I do not own Merlin. :(

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

You hear him screaming.

Drip.

Pained cries drowned out by that constant drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The screams have stopped now, and you pull against your chains. You beg them to stop. Let you go. Because please, you have to save him.

But suddenly there's commotion. Capes of red and shining armor storm the room. And suddenly, your wrists are free. But one thing remains the same...

Drip.

Drip.

You run to him. You reach the stall where they've kept him. Tortured him.

He's hanging from the ceiling, chained by skinless wrists, pale as ever.

You get him down, yanking off the chains.

Drip.

Drip.

On the cold stone floor now, you see him.

You want to cry.

Drip.

Drip.

Small gasps join the crimson drips. Both coming from the raven haired boy, whose life hangs in the balance, who needs that traitorous liquid that's fleeing through open wounds, and needs those life-giving breaths that are escaping through winded lungs.

And they become farther and fewer between.

Both like knives, stabbing insults into you. Too Weak. Too Late. Failure. And you cannot argue. They're true after all.

The gasps stop.

Then a sigh.

Of relief?

Perhaps.

No more breaths come.

And the drips slow until they almost stop. But you will always hear them.

And all that's left is you, holding the corpse of your best friend, your brother. Sitting in the pool of crimson that he has left behind.

And as the men with red capes enter the room and catch sight of their lost friend, you want nothing more than to go with him.

Drip.

Drip.

Because this is your fault.

Drip.

And it will haunt you forever.

(Let me know what you think. -LillyPadFrog)