A/N - This will be six chapters total. It's not too dark but definitely a bit dark - there's torture in later chapters. Firmly preslash for Merlin and Arthur, but could be read as intense friendship.

Arthur raised a hand, signaling for his men to be quiet. He thought he'd heard something. He, Merlin, and twenty knights were deep in the woods near the outskirts of Camelot, searching for a band of arsonists. There had been reports from outlying villages of fires that ate up the villagers' crops and with it, their livelihood. Uther had ordered that Arthur go out and search for the culprits, taking with him a large band of knights as a show of both strength and commitment to the people.

This was a duty that Arthur was only too happy to fulfill, if he could only find the damn idiots who were setting the fires. But he and his knights had been searching for days, sweeping in ever-widening circles. They were now deep in the forest, which was starting to intermingle with tangled ivy and wickedly sharp thornbushes, lending the whole scene an eerie, untouched aspect. It didn't look as if anyone - any human - had been here in centuries.

It was then that Arthur heard the rustling. His knights fell quiet instantly, as they'd been trained to do, while Merlin kept mumbling about something hurting. Arthur glowered at him with every ounce of command he could muster, pointedly jerking his head toward the woods surrounding them.

Merlin, blessedly, fell silent, and Arthur looked around and around, peeling his eyes for any sort of movement. Nothing, except the fog that was rising lazily up from the damp ground to twine around them. Arthur watched. The moment seemed to drag on, and on, seconds stretching out interminably and weaving together into a seemingly endless length.

Arthur yawned, blinking. He was supposed to be doing something, something important. What was it? It couldn't be too important, or he wouldn't feel quite so tired….

Arthur's eyes slipped closed again, then opened to focus blearily on the woods. There was movement there after all. Men in long golden cloaks were approaching from between the trees, slipping in and out of the fog. They were close enough now that Arthur could see their faces, or at least their eyes. Their mouths and noses were covered with leather masks, masks that sharpened to a point shaped like a beak.

That was odd. People didn't normally go around wearing masks like that, did they? Arthur began to hail the strangers, then broke off as one of his knights slipped sideways off his horse and into the bracken.

"Knights...knights of Camelot," Arthur managed, raising his sword and wondering why his arm felt like lead, why his voice was so soft. "To battle!"

Arthur spurred his horse onward, straight at one of the gold cloaked men. He managed to cut one of them down, all the time feeling as though he were fighting underwater. Then, ten seconds too late, he looked round to see a sword hilt coming down hard toward his head. The solid metal pommel crashed into his forehead, his vision exploded into swirls of the strange looking fog, and the last thing he saw was a leather mask and a flash of gold.

Merlin was still struggling to process what was happening. One second, he'd been wandering through the woods with Arthur and his knights, complaining because they'd been out there for days and he was tired and his back hurt and Arthur was scarcely letting them stop for food. Then this weird fog had started rising from the ground all around them. Some instinct told Merlin that it was dangerous, that he should try not to breath it in. A lot of good that did. The fog just kept rolling towards him and the knights, and Merlin could only avoid breathing for so long.

Now, Merlin was sleepy but not asleep. His eyelids were impossibly heavy, and he'd had no choice but to half-slide, half-fall from his horse. He could only move in stumbling half-steps, reaching desperately for anything he could use to support himself as the world swung around him in dizzy circles.

As badly as Merlin was doing, he figured his magic must be protecting him in some way, because the rest of the knights seemed to already be truly asleep, all lying on the forest floor with their red cloaks pooling around them, looking like a strange and sudden bloom of flowers. Merlin had watched Arthur try to fight, and fail. He was too weak from whatever the mist had done to them, and one of the men had attacked him with a sword to his head. He'd taken a hard fall from the back of his horse, not making the slightest attempt to catch himself. Merlin wasn't sure whether it was the fall or the fog or the blow, but he hadn't made a single move to get up again after falling, hadn't even stirred.

Merlin had one single half-formed thought in his mind, which was to get to Arthur. If he could get to Arthur, he could...drag him to safety somehow, away from the threatening men who seemed to have sprung up from nowhere. Once Arthur was away from the influence of the mist, he would wake up, and then he would fix everything. Somehow. Together, Merlin was sure that he and Arthur would be able to come up with a plan.

But Merlin wasn't sure if he was going to be able to actually get to Arthur, not when his limbs were this heavy, his vision this blurry. Not to mention the fact that the woods were still swarming with the men who had attacked, who now seemed to be examining each knight for injuries and then binding them with rope. It was probably a matter of seconds before they spotted Merlin, and he really didn't want to think about what they would do to him if they realized he was still awake and moving.

Merlin dropped to his knees, letting his cheek hit the forest floor. His best plan was to get Arthur out of here. Barring that, his best plan was to escape. However, he didn't think he could actually manage either of those things. Now, he thought his best plan was to pretend to be asleep too, and try to figure out what was going on.

Footsteps, next to him. They stopped right by his face, and Merlin tried to resist the urge to open his eyes or squirm away. He simply lay there, waiting.

The stranger's boot dug into his ribs, flipping him over on his back. Merlin lay sprawled across the forest floor, feeling far too vulnerable.

"This one's fine," said a voice, presumably that of whoever was standing so close. "Nothing wrong. Rope."

There was a swishing sound, then Merlin felt himself pulled upright. He remained limp, something that was becoming less and less difficult as the mist continued to work whatever magic it was sent to do. His wrists were pulled roughly behind him and bound there. The stranger let Merlin fall back to the ground, his elbow catching uncomfortably beneath him.

Merlin felt the pressure of the rope as it was wound around his ankles too. Then, with a grunt and a sigh, his captor stood.

"Seems a bit of a waste," the man said. The timbre of his voice was rich, and low. He sounded like a large man. "Taking all these people."

"The High Priests did not know that Prince Arthur would be traveling with so many of his knights," another voice said. This one was high, and somewhat querulous. "Nor that he would be dressed as a soldier. We do not know which of these men is the Prince we need for our sacrifice. We must take them all."

The man still standing over Merlin gave a sound that was awfully close to a snort.

"Not all is at once easily apparent," the high voice said, the whining annoyance growing more pronounced. "The Sun God lights our paths only when He chooses, and His light is truth."

"Think a bleedin' Sun God would make things clearer, rather than leavin' us all blind," muttered the man standing over Merlin. There was a rustle, and then Merlin was being lifted and dropped unceremoniously onto what felt very much like one of the knights. The cart - assuming that's what it was - started moving, and despite all of Merlin's fear and worry, the motion finished the job the fog had started. Merlin fell asleep.

Arthur's head hurt. That was the first thing that he noticed when he opened his eyes. In fact, it hurt so much that he immediately closed them.

"Are you okay?"

Someone jostled him. That made his head hurt even more, and Arthur tried opening his eyes so he could see who it was and tell them to stop.

His left eye didn't seem to want to open. Arthur tried moving his hand to find out why, and discovered that his right arm didn't seem to want to do its job either. It hurt too.

Arthur decided to leave his arm be for the moment and reached up with his left hand. There was something sticky covering the left side of his face. Sticky, and copper-smelling, and….

Blood. That was it. It was blood.

Why was he bleeding? Arthur moved his hand further up to see if he could find out and encountered a cut in his forehead, which seemed to be the source of both the blood and the pain.

"No, it's me, don't touch that-"

Someone grabbed his hand and peeled it away from his face, then shifted him forward slightly. Now he was resting on something solid, which was better. But not much better. Arthur's head pounded with each pulse of his heart, and it felt like it had doubled in size. His stomach churned, and there was an acrid taste in his mouth that made him think he'd already thrown up.

"Please," the voice was pleading now. "Please, open your eyes, you're alright-"

Arthur cracked his one eye open. Merlin's face slid in and out of focus, so bright it almost hurt to look at. He was at a funny angle. Distantly, Arthur realized it was because his head was tipped against Merlin's shoulder. He didn't care. He was never going to be able to sit up again.

He dimly registered Merlin breaking into a smile. Then, the light got to be too much for him, and he was forced to shut his eyes again, tilting his head into Merlin's chest in an effort to get the brightness out.

"They've gathered everyone together in a big room," Merlin murmured into Arthur's ear. "It doesn't seem that anyone was hurt in the attack. Well, no worse than you were, at least. I think they're looking for Prince Arthur, but they have no idea what he looks like."

Merlin stopped talking. Arthur realized he was supposed to respond. But he hadn't exactly registered that Merlin was even speaking, and he had no idea what he'd just said. He groaned, low in his throat. God, everything hurt.

Merlin's voice dropped lower, making it even harder to separate each of his words from the next one. He was leaning so close to Arthur's ear that his forehead brushed up against Arthur's, causing pain to spike blindingly through his head. He curled forward a little more, throat tight, breathing ragged.

"So you musn't let them know who you are, right? I don't...even if someone says it's you, they're lying, alright? Can you...can you remember that? No matter what anyone says, it's not you. Just keep fighting. I don't think they'll do anything to you unless they know for sure. Just...no matter what happens, don't say who you are." Merlin paused for a second. "Do you understand?"

Arthur did not understand. He hadn't been listening. Instead, he was concentrating very very hard on not throwing up all over Merlin. Merlin didn't seem to have noticed that anything was wrong, but it was becoming a losing battle. Arthur's throat bobbed.

"Do you understand me?"

Arthur had just enough time to push himself away from Merlin and lurch sideways over the stone floor before he was gagging up his stomach contents, the pain in his head building with each heave.

He felt Merlin's hand on his shoulder, and the world was tilting strangely and then he was done retching and his head was on Merlin's shoulder again, and that was better.

"It'll be okay," Merlin muttered, and Arthur didn't understand the words but the tone was worried. "Everything will be just fine."

Arthur was worse off than Merlin had thought. He'd seen the Prince knocked out plenty of times, and he always got right back up again. Sometimes he seemed a bit slow to process for an hour or two afterwards, like he'd got his brain rattled a bit, but never anything like this. This...this had Merlin worried.

Arthur moaned again, shifting his head slightly against Merlin's chest. Merlin winced as he felt his shirt grow wet. The cut above Arthur's eye was still bleeding badly.

Still, that wasn't Merlin's biggest concern at the moment. Even the fact that Arthur was apparently so concussed that he was throwing up couldn't be his main focus. No, what Merlin was really worried about was that they were trapped, in a room, with a lot of people who wanted to sacrifice Arthur to a Sun God, and Arthur seemed to be too out of it to even understand the slightest bit of what was going on.

Merlin looked around desperately, searching for some kind of escape route for what had to be the hundredth time. They were sitting on a stone floor, surrounded on four sides by walls that rose up, tapering inwards and meeting far, far above their heads in a point. The cult members, still wearing their gold cloaks and beaked masks, lined the edges of the room. Guards flanked the ornate golden doors that, as far as Merlin could see, were the only entrance or exit for the chamber.

A tall figure made its way through the ranks of sun worshippers, walking up a few stone stairs at the front of the room to stand next to a slab of quartz, inlaid with gold and shining with a faint rosy tinge. It was rather beautiful, until Merlin realized that the reddish quality to the stone was very possibly leftover blood from past sacrificial victims.

"Where is the Crown Prince of Camelot?" asked the leader sharply. A smaller figure appeared, bowing and scraping.

"He is here, oh Most High Priest. He is one of them," the smaller man said. Merlin recognized his high voice. This was the fanatic from the forest. "Only, well, we aren't entirely sure which one."

"It's me," said a loud voice from the back. One of the knights. Merlin couldn't turn his head far back enough to see which one, not without disrupting the Prince. "I'm Arthur."

The High Priest's eyes lit up, and Merlin felt his stomach twist. He should have guessed that Arthur's knights would try to die for him if given the chance, but god, he didn't want it. This innocent man shouldn't have to be executed to save Arthur, it wasn't right and it wasn't fair, and if Arthur was awake enough to know what was happening Merlin knew that he would be horrified.

Merlin also knew, in his heart of hearts, that it was probably worth it to let one of the knights die for Arthur if it meant Arthur himself could escape. It was terrible, and Arthur would never forgive himself, but it must...it must be for the best. Merlin swallowed hard and wrapped his arm more securely around Arthur's back, wishing this wasn't happening.

But then, something unexpected happened. Another voice spoke up from somewhere off to Merlin's right. "No," another knight said. "It's me. I'm Arthur."

And then a third voice, from somewhere else in the room. "They're both lying. It's me. I'm Prince Arthur."

Merlin's heart started to pound. The knights were playing a very dangerous game. There was a chance it could save them all, or at least save Arthur himself, but there was also a good chance that the High Priest would just execute them all on the spot.

Slowly, one by one, everyone in the room, all twenty or so knights, announced that they were Prince Arthur. Merlin thought the fact that Arthur could barely think straight enough to speak might help keep him safe, but he was also a bit regretful that the Prince wasn't aware enough to understand what his knights were doing from him. He would be shocked and impressed and overwhelmed, and even assuming they survived the next hour Merlin wasn't sure he'd be able to do the scene justice with words.

The Priest got to Merlin, and Merlin had to cough a few times to get his voice to work. Not only was Merlin not Prince Arthur, he wasn't even a knight, and he was sure the High Priest would be able to tell. He was looking more and more furious by the second, and Merlin didn't want to be the thing that finally broke him.

"I'm Arthur," Merlin said in a small voice, not daring to even look up. Even though he knew most of the people in the room knew it was a lie, the words still felt strange in his mouth.

Arthur was still leaning heavily against Merlin, face tucked into his shoulder, breathing shallow and erratic. Merlin didn't think there was any chance he understood what was going on. He hoped it would be clear to the High Priest that Arthur was too out of it to participate in this insane gamble, but Merlin was afraid that not declaring himself Prince Arthur like the rest would make him look suspicious. Merlin jostled Arthur slightly, trying desperately to get Arthur to wake up and pay attention.

Arthur pushed himself up slightly. "I'm Arthur," he said, looking around blearily. Then he gagged a little and pressed the heel of his hand over his eye, head bowing in pain. Merlin grabbed him again and eased him back down onto his shoulder.

The High Priest looked around the room, fuming. Merlin held his breath and tightened his grip on Arthur's shoulders. This was it. The knights' gamble could have saved them all, or it could have doomed them.

"This is your last chance," the High Priest snarled. "Which one of you is Arthur?"

Merlin stiffened, but Arthur didn't speak up. He didn't even twitch. He clearly didn't have any idea what was going on.

Around the room, the knights glared defiantly at the High Priest. Merlin did his best to look equally steely, but he was worried sick about Arthur, not to mention his own situation. Besides, he didn't do steely well even at the best of times.

The High Priest growled. "Take them away," he spat, and Merlin thought he could see the man actually shaking with rage.

"We'll find Arthur," he said to the room at large. "And when we do, you will regret playing this little...game."

He turned and stalked down from the stone slab and melted into the crowd. The rest of the cult began filtering in from the sides of the room, taking the knights and dragging them, one by one, through the door.

Merlin froze. It looked as though they were all going to be separated. And that would make sense, the cult leaders wouldn't want them conspiring and being able to form an escape plan. But with the state that Arthur was in now, there was no way Merlin could leave him alone.

Two of the bird-masked men approached him, and Merlin pulled Arthur closer. Arthur shifted, moaning softly and hiding his face deeper in Merlin's shoulder.

"Take him," said one of the men, nodding to Arthur. Merlin tightened his grip and shook his head frantically.

"No, you can't," Merlin protested. "Look at him, he's really badly hurt, he doesn't know what's going on. I need to stay with him."

As if on cue, Arthur groaned again.

"Take him," the man said again, and Merlin inched backwards, still holding Arthur.

"Please," he begged.

"Why do you care so much about him?" the other man asked suspiciously. "Is that one the Prince?"

Merlin had absolutely no idea how to get out of this situation. He couldn't admit who Arthur was, or even really explain their relationship without giving Arthur's identity away, but if he left Arthur alone without explaining the plan first, Arthur was probably going to give himself away.

"No. of course not," Merlin said desperately. "He's...he's my friend, that's all."

The two men looked unconvinced, or at least as unconvinced as two people whose faces were covered in masks could look.

"He's important to me," Merlin hazarded.

"Ahhh," the first man said. "I see what you mean. You two are lovers, then?"

Merlin gaped dumbly at the two men.

The two men nodded back at him. The masks seemed to stretch into smiles.

Merlin took a deep breath. "...Yes."

"Oh, go on and let em stay together then," the second man said. "Young love, really beautiful, innit?"

"Oh, alright then," the first man answered, giving off the impression of beaming good-naturedly under the mask. "Come on, you two."

Merlin, still in a state of befuddled wonder, stood, pulling Arthur with him. If they survived this, Arthur was going to kill him.