use his magic. A bandit leapt out, brandishing his own blade, and swung it at Gwaine, who easily parried it. The knight whirled and blocked another attack from behind, hooking his ankle around the first attacker's foot and sending him sprawling back into another man. Two more appeared from the trees, one of whom tripped over his own toes and knocked himself out. Gwaine took out the other one.

The warlock was so concentrated on helping his friend that he did not hear the approaching men behind him. A heavy boot drove itself into his ribs, and all of his air escaped his lungs with a whoosh. Merlin coughed, struggling to breathe, and curled into himself. But he was hauled to his feet by rough hands and dragged out of his hiding place. He registered the pull at his waist that meant his knife had been drawn from its sheath, but it was not in his hand.

Cold steel pressed against his throat.

"Stop right there, or this one gets it!" said a gruff voice.

Gwaine wheeled around, eyes instantly locking on Merlin's apologetic wince. Without waiting for orders, the knight tossed his sword to one side and raised his hands in surrender, eyes shifting to glare at the man holding the knife to Merlin's neck.

"A knight of Camelot, are you?" sneered the man. "I'm sure there's lots of people willing to pay lots for you, my friend."

Gwaine smirked distastefully. "Lots for me, yes, my friend," he said sardonically. "But not for him. Release him."

The man's only move was to signal for Gwaine to be restrained. The men who weren't lying dead or unconscious at the knight's feet stepped forward with a mysteriously procured length of rope. Though Gwaine stiffened, he did not resist, nor did he break eye contact with the leader. His cape, armor, and knife were quickly removed (even his hidden boot knife was taken). Then his arms were pulled in front of him and bound before the rope was wrapped around his upper body.

After a moment, Gwaine said casually, "So what's a lot of bandits like you doing running around Camelot?"

The men guffawed, and Merlin winced as his captive's hand slipped a bit, piercing his skin. "Bandits?" the leader repeated, adjusting the knife back to its original position. Gwaine's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "We're not no lowly bandits, my friend. More like slave traders."

"Ah," Gwaine said dryly. "Much more respectable than bandits, then."

At last the slave traders had bound Gwaine tightly and inescapably. All but one retreated, leaving him gripping Gwaine's shoulder. Not that Gwaine would run; he had no use of his hands, and thus could not fight effectively. And besides that, Merlin was still in danger. The blade was removed from Merlin's throat, much to the relief of both, though the man holding the warlock in place did not release him until more rope was retrieved. Merlin scowled, but did not resist.

A sharp prod in the back moved Merlin forward, and when he reached the point at which Gwaine stood they began to walk side by side, with the slavers surrounding them in case they decided to run. Merlin's mind was working frantically, trying to assemble some sort of plan that would result in their freedom, but not his discovery. He was hard-pressed to find one.

After some maneuvering through the thick trees, they came to the camp. It was shoddy at best - the fire was low due to being built over wet leaves, the horse wasn't tethered where it might graze or drink (and looked neglected), and mounds of bedrolls were tossed wherever they lay. A cage was on the other side of the clearing, although it was empty. Anti-magic runes were clearly scratched into the thick iron bars, and even from his distance Merlin could feel it dampening his abilities.

To his immense relief, Gwaine and Merlin were led to a tree on the other side of the encampment and restrained against it. This Merlin could work with. When everyone went to sleep, Merlin could magically loosen the ropes and pretend that he had worked himself out of them. Then he would untie Gwaine, and they would steal away into the darkness and get back to Arthur and the others.

Gwaine had been thus far uncharacteristically quiet, and Merlin glanced at him. The knight was stony-faced and glaring daggers at the slavers, particularly the ones closer to Merlin. The warlock almost smiled fondly. Almost.

Merlin discreetly tested his ropes. He was none too pleased to discover that there was little leeway. Hopefully Gwaine would not question it when he managed to free himself. Even if he did, Merlin was sure he could pass it off to luck or something of the like. If Gwaine found out about his magic, Merlin was sure he'd take it in stride, but he didn't want to take the chance, especially with Gwaine's big mouth and his tendency to exaggerate.

The slavers left them alone, chortling jovially and boasting about their great catch. A knight of Camelot would fetch a high price, as would his belongings, which would likely be sold separately or kept as trophies. Gwaine rolled his eyes at the thought. They landed on Merlin, who was squirming in his bonds.

"You all right, mate?" he asked softly.

Merlin shot him a quick grin. "Yeah, I am. It might take me a bit, but I think I can loosen these enough to get out of them." That said, he continued to wriggle. Gwaine watched him doubtfully. If Merlin's ropes were as tight as his own, they would never get out. He said nothing, however, and turned to study his newest friends.

They were all typical slavers: hygienically deteriorated, dirty-mouthed, rude, utter fools. The worst kind of men in existence. And he'd led dear Merlin right into their hands. Merlin was Gwaine's responsibility from the moment he'd disobeyed Arthur, which he had regretted when he'd seen the knife held to his friend's throat. Perhaps sometimes the princess did know best. Gwaine supposed that he could take the chance, grab a sword when they were distracted and slaughter them all, but there was still Merlin's safety to take into account. He doubted Merlin would run off and leave him, whether it was to get help or not. No, Gwaine's best bet was to keep Merlin close.

Three of the slavers had turned back to them. The scraggliest-looking one was holding an iron poker. The red end looked quite menacing. As they approached, Gwaine sighed inwardly. No doubt they were about to torture him for information about Camelot, perhaps something about getting in and out undetected, the best time of day to snatch unfortunate people, that sort of thing.

Merlin tensed beside him.

Gwaine wanted to reassure him that they were only going to go after him, since he was a knight and all, but then he stopped short. The three men weren't approaching with a poker. It was a brand - and a very strange-looking one at that.

The glowing metal hurt to look at, but Gwaine looked anyway, trying to make out the symbol. Was it a mark of slavery? A crest? It didn't seem like it to Gwaine; he'd never seen anything like it. The metal was shaped almost like a Druidic symbol, but with five prongs. Within the hollow legs of the symbol were crisscrossing segments that made what looked to be more symbols. Despite its intricacy it was no larger than his palm.

"What's that, then?" Gwaine asked cheerily as they came nearer. He noticed that Merlin was staring darkly at the instrument. There was a spark in his eyes that the knight couldn't quite place - it wasn't curiosity or fear...It was more like - resigned understanding. Perhaps he'd seen the symbol before.

"Just a little something to make sure you behave good and proper," the slaver with the brand smiled sickly.

"I think I can behave good and proper without that little something," Gwaine replied smoothly. "As you can see," he tugged at his ropes, "this little something works just as well, if not better."

The men only laughed. Two knelt beside Gwaine, whose face had hardened slightly, and worked the rope upward a bit so that they could expose his belly. This was going to hurt.

Gwaine only had a split second of warning before the red hot metal seared into his sensitive skin. His body went rigid, and he clenched his teeth to bite back a scream. A short growl escaped his throat, but nothing more. He glared hatefully at the slaver with the iron. Once the brand was pulled away, his body relaxed, but only just. The pain, as was wont with burns to do, continued relentlessly.

"Thanks, mate," he said in a strained voice. "Always love a good gift. Cherish it always."

"Yes, you will," the slaver agreed, admiring the blistering red skin. Then he jerked his head toward Merlin, who was looking at him murderously. Gwaine's façade immediately fell.

"Oi, leave him be," he said. "He's just a servant. Can't do no harm."

"Can't take a chance, now can we?" was his reply.

Merlin said nothing. He did not resist, nor did he give them the satisfaction of seeing his fear. He didn't recognize the symbol of the brand, but he recognized the words inside of it. They were a magic-binding spell. There was nothing he could do, short of revealing himself. Which, of course, he was preparing himself to do.

His magic was bubbling up under his skin, ready to attack. He'd knock away his adversaries, free himself and Gwaine, and run. Then he'd take Gwaine aside and implore him to keep his secret, and explain everything. He was sure the knight would understand, he had to. Lancelot could back him up. It was just something Merlin would have to deal with after the ordeal was finished.

Just as he was about to let his magic fly, the man beside him fell over with a surprised yelp. This distracted the men holding Merlin still and Merlin himself, who looked over to see that Gwaine had kicked the slaver's leg out from underneath him. But it wasn't enough to deter to the one with the brand.

Blinding pain blossomed from above Merlin's navel, shooting daggers throughout his entire body. He hadn't had the chance to use his magic - he was too late. It was blocked off. He could feel his magic recoiling in pain, retreating to the deepest recesses of his being, trying to escape it. Merlin was vaguely aware of screaming - his screams? And Gwaine's, he could hear the knight hurling insults and threats.

The agony suddenly disappeared, and Merlin slumped as much as his bonds would allow, which wasn't much. But just as quickly as it had receded, the pain came back with a vengeance. Merlin groaned, trying to curl into himself but unable to do so. His breaths came in harsh pants. The hurt from this burn was worse than the one he'd received in his fight with Nimueh - at least her fire hadn't affected his magic.

After a moment of trying to compose himself, Merlin became aware of a low, frantic voice beside him. The haze in his mind lifted a bit, and he recognized it as Gwaine's.

"...all right, Merlin, I promise. I'll get us out of this, I just need to get a sword. Don't worry, I'll fix this, my friend. I'll fix it. Just breathe, Merlin. Don't worry. I'll get us out of this."

The repetitive rambling continued, and Merlin wondered who Gwaine was trying to comfort. Merlin swallowed dryly and took a deep breath, then sat up a bit straighter to relieve the pressure on his wound. He turned and looked at Gwaine, who shut his mouth instantly, looking like a kicked puppy.

"You okay?" Merlin asked hoarsely, brow furrowed in concentration. If he could focus on things other than his throbbing, burning skin and his cowardly magic, then perhaps he could forget it and feel a bit better. Assessing his friend's well-being seemed like a good way of doing so.

Gwaine stared at him for a long moment. "Yeah," he said at last. "I'm fine, mate. More worried about you. But don't worry, I'll figure a way out of this. Just you wait, my friend. Princess and the others should be looking for us by now, too. Tell you what, when we get back the first round's on me!"

Merlin nodded understandingly, though when he spoke it became apparent he hadn't heard a word of what the knight had said. "If we had some alder bark I could treat these burns...Or maybe some barley seeds and eggs, those would be better because it would lessen the pain. No, daffodil roots would be easier to find, they're abundant this time of year."

Gwaine exhaled slowly. "Right," he said, looking a little disturbed and guilty.

"Oi!" hissed a sudden voice. Gwaine coolly directed his attention to the slaver standing a few meters away. "No talking."

The knight refrained from replying lest it anger him. He had no qualm about his own well-being; he often found himself in worse situations and got away unscathed. He was definitely worried about Merlin, though. Merlin was so resilient when it came to bad happenings, despite all outward appearances - or, more often than not, disappearances. Gwaine knew his slighter friend was more than he seemed, and no doubt stronger than he tended to portray himself. But now didn't seem to be one of those times.

He immediately suspected that it had to do with the burn. Yes, his burned as though the fire was still touching it, but that was to be expected. Gwaine was sure Merlin's felt something like that, too. Even so, Merlin was a resilient lad, and usually undeterred by pain. Gwaine knew this because Merlin often tried to hide any wounds he had, and he did a good job of it. Only Gwaine was more perceptive than most gave him credit for.

Gwaine thought of the strange branding symbol. Sinister, certainly. His brow furrowed, and he cast Merlin yet another sidelong look. His dark lashes were fluttering, though he still appeared to be conscious. His bound arms were worrying at the ropes, doing no good.

The guards had returned to more or less ignoring their new captives. Several were arguing over who would get first pick of Gwaine's armor and sword, and whether anything useful could be made with his red cloak.

Gwaine leaned in closer to Merlin to whisper lowly, "Now might be a good time to use some of that magic, mate."

Merlin balked, turning to the knight so fast that he might have given himself whiplash. "Wh-What?!" he hissed, suddenly very much awake and lucid. His cerulean eyes shot furtively toward the raucous slavers.

Gwaine looked back at him innocently. "Well, you want to escape, don't you? Listen, you get us out of here, and the first round's on me."

Several emotions flashed through the younger man's eyes, making Gwaine feel a bit guilty. He hadn't meant to reveal he'd known all along in this manner, as he completely understood Merlin's reasons for secrecy. Sure, it hurt that Merlin didn't tell him, even after he'd confessed his noble blood, but he understood. Really, he did understand the fear that widened Merlin's eyes, the uncertainty and devastation that followed quickly after. Those were replaced by a more subdued look of fear and caution.

"I-I don't have magic," he stuttered, obviously lying.

Well, at least he was stubborn as always.

But Gwaine knew he needed to play his cards right if he wanted Merlin to trust him. Gwaine trusted Merlin with his life. He sighed dramatically and leaned his head back against the tree. "That's a shame. Suppose we'll be sold to some noble. And most nobles don't much appreciate their slaves breaking into their mead stores, I'll tell you that now, my friend." Gwaine shifted, inadvertently tugging the ropes behind him. Of course they gave no leeway.

"Perhaps if you'd spent less time drinking and more time escaping," Merlin retorted. Gwaine recognized his tactic. It was the one he used when conversations turned to uncomfortable topics, and the knight had to admit that Merlin was very good at it. But not tonight.

Gwaine gave his friend a sly look. "I may be Strength, but I'm not Percival, mate."

"Huh?"

"The wee man at the bridge," Gwaine said. "When we went to help Arthur on his Fisher King quest, yeah? He turned my sword into a flower. I'm glad it turned back into a sword once we crossed the bridge. Not sure how much damage a few petals would have done against a wyvern. Unless wyverns are allergic to flowers?"

Merlin stared at him for a long moment, heart pounding ferociously in his chest, and all thoughts for his pain pushed to the back of his mind. Of course he remembered that quest. But knights were generally thick-headed, and of course Arthur had probably completely forgotten any relation to magic at all, and he'd frankly expected Gwaine to, as well. Apparently not. Courage, Strength, and Magic. Merlin wanted to shrivel up and die. No one was supposed to know, least of all Gwaine and his big mouth! "You," Merlin had to swallow, allowing a pregnant pause in which Gwaine didn't look at him. The knight appeared to still be contemplating the wyvern-allergy situation. "You didn't really believe him, did you?"

Gwaine was drawn from his thoughts and met Merlin's gaze. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't have magic."

"Ah, I see," Gwaine nodded, eyes crinkling good-naturedly, as though he was teasing Merlin, for goodness sakes! "Then who made those plates fly?"

"Huh?"

Gwaine laughed, but abruptly stopped and made a stony expression. After a moment, the slavers whose attentions had been drawn seemed to decide that they'd imagined Gwaine's voice and turned back to the fire. Gwaine grinned at Merlin then. "When we first met in that bar fight. I saw you throwing plates - without your hands, of course. So, naturally, I went over to introduce myself."

Merlin flushed at the memory. How could he have been so careless? And how could Gwaine have known all this time without having mentioned it or called him out? But there was always the chance that Gwaine really didn't know, and was waiting for Merlin's confession. Once he'd gotten that, Gwaine would deem him a traitorous sorcerer, free himself, and leave Merlin at the mercy of their captors. It would be easy for the knight to escape, especially without the warlock's noisy stumbling to hinder him.

Merlin closed his eyes in dismay for a moment. When he felt that he could trust his voice to speak, he tried one last time: "I don't know what you're talking about. I threw those plates, yes," he said, opening his eyes, "but not with...magic." He trailed off when Gwaine appeared to have lost interest in the conversation, wearing a pensive expression. Merlin's pulse faltered with his dejected spirit. Gwaine really had wanted to leave Merlin behind after getting his confession. The burn on his belly again announced its presence.

"I understand, Merlin," Gwaine said somberly. "If I had magic I'd lie, too. But you can trust me, mate. I swear it." He shot the warlock his familiar, charming smile.

Merlin stared intensely into Gwaine's eyes, as though judging his sincerity. Then Merlin averted his gaze, nodding slowly. Gwaine's hopes shot up.

But just as quickly they sank again. Merlin's eyes once more slipped closed, and his lips pressed into a thin line. "I do have magic," he said so lowly that Gwaine nearly missed it.

Gwaine nodded encouragingly despite that Merlin wasn't looking. "I know, mate. Your secret is safe with me - has been, really. Let's get out of here, eh?"

The young man shook his head sadly, lowering his chin towards his chest in a posture of resignation. "I'm sorry," he said miserably.

"Merlin?"

"I have magic, but I can't use it."

"You can," Gwaine insisted. "Nothing will come of it but our escape, I swear it. I'll come up with the story for Princess. I'll tell him that I managed to get my boot knife and saw through our -"

"No, I can't!" Merlin hissed harshly, opening his eyes halfway to shoot him a glare.

Gwaine frowned, perplexed.

Merlin's features immediately softened. "Sorry," he whispered. "It's just...the mark. It's suppressing my magic. I can't use it."

Brown eyes alit with understanding. "Oh," he uttered, for lack of any intelligent reply. "Oh," he repeated more softly. Then his gaze hardened. "Does it hurt more than a normal burn should?"

Merlin hesitated, and Gwaine took it for the not-answer it was.

"Those bastards," he growled through gritted teeth.

Merlin shook his head dejectedly. "We'll just have to wait until Arthur finds our trail."

Gwaine nodded slowly, somehow managing to look lividly at their captors and sympathetic toward his friend all at once. It was then that he noticed that the slavers were packing up camp. Gwaine scowled. Of course they were going to be moving at night. It made them harder to track. And of course they'd be moving out as soon as possible, considering they'd just snatched a knight of Camelot. Where there was one knight, there were certainly more, and even the slavers weren't so arrogant to think they could win that battle.

The knight glared as he and Merlin were cut loose from the tree. Four more men stepped forward, two for Gwaine and two for Merlin, and firmly led them toward the cage across the small clearing. Out of the corner of his eye, Gwaine watched the men work. He begrudgingly admitted that they were very quick and efficient, leaving no trace. Arthur and the others would be hard-pressed to find them. Not that it would deter them, just slow them down a bit.

He shot off a quick prayer to whomever would listen that they were found quickly. Poor Merlin looked to be seriously ill - borderline deathly. Gwaine would be extra vigilant in protecting his young friend, and if he saw a relatively safe chance of escape he would definitely take it.

He and Merlin had both expected to be hauled up and locked into the horse-drawn cage, but instead found themselves being tied to the back of it. Apparently they would be walking. A bit worrisome that was, considering that Merlin would be clumsier than usual due to his bound hands and to his pain. And it was getting dark. Neither man said anything, however, unwilling to give the slavers any reason to harm them. After all, they were slaves now.

The slavers who had tied them to the thick iron bars of the cage tested the strength of the ropes and made sure that they were still wound tightly around their captives' wrists. Once satisfied, they turned away and gave a signal not unlike the ones Arthur used and Merlin could never understand. A quick glance behind him told Gwaine that they had finished packing up. If Gwaine hadn't known better, he never would have guessed that that particular clearing had ever been occupied as a camp.

He was roused from his thoughts as the cage suddenly moved forward, pulling his length of rope taut. Merlin staggered a bit, too, obviously having been caught up in his own musings. Gwaine moved to the warlock's side and matched his pace. He wouldn't be able to do much, but he could make sure he didn't fall and end up being dragged across the forest floor. The knight was certain that the slavers wouldn't be kind enough to stop, and might even consider killing Merlin if he seemed more trouble than he was worth. Gwaine would not allow that to happen.

Gwaine cast a quick look about to see if anyone was watching. The group was moving as silently as they were able, not counting the sound of crunching leaves and twigs under their boots and the wheels of the cart. There was an occasional snort that probably belonged to the horse, but Gwaine wouldn't put it past the disgusting men surrounding him to be making the noise. When he was sure no one was looking, Gwaine casually worked his prized ring off of his finger and let it fall amongst the leaves. He did not look back to see where it landed, though; if he did so, someone might notice.

Merlin stumbled, and Gwaine moved protectively closer and steadied him by the arm.

"All right?" he whispered lowly.

Merlin nodded shortly and pulled away, but not before Gwaine felt the tremor that wracked him. Gwaine's brow furrowed, but he did not comment.

The knight allowed himself to be caught up in his mind again. It really was a shame that Merlin couldn't use his magic. They might have gotten away quite easily had it not been for that cursed brand. Or if Merlin had used his magic from the start, though he suspected he might have indeed had a bit of help in his fighting. He smirked a bit as he remembered numerous falling branches, swerving bolts, stumbling enemies, and dropped weapons. Really, how had no one else noticed?

Then he supposed that he might not have been the only one who had. Perhaps the other knights, and maybe even Princess, knew as well, but it was a mutual understanding that it was not to be spoken of. But Merlin didn't seem to know that Gwaine knew, so if anyone else did he wouldn't know about their knowledge, either.

Gwaine shook his head. Often when he thought of Merlin he wondered whether anyone else was privy to the knowledge of the warlock's power. But he never confronted anyone for fear of condemning his precious friend. That wouldn't do at all. Merlin was a good man, a true friend. The world needed more Merlins. But perhaps that was what made the boy so special, so precious. Gwaine had sworn from the beginning that he would never allow anything to hurt him.

Merlin stumbled again, breaking Gwaine's train of thought, and he quickly righted him. But Merlin staggered to one side, pulling away, doubled over.

"Merlin!" Gwaine hissed in alarm, reaching for him again.

Merlin's rope pulled taut, and he pulled back against it. It did nothing but jerk him off his feet and send him sprawling to the ground. Gwaine cursed under his breath and moved to help him. The cage did not stop, and Merlin was dragged along the path by his wrists. For some reason, he kept his head down and dug his toes into the ground.

"Get up!" ordered one of the slavers, reaching down and pulling Merlin up by the back of his neckerchief. "Walk!"

Merlin complied, staring stonily ahead. Only the tightness around his eyes betrayed his pain.

The slaver smirked and moved back to where he had been walking alongside a companion, whispering raucous jokes. Gwaine quickly examined Merlin for any hurts, but only saw dirt, twigs, and leaves decorating the front of his shirt (which must have caught on a root or something judging from the small tear) and trousers, some of it pooled in the folds of his soiled scarf. His wrists had been rubbed a bit raw, but that may have been from when they had been tied to the tree.

"You all right?" Gwaine asked cautiously, noting the dangerously cold look in his friend's cerulean eyes.

Merlin glanced at him, and his face softened. A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. "I'm fine," he said. Then he returned his gaze forward.

Gwaine nodded slowly, but gave Merlin another once-over just to be sure. Merlin really had a knack for hiding his pain.

"Your belt's..." Gwaine quickly cut himself off, snapping his own eyes forward. In his peripheral vision he could see Merlin's lips press together the way they did when he was suppressing a grin. Gwaine also had to struggle not to laugh. Merlin had obviously had the same idea he'd had - leave a clue. While Gwaine had 'lost' his ring, Merlin had sneakily found a way of getting rid of his thin leather belt. It helped that he was so skinny the belt was relatively loose, and had probably been snagged on the root that had torn his shirt.

Not to mention that long trail of drag marks he had left. Gwaine wondered if he should trip next. It could be fun.

"So," Gwaine struck up a conversation with the burly slaver walking nearest to them, "where're we headed?"

A cruel smile appeared on the man's lips, and he wet them with his tongue before replying, "Lot's kingdom, don't'cha know. Slavery's legal there. And they hate Camelot, too. Get a lot of money for you, that we will."

"Ah, yes," Gwaine nodded good-naturedly. "And will we be sold in the marketplace?"

"Nah," he said. "There's a good buyer not too far across the border. He pays a lot for slaves who might know things, and then he gets the information and sells it to Lot or some other power-hungry bastard."

"And how much are we worth, do you think?" Gwaine asked as though he were excited at the prospect of being sold. "How much do you reckon he'll pay over?"

The man laughed jovially, shaking his head. "For you, who knows? You're a knight of Camelot, so you'll know a lot about the layout of the castle and things of that nature. It's only a matter of how much the lord wants to know what you know. As for your friend there, well. He's probably not worth much, but he does have a pretty face. Perhaps some brothel owner might take a liking to him in the market."

Gwaine's agreeable façade fell instantly. "No," he said in a hard voice. "We are not being separated."

The slaver's grin turned into a scowl as well. "You don't have a choice, slave."

"He is my servant," Gwaine said coolly. "I will go nowhere without him. Unless, of course, you free him and allow him to go unhindered back to our patrol."

A steely glint found its way both into the knight's eye and the slaver's. Then the slaver leered at the pair and stalked off.

Once he was gone, Merlin said, "I won't be leaving you."

"Don't be clingy, Merlin," Gwaine tossed his hair. "It's unattractive in women, let alone in fine men such as yourself."

"You called me your servant," Merlin said, changing the subject in his breezy way that often infuriated Arthur.

"Yes. If they knew you were the princess's, then they'll probably treat you as terribly as me in order to learn Camelot's secrets."

"I wouldn't tell."

"I know you wouldn't, my friend," Gwaine smirked. "That's why they can't know. They'd very well kill you when they find out you're more stubborn than an ass. No, if they knew you were Princess's servant, they'd assume that you'd be privy to all sorts of information. Which you are, of course. You're present during all the meetings, you come along every patrol, you wash Princess's socks - that's the most important secret of all, my friend. They must never learn what his socks smell like."

Merlin shot him a mirthless, exasperated smile. Then he sobered and said in a wise tone, "If we cross into Lot's kingdom, it'll be difficult for Arthur and the others to follow. If they're found out, it could instigate a war."

Gwaine tilted his head in a conceding manner. "Yes, but you know them. When it's you, we'll do anything."

"It's you, too," Merlin said indignantly.

The knight smiled tightly. "Of course," he said amiably.

The two friends fell silent for lack of anything to say.

So it was that, several hours later, after an exhausting night of walking, they were dismayed to find themselves crossing the border of Camelot into Escetir. At some point during the night, Merlin had managed to lose his neckerchief when even Gwaine wasn't looking. Gwaine didn't dare lose his precious necklace, but his leather gauntlet had fallen off (which in all honesty had taken quite a bit of concentration and subtle working).

The chances of their being found were considerably diminished at this point. Not only had they run out of breadcrumbs, but they had crossed into a potentially dangerous kingdom. And there was no guarantee that the others had even found their trail yet, though neither man doubted for a second that it would (eventually) be.

Dawn was breaking when they finally exited the trees. Merlin and Gwaine weren't entirely sure whether to welcome the new day or not - after all, they had been enslaved, and were most definitely in enemy territory at this point. There, in the distance, a tall stone castle blighted a green field. It might have been beautiful in the sunrise had it not been the sinister aura surrounding it. It was obviously there that Gwaine and Merlin were being taken.

It was almost another candle mark of walking before they reached its towering gates. Gwaine and Merlin shared a dreadful look, yet in each other's eyes they saw determination to survive, to escape. All would be well.

The slavers called for an audience, and were made to wait at the gate by the guards. Gwaine was busy casting his eyes about, searching out weak points, blind spots, anything that might help. A pile of barrels made for a good hiding spot, if they should need it when escaping. A protruding stone about halfway up the wall - a handhold if they should be able to scale it from the other side and drop down. That was as much as he could see before the sentry returned and admitted them.

Merlin's tether was loosed first, and the skinny servant was led through the gate. Gwaine followed his back with his intense gaze, practically pulling his holders behind him as he quickened his pace to keep up. He refused to be separated from the helpless warlock.

Luckily, it seemed no one had any intention of parting them just yet. They were herded up the stairs into the main doors of the mansion. Any servants milling about quickly ducked out of the way as though being in the presence of slavers was enough to be whisked away. Gwaine and Merlin carried their heads proudly despite the humility of the situation. A short journey through the rather unremarkable halls brought them to what could only be described as a throne room. Both the knight and warlock were certain that this noble held no such power, but who were they to question it?

The slavers forced the two men onto their knees before the man sitting in the singular chair. Merlin cast his gaze about, taking in his supercilious surroundings. While the halls of the mansion had been quite bare, here the walls were covered with adornments, mostly weapons. There were several stuffed heads of poor, defenseless woodland creatures such as deer and boars mounted up on the wall, proudly displayed behind the man. It was for the noble that Gwaine had eyes for, completely ignoring the rest.

Two armed guards stood on either side and slightly behind the plush carpeted throne, eyes slightly glassy. They were obviously not the sharpest swords in the armory. The noble reclined in his chair was pudgy and getting along in his years, judging by the thinning, greasy gray hair hanging from his scalp. His beady gray eyes peered out from his sunken sockets, cunning despite his rather ugly posture and visage. To Gwaine, he rather resembled a mangy rat.

"A knight of Camelot," said the noble in a reedy voice. His eyes raked down Gwaine's stiff body, examining him as though he were a pig in a market place. "What is your name, Sir?"

Gwaine smiled humorlessly. "It is I who should be asking such a question of you, my lord," he said. "You are, after all, greater than me, and therefore of more importance."

"Indeed," said the noble. "I am greater and more important, and that is precisely why you will answer my question, knight."

"I am Sir Gwaine," Gwaine said in his humblest voice, which Merlin thought resembled his drunken one. "And this is my servant, Kestrel. I ask that you keep him with me. It is rather unfair for me to enjoy your hospitality and not he, I think."

"Is it," said the noble. "Well, Sir Gwaine, Kestrel." He stood slowly, his velvet purple cape falling about his bulbous frame and concealing it (thank the gods for small miracles). "Welcome to my castle. I am Lord Brunhilde the Great."

"My lord," Gwaine nodded stiffly, and Merlin clumsily followed his lead.

Lord Brunhilde smiled tightly, and then looked up and addressed the apparent leader of the slavers. "Very well. How much?"

"No less than five hundred gold," the slaver licked his lips, eyes darting to Gwaine, "for the knight. The servant...Well, how about two? 'S a bargain, my lord."

"Quite," said the lord amiably. "Very well. Consider it paid." With a curt nod of his head, one of the guards behind him stepped forward, producing a sack of coins. "Count out seven hundred and send them on their way."

"Yes, my lord."

Lord Brunhilde stepped regally down the three steps from his pedestal. "Please, Sir Gwaine, Kestrel. Stand."

Merlin and Gwaine did so. Merlin kept his eyes downcast in an unusual display of servitude. Gwaine met the lord's gaze in his paradoxically friendly but challenging way. Lord Brunhilde was obviously unperturbed.

"If you'll follow me," he said in his grating voice, "I'll escort you to your new chambers myself."

At the word chambers, Merlin snapped his gaze up to look at Gwaine and waggle his eyebrows. Gwaine suppressed a smirk. Supposedly they were going to be kept comfortable during their stay as slaves. It would probably be one of the best experiences either of them had had. If things went smoothly, Merlin and Gwaine might just turn Arthur's rescue party away themselves.

"Guard," said Lord Brunhilde. The man who had not escorted the slavers heeded his call. This one brought forth a jewel-studded cane, and a very extravagant one at that. Merlin wondered just how rich this man really was, or whether he had already squandered his fortune. It seemed, though, that if he had that sort of money to throw around just for buying slaves, he had plenty enough to support his lifestyle.

With a satisfying tap of his cane on the stone floor, Brunhilde stepped past Gwaine and Merlin to lead the way. His waddling walk meant that Merlin and Gwaine's aching legs had a bit of respite from their earlier pace. They carefully kept behind the lord. Despite his friendly demeanor, they both knew that he could exercise his flaunted power quickly and efficiently. Not to mention that as they traveled through the halls, more guards seemed to join in on the procession. In fact, five escorts were trailing behind them.

The slaves' suspicions only grew when they came to a descending staircase. If their new quarters were located downstairs, then it was only logical to assume - the air grew colder, and their boots echoed loudly across the dampening, moldering walls - that they were being taken to the dungeons. Lovely.

Two watchmen were already waiting at the bottom of the stairs, one proffering a key ring to his master. Brunhilde took it without a single acknowledgement, and went to the first cell. The thick iron bars easily swung open on its oiled hinges. Gwaine warily noted the single straw-stuffed mattress lying in one corner. Merlin would have that, definitely, he decided immediately. A chipped chamber pot was situated on the other side of the cell, and a ragged, threadbare blanket hung from one of the manacles that were ominously cemented into the wall.

"In you go," said Brunhilde, gesturing grandly.

Merlin scowled, but quickly complied. The knight gave a dramatic sigh, punctuated it with a flip of his hair, and followed the warlock in. To their surprise, though, Brunhilde also entered.

"I know it doesn't seem like much now," Brunhilde said in an apologetic voice, "but if you're both good little slaves I'll see what we can do to have it fixed up quite nicely."

"You're very kind," Gwaine said in a sickly sweet tone.

Merlin stared down at his boots. He knew that he could do nothing in his state, so he would do his very best to behave. If he did, there was a better chance at being able to get away and back to Arthur. Although behaving didn't include standing down meekly when he was antagonized; no, he still had his sardonic wit.

"I would like to talk, Sir Gwaine," Brunhilde said politely.

"Ah, yes, talking. One of my favorite past times as well, my lord."

"Quite," the lord inclined his head agreeably. "Tell me, if you will, about Camelot's siege tunnels."

"There are none," Gwaine shrugged indifferently.

"Really?" said Brunhilde, though it was apparent he didn't believe the knight for a second. "Then tell me of its weaknesses."

"Ah, but there are none of those, either," Gwaine said, feigning apology. "But I can tell you, my lord, which of the taverns has the best mead. That would be The Rising Sun. Or, if you prefer ale, it's -"

"Thank you," said Brunhilde. This time, however, there was a slightly miffed tone underlying the politeness, as well as a colder glint in his beady eyes. "Sir Gwaine, I really must implore you to answer adequately. I cannot be held responsible for whatever may befall you if you do not."

"I see," Gwaine said thoughtfully. "Adequate answers is what you're after? Does that mean you're not looking for a good tavern trip?"

Suddenly, before either of the captives could even register what had happened, Gwaine was flung back by an invisible force and into the wall, where he became stuck like a fly on honey. Merlin was spun around so that he faced his stunned friend, and then crumpled to his knees as though a great weight had fallen onto his shoulders. Gwaine stared openmouthed at Brunhilde, whose eyes faded from molten gold back to gray.

"I demand answers, Sir Gwaine," he said.

Gwaine scowled. "Do whatever you wish with me. I shall never betray my king."

Admiration filled Merlin's heart at that for his bravery, but there was also fear. Gwaine was going to be tortured in front of his very eyes. He struggled against his invisible binds, all the while calling desperately upon his magic. It refused to come, too wary of the pain that would shove it back. Merlin cursed the brand mark above his navel. Luck was just never on his side!

"I see," said Brunhilde. "Then I must tell you that I derive no pleasure from this, Sir."

Gwaine gave him a humorless smile.

Merlin's eyes widened as Brunhilde raised the studded cane - the gems embedded into the wood would certainly make it hurt all the more, possibly even cut skin. It was dangerous! Gwaine tensed but did not avert his eyes or flinch. He was prepared for pain.

Merlin stared desperately at Gwaine, inwardly screaming for his magic. They needed to escape before Gwaine was hurt. It was dire! He needed to help Gwaine move out of the way, to loosen Brunhilde's hold on him. But his magic would not come.

Brunhilde's cane reached its pinnacle and came sweeping down with a force that surely should have surpassed what the old man had. It wasn't until it was too late that Gwaine realized he was not the one to be hit. Merlin was too focused on his inward battle to see his friend's widening eyes, mouth opening to desperately rectify his mistake, to stop it from happening.

But too late.

A sickening thump resounded through the small cell as the studded cane made contact with Merlin's back. Merlin's breath hitched in his throat a split second before the breath was torn from his lungs by means of a raw yelp. His back exploded in pain. He doubled over as much as he could in his magic restraints, face screwed up as he bit back his cries. Gwaine was screaming something, but Merlin couldn't quite make it out. After a moment, he managed to suck in a breath - he hadn't realized he wasn't breathing. Once he had a lungful of air, the pain considerably lessened until it was but a bone-deep throbbing. It still hurt, but it was bearable.

Merlin blinked back his tears and frowned. Gwaine was talking very quickly, rambling about something, and it wasn't anything superficial. With a gasp, Merlin tilted his head back and gaped. "Gwaine, no!"

"...and on the west side the tunnels start underneath a guard post. It's easy to distract them, usually, just fly an arrow off to one side so they'll investigate and you can sneak right in." Gwaine finished, breathing a bit heavily, and looked at Brunhilde imploringly. It was so unlike Gwaine that for a moment, Merlin thought he might have been enchanted, but then he quickly dismissed the idea. Gwaine was certainly in his right mind. He was trying to protect Merlin, to spare him from any more torture.

Brunhilde nodded slowly, and Merlin turned his furious gaze on him. "And the weaknesses?"

"Don't tell him!" Merlin spat angrily.

Gwaine only spared him a frightened, sorrowful glance, but when he looked back to Brunhilde his gaze had hardened. "The walls are strong."

"Shut up! No!" Merlin shouted.

He was decidedly ignored. Gwaine continued, "The siege tunnels are the best way in, but if you could somehow dispatch the watch guards without calling attention -"

"Stop it! Tell him nothing!"

"- then it would be no difficulty to scale the walls."

"Traitor!" Merlin snarled. Gwaine's jaw tightened, and a look of hurt flashed through his eyes, but Merlin didn't care. Camelot's secrets were being divulged to protect him from pain. It wasn't right! Camelot couldn't fall just because he'd been stupid and gotten himself and Gwaine caught. Arthur couldn't fall. It just couldn't happen. Gwaine was ruining everything, ruining his destiny!

Brunhilde glanced at Merlin out of the corner of his eye, and smirked. Merlin spat on the lord's boot, earning himself a kick in the mouth.

"Oi!" Gwaine barked. "I've told you what you've asked, now leave him be!"

"Oh, very well," the lord rolled his eyes. "I am satisfied - for now." Brunhilde slowly exited the cell, swinging the door shut behind him. There was an audible, final clang, and then a loud click as he locked it with the key. It wasn't until he had waddled out of sight that Gwaine and Merlin were released from their binds, and the ropes loosened.

Gwaine stumbled onto his knees by Merlin's side, casting his ropes away. "Let me see what that bastard's done, my friend," he said gently, taking hold of Merlin's jacket.

"No," Merlin hissed, elbowing Gwaine aside. "You've betrayed Arthur. How could you?"

Gwaine reached for him again. "How could I not? He was hurting you. Let me help you, Merlin."

"Stay away from me, you traitor," Merlin said petulantly. It wasn't so much that he was angry at Gwaine. It was the situation, and the lord, and his magic, and being away from Arthur, who was surely worried by now. Or was he? Did Arthur care he was missing? No, he was probably more panicked about his missing knight.

Gwaine lowered his hands into his lap, looking hurt.

Merlin refused to look at him, and shakily stood and shuffled off to one corner. His shoulders were hunched in pain, which he knew didn't help, but all the same he couldn't seem to force them to relax. He pressed his bruised lips tightly together, determined not to voice his pain.

"Take the bed, Merlin."

"No."

"Please?"

Merlin ignored him and settled down with his throbbing back to him. Gwaine sadly shook his head, but he could not bring himself to regret what he'd done. He would give away everything he knew if it would protect his friend.

"I'll get us out of here, Merlin, my friend," Gwaine whispered. "I swear it."

If Merlin had heard him, he did not acknowledge his words.

A/N: As of now I've completed most of the story. There will be six chapters (I'm halfway through with six, so I've decided to start posting). All chapters are between 4500 and 9000 words long.

The setting is a slight AU in that Lancelot never died, Gwen never betrayed Arthur (because Morgana didn't give Lance an enchanted bracelet, of course), and the royal couple are married. Other than that, most everything else is canon.

All mistakes are my own.

Thanks for reading!